


Hour of the Wolf

by Mhalachai



Series: Child of the Wolf [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha Allison Argent, Crossover, F/M, Multi, Past Child Abuse, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Time Travel, Unhealthy Relationships, Werewolf Bucky Barnes, make time travel have consequences you cowards
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2020-03-19 23:19:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 41
Words: 600,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18980413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mhalachai/pseuds/Mhalachai
Summary: Allison Stark has spent her entire life trying to live up to her father's sacrifice. But when the universe itself starts to dissolve, desperation and magic come together to push Allison back in time to try to right the wrongs.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In trying to come up with a fix-it to a story that included a specific type of time travel, I’m handwaving things into place. Just bear with me.
> 
> Tagged as ‘underage’ as one of the characters will be involved in a sexual relationship a couple of weeks before she turns eighteen. 
> 
> This story will make no sense if you haven't read the first installment in the series, [Child of the Wolf](https://archiveofourown.org/works/564316/chapters/1009240). Please start there.

* * *

### Prologue

October 12, 2039

_Earth_

The commotion in the command room cut off as a sharp _ping_ sounded from the terminal. Allison Stark held her breath as Shuri, Black Panther and Queen of Wakanda, reached out to receive the message with a steady hand.

There was a stillness in Shuri's shoulders as she read the transmission. "The Mars base is no longer responding."

At Allison's side, Captain America made a soft, pained sound. She put her hand on his shoulder, as much to comfort him as to steady herself.

They had lost Mars. All the thousands of people who had settled there after the terraforming event of 2033 were just… gone.

Across the table, Kamala Khan, who had taken on the mantle of Captain Marvel after Carol Danvers died at Alfheim, said, "We have to do _something._ "

"What?" Allison's half-sister, Morgan Stark, demanded from her perch on the railing. "There's no bad guy here! There's nothing to fight!"

"I'm with Mags," Kate Bishop chimed in. "Show me a bad guy and I can drop a laser target in his engine over a parsec. We've been over this a thousand times, Kamala. How do you fight when there's nothing to fight?"

"People are dying," Shuri said, her hand still pressed to the screen. "The universe is dying. Earth is next, and even if we can stop that, what do we do when the sun goes out? How do you stop that?"

Kamala got up, absently adding a couple of feet to her height as she walked around. "There has to be a way, something we haven't thought of yet. The Avengers undid the original Snap, and we know that's what is causing this… nothing."

"We're not the Avengers," Kate pointed out, gesturing with an arrow. "Even Captain America is operating on version 3.0."

The man in question stood up. "This team has always been better at fixing things than the Avengers." Bucky Barnes walked to where Shuri sat. "Your majesty."

Shuri took in a deep breath. "Yes, I know," she said. "We have to do something." She looked at the screen. "And we have ten hours before the Earth is destroyed."

Morgan slid down from her perch. "How?" she asked as she pulled up her holoscreens. "Every scientist from every realm has been working on this for years, ever since Xandar vanished. No one has found anything that helps."

Allison curled her hand around her favourite knife. No one expected her to come up with any answers, that she knew. She was in the room as Captain America's sidekick; the Stark who used her knives instead of her brain, like Morgan and their father before her. At forty-six years old, Allison was too old to learn new tricks.

But when she was younger, back when she had trained as a Hunter, before she learned that Tony Stark was her real father and she'd been stolen away by the Argents, she had had her worldview turned upside down more than once. And back then, whenever something happened that none of them could explain, there was a catch-all they had landed on.

"If science won't solve this, what about magic?" Allison suggested. Everyone in the room turned to look at her. "What? It's not like anyone has any better ideas."

"Magic." Shuri shook her head. "All magic is—"

"I know, science as-yet unexplained," Allison finished. "But it's something we can _try_."

"Do you know what you are suggesting?" came a deep voice from a dark corner of the room. Allison had known the man was there; even with his advanced age, his heartbeat was clear. "Throwing magic recklessly into the universe on the off-chance that something might stick?"

Allison narrowed her eyes as Dr. Strange emerged from the shadows. "I don't hear you coming up with any other solutions."

"I have none."

Morgan slapped her hands down on her screens, making the displays fizzle. "We don't have time for this," she snapped. "We have to fix this. That's what Starks do. We save the world." She looked at Allison with Tony's dark eyes. "Okay? There's two of us. We'll save the world. Hell, we'll save the whole universe."

Allison let her head drop into her hands. She loved Morgan, but her little sister had too much of Tony's arrogant bravado for Allison to be comfortable.

Not that it mattered. They'd all be dead in under ten hours, at this rate.

It was all the fault of the original Snap, Allison thought miserably. Thanos snapping away half the people in the universe, then four years later having them all brought back into existence. Twenty years later, the very molecular structure of the universe was crumbling. Shuri had tried to explain the physics behind it all, but Allison had been recovering from blood loss and a head injury at the time and just kept nodding until Shuri patted her shoulder and went away.

If only Tony hadn't died. Maybe, if Tony Stark had lived, maybe then they would have a fighting chance at coming up with a solution.

Or maybe not. Allison was in the room with the smartest people in the galaxy, and none of them could come up with anything, either.

"I wish the Snap never happened," she said, then stopped. Something had just occurred to her, a spark deep in the darkness of her despair. She looked up, saw questions on the faces of Kate and Kamala and Shuri, at the calculations going on in Bucky's head, and finally to Strange. She turned to face the old sorcerer. "Can we do that? Can we go back in time to stop the Snap from happening?"

"That's not how time travel works, going to the past," Bucky said. "Remember what happened with Steve?" Allison could practically feel Bucky's discomfort, in talking about the choices Steve Rogers had made to walk away over sixteen years before. "If we went back to change the Snap, it wouldn't matter. This universe would still be dying."

"But there has to be a way!" Allison stared at Strange, who hadn't moved. "Can we send back a message, into _our_ past? To change this reality?"

"Do you understand what you're asking?" Strange asked. "What you speak of could tear reality itself apart."

Kate stabbed her arrow into the table. "Doc, reality is already tearing itself apart," she pointed out. "We've got ten hours until our molecules disintegrate into their constituent elements. I'd rather die trying."

"What if it is worse than dying?" Strange asked. "Not death, but simply ceasing to exist?" He looked at Allison, his eyes mesmerizing. She glared back at him. "If you go back, in a way that affects your own timeline, every action you take destabilizes your own future. Children who might have been born, never come into existence. Those who may have lived, would instead die."

Allison stood up and slowly paced around the table, closing in on Strange with every step. Bucky let out a warning sound, but she paid him no mind. "The way you say that," Allison said, "Makes me think that this isn't the first time someone's suggested the idea."

She stood in front of Strange. He was taller than her, old and verging on gaunt, but she knew how very powerful he was. If he wanted to, he could pick her up and fling her across the room, breaking every bone in her body.

She didn't care. She'd healed from worse.

"Do you understand what you are asking?" Strange's voice was quiet, but it seemed to reverberate in the room. "To truly change this timeline, you can't go back as you are. We would have to push your essence, your memories, your…" he paused. "Your soul, back in time. Who you are now would inhabit your physical body at that time. It probably will not work. It will probably drive you mad, if not kill you instantly."

"That's the family motto," Allison said. "Stark raving mad. Do it."

"It is not that simple—"

"Don't care. Send me back. I'll make it work."

"Allison." Morgan caught her sister's hand. "We need to talk about this."

"She's right," Strange said. "Do you understand that if you stop the Snap, Morgan will never be born?"

Ice ran down Allison's spine. Morgan hugged Allison.

"That is the consequence," Strange went on. "I don't know how far back the Time Stone will send you. But if you go back, if you take the actions that stop Thanos from gathering the Infinity Stones and wiping out half of the universe, millions of people who would have been born will never exist. Including Morgan." He looked over Allison's shoulder. "And depending on how far back you go, possibly Hawkeye."

Kate got up. "Don't care," she said, and Allison could smell the fear. But Kate stood tall. "I always knew that taking up with A-Force would probably be the end of me. But I joined the team to save people. If Allison can save the rest of the universe…" She took a deep breath. "Do it."

"Wait." Shuri joined the group. "If this insane theory were to actually work, what happens to us, here and now?"

"The moment we change the past, this future ceases to be," Strange said. "Those of us who are alive will be in the places our new lives dictate, with no knowledge of what has happened in those intervening years."

"And what about those of us who were born after the Snap?" Morgan asked. Allison put her arms around her younger half-sister, the half-sister she'd help Pepper Potts raise after Tony had died. "Do we just… stop?"

Strange reached out to touch Morgan's elbow. When he said, "Yes," his voice held only sorrow.

Allison hugged Morgan. "We'll find another way," Allison said, her eyes flashing. "There's no way that I'm going to do anything that—"

"You have to," Morgan said. "Allison, we have ten hours until everything here just… stops. That's ten billion people just on Earth alone. If you can go back, if you can save them all, if you can save the universe—"

"Morgan, no."

"You have to," Morgan whispered. She leaned her forehead against Allison's, tears spilling down her cheeks. "That's what us Starks do. We save the world."

Allison squeezed Morgan into a hug, felt Morgan trembling as she cried. She couldn't do this, couldn't go back in time in a way that would undo the very existence of her sister.

But if she didn't, her sister would cease to exist, along with everyone else, in mere hours.

She didn't have a choice.

"Why Allison?" Kamala asked. "Why not one of us? Me, or Shuri? Or even Bucky?"

Allison took a deep breath. She had to think logically, even as she cradled her crying sister. "I have the best chance of getting to Tony and getting him to listen, to do something with the Avengers to keep the Infinity Stones hidden," she said, working through the problem as she spoke. "If I end up at a time after he knows I'm his daughter, then I have first-hand access. If it's before, I can shock the crap out of him and get him to listen."

"I would have access to Wakanda," Shuri pointed out. "The technology, the army…"

"Strange said that he could send someone back with their memories and their powers," Bucky said. "Right?" Strange nodded. "Allison is a better advance party, then. She's more powerful." He looked at Allison. "You okay with this all, Alpha?"

Allison made herself smile. "Sure am, Cap."

"Why don't we send Bucky back in time?" Kate asked. "He's supernaturally strong."

Bucky shook his head. "If it's back to any point before 2014, I'll be in cryo. Hydra will have me." Allison let out a faint growl. "And if it's after, Tony Stark will be trying to kill me."

Shuri clapped her hands. "Fine, we send Allison back first. _This is the stupidest idea I have ever heard_ ," she added in Xhosa.

"If it doesn't work, you'll know, right?" Allison asked Strange.

"Possibly."

"If I don't make it, and everything keeps falling apart, then send someone else." Allison patted Morgan's back as the young woman sniffled. "Like Morgan said. Push comes to shove, I'm a Stark. Saving the universe is what we do."

Morgan wiped her eyes. "Do you know how far back you'll be sending her?" she asked Strange.

"It is not I who makes that decision. It is the Time Stone."

"Great," Morgan said. "I—"

A siren went off. Shuri hurried over to her computer, fingers flying over the sensors. "The monitoring satellites on the other side of the moon have stopped responding." She looked at the group, her eyes wide. "The earth does not have ten hours. We might not even have ten minutes."

"You have to do it," Morgan said urgently, turning on Allison. "We don't have any time, you have to _go."_

"But what am I supposed to do?" Allison asked, her heart already breaking from grief. If this worked, her sister would never be. "I thought I'd have time to think this over."

"There's no time." Morgan cupped Allison's cheeks in her hands, like Allison had done over the years when Morgan was just a little girl, growing up. "Just remember me, okay? Tell Mom and Dad about me if you can?"

Allison blinked through her tears. "I promise." She kissed Morgan's cheek, then stepped back.

"Alpha," Bucky said. He was pale, his blue eyes glowing. "Be smart. Keep yourself safe. If you get back there before Hydra is uncovered, don't go after them on your own. Get the Avengers to protect the Infinity Stones. And don't die."

Allison huffed out a breath. At her side, Strange was drawing complicated energy patterns in the air. "I'm going to get you safe as soon as I can."

"Don't do anything so stupid as that." Bucky scooped her up in a hug, his strength crushing. "Don't worry about me. You have to save the world, not save me."

"What was it your mom always said?" Allison asked, squeezing Bucky with all her might.

He let out a whuff. "He who saves a life, saves the world."

"And I'm going to save a whole lot of lives." Allison let Bucky go, rubbing the back of his neck in reassurance as she stepped away.

She looked around the room, at her teammates, her friends. Kamala was holding Morgan now, Shuri standing by Bucky, and Kate looking miserable.

Allison turned to Strange. His energy wove a tapestry in the air. "What do I do?"

"Stand there," Strange said. "And good luck."

Allison stood still, her hand over her heart as she looked at Morgan. "I love you," she said.

"Love you," Morgan said, one last time, then the entire universe collapsed under Allison's feet.

* * *

She fell forever.

* * *

Awareness crashed back in on her in an explosion of sound and smell and light. She jerked, trying to get up, but her body was restrained. Inhaling was pain, opening her eyes was a blinding torment.

"Allison!" shouted a voice just to her left. She cringed right, reaching for her knives, her guns, but the restraints across her lap and her chest held her in place.

It was too much. She had to get away, to get _safe_.

"Allison, stop!" The ground swerved and moved, just as Allison registered _vehicle_ , then _moving._ _Seat belt_ quickly followed. Allison slapped her chest, to release the restraints, but nothing happened.

The glare faded enough that Allison was starting to make out her surroundings. She was in a car. Ahead of her, highway and trees. To her right out the window, lay the glittering blue-grey of a lake. When she swung her head back to the left, what she saw made her almost crawl out of her skin.

It was Chris Argent.

Oh god, he was so young.

How far back had Allison _gone?_

"Stop," Allison got out, clawing at her seat belt as she tried to remember how to get it off. "Stop!"

Chris slammed on the brakes, swerving off to the shoulder so fast Allison would have gone through the window if she had managed to release the seat belt. Once the vehicle had stopped, some small mercy guided her hand to the release buckle at her hip and then she was free, the door swinging opening, Allison falling out of the SUV, barely able to keep her feet.

It had worked! She was in the past. She didn't know when, but Chris had never looked so young before the Snap, so it had to have worked.

Allison stumbled down the embankment on the slope down to the lake. Her foot slid out from under her and she slid, hands clutching at the sharp rocks, the dust kicking up a cloud and coating the air she breathed.

It had worked.

Then reality crashed in against realization.

It had worked.

She was never going to see Morgan again.

A cry of grief erupted from her chest. The sharpness of the rocks cut against her palms, almost slicing through her flesh.

Morgan was never going to _exist._

Allison had come back to save the universe, and her sister was gone.

She kicked the ground. She didn't know when she was, but she did know that whenever it was, she was going to find Thanos and kill him for what he had set into play.

But before that, she had to find Bucky, and find Tony… oh god, and Tony was still alive! She'd see her father again, and everyone, all the wolves, and Derek—

Her breath caught in her throat. Derek. Derek would still be alive, he had to be. There would never be a dark night in the Beacon Hills forest where Allison found Derek ripped nearly in half, the light fading from his eyes as he breathed his last.

She was going to save Derek.

She was going to save _everyone_.

"Allison!"

Allison turned to see Chris scrambling down the slope. Instinctively, she sprang to her feet, moving to keep away from him. She didn't know when she was, and if Chris Argent was her ally or her foe.

"Allison, what happened?" Chris demanded. "Did you hurt yourself?"

Allison looked at him, trying to read his face. It had been so long since she had needed to interpret Chris's expressions for her own survival, she had no idea if the concern was real.

Whatever he saw in her made him put his hands out. "Allison. It's okay." He took a step forward. Allison didn't move, waiting to see what he would do. Was this a trick? Was he hiding a gun? Stupid, really, considering how fast she was, but then how much did Chris know?

But why would she had been in a car with him if he was going to hurt her?

How far back had she gone?

"Sweetheart, why don't we go back up to the car," Chris went on. "Did you have another nightmare?"

"Nightmare," Allison repeated.

Chris tried to smile. "I know the flight was a long one. Sometimes that can kick up old memories."

Allison knew this; hell, getting Bucky to sleep after a long mission was nearly impossible, even decades after his torture by Hydra. But what would this Allison be having nightmares about?

She needed to know the date.

"Yeah," Allison said, and coughed against the dust. "It must have been a nightmare."

"Do you remember what it was about?"

She shook her head. "No."

"Okay." Chris reached out to put his hand on her arm, but she pulled away. "We'll go back to the car. There's some water in the back. We're only another hour from home."

Home.

Allison turned to look at the lake, and she finally knew where she was.

They were on the highway south of Beacon Hills. They were already on Hale pack territory.

 _Her_ territory.

"Come on," Chris said. He didn't try to touch her again. After a minute breathing in the lake air, Allison headed up the slope, Chris following her.

At the SUV, Allison had her first real moment of mental dissonance. The SUV was so _old_. Fashion in 2039 was for sleek electric vehicles, with most of the traffic in the big centres having moved to the skies. This SUV was a big, ugly box. And it would explain why the air smelled like that. Gasoline combustion engines everywhere.

"Let's get that water," Chris said, moving to the SUV's back door. He opened it and rummaged around. While he did so, Allison opened the passenger side door and looked into the cab. It held the detritus of any long trip across the decades: coffee cups, food wrappers. And an old-fashioned phone on Allison's side of the car.

She picked up the small rectangle. In her time, phones were small, sleek, using eyes-only visuals and typepads displayed in the air through implants and jewellery. Having her communication tied to this easily hackable brick was already giving her hives.

Morgan would hate this, Allison thought, then stopped. No. Morgan was never going to hate anything, because Morgan was never going to be.

Allison took a deep breath. Fine. So be it. She may have lost Morgan, but she wasn't going to lose anyone else.

She was a Stark. Starks did the impossible every day before breakfast.

"Here." Chris held the bottle over her shoulder. She took the warm plastic container. "Sorry, I got it cold but we've been driving for a while."

"It's fine," Allison said, trying for a smile. She had no idea how the expression looked, but Chris did not appear reassured. "See?"

She put her phone down, uncapped the bottle and took a swig. The water was about as gross as she expected; chemicals from the plastic had leached into the water and the temperature was tepid. Still, she swallowed.

"Are you ready to get back on the road?" Chris asked.

"Maybe just a minute," Allison said. She put the bottle into the cup holder, making a vow to dump it at the first opportunity, then picked up her phone. She saw Chris's eyes narrow. "I thought I'd get a picture."

"Of the lake?"

"Sure." Allison thought back to her childhood. What did kids do with pictures back then? Oh god, this was such a disaster. "You know us teenagers, putting everything up on Instagram."

"Instagram?" Chris echoed.

Oh shit. If she'd gone back in time to before _Instagram_ , she was really screwed. "Yeah." She turned, figured out how to unlock the phone, with the last four digits of her fake birthday, which she'd used until Tony had handed her a phone with retina unlocking software for her nineteenth birthday, and took a quick photo.

"Let's get moving," Chris said.

"Sure thing," Allison said, and got into the car.

Chris started the engine and drove them back out onto the road. Allison kept one eye on the highway as she poked around the phone. The calendar told her it was August 29, 2012, which was about as bad as she could have thought. The first time she lived this life, she'd met Tony Stark just before her birthday in 2012.

Which meant that Victoria Argent was already dead. And Chris didn't know that Allison wasn't his daughter.

Oh, the next few weeks were going to be hell.

But.

Allison tried to remember what else was happening in 2012. Bucky was in cryostasis with Hydra. Kamala was just starting high school in New Jersey. Kate was in _pre-school_. Shuri was a nine-year-old prodigy in Wakanda, where she was safe and protected.

Allison couldn't think about Morgan.

Tony Stark was in Malibu, fresh off his stint fighting aliens in New York. Pepper was there too, so she was safe. The mess with the Mandarin and Aldrich Killian didn't happen until Christmas, and Allison could take steps to stop that. She could save the lives of all the victims of the Extremis bombings.

She could save so many people.

What was happening in Beacon Hills in 2012? Derek was alive, that much she knew. And if Derek was alive, then Stiles wouldn't hate her. She took a breath as she looked out the window. That had been one of the deepest wounds, after what happened to Derek. Stiles had been her best friend for years, they had held together through losing so much in the Snap, but after what happened to Derek…

What she had done to Derek…

Hasn't happened, Allison told herself firmly. She was going to keep Derek alive, and Stiles too, and the pack, Erica and Boyd and Isaac and Jackson and Lydia and Scott…

Oh god.

What was she going to do about Scott?

He was barely _seventeen_. And even with how much it hurt, losing him in the Snap, at least they had gotten him and Lydia and Isaac back.

That was the crux of it. Before, Allison had lost her father, but had regained half her pack from his sacrifice.

This time, she wasn't going to let anyone get hurt.

She gave her head a shake. She had a mission. Bucky's words were firm in her memory. _You prepare for the mission, you undertake the mission, and then you come home and deal with the fallout in private._

She'd asked him how he did that, only a few weeks after Sam Wilson hung up the shield and passed the mantle of Captain America to Bucky.

 _If you have to, you scream,_ he had said, then told her in Xhosa, _If you must scream, scream towards the river. The river will hear you_.

So Allison would undertake her mission. She would save the universe.

Then she would go scream at the river until her voice gave out.

Allison went to the phone's photo album. The most recent pictures were sparse. There was a shot of the Eiffel Tower, and a few street signs in French. Paris, obviously. She tried to think back to the trip from the first time. She had still been so overcome with guilt and remorse about what she had done after Victoria died, she hadn't retained any memory of what had happened in that month.

This was going to be the hardest part of all. She was forty-six years old; how on earth could she remember what she'd been doing when she was seventeen? There had been too much death and trauma in the intervening years.

So. She'd have to wing it, around the people who knew seventeen-year-old Allison best.

The further back she scrolled, the more pictures of herself she found. And holy smokes, she was so skinny. She hadn't been this thin since she joined up with the superheroes after Tony died. Trying to keep up with superhumans meant muscle.

She looked at her wrist, pushed her sleeve up her arm. The sight of those slender bones irritated her. She'd earned every single pound of muscle. And now she was going to have to do it all again.

Something else was bothering her about the photos. Going back, Allison could see selfies almost every other shot, even in the weeks after Victoria had killed herself. But from the first shot of Paris, and all month, Allison hadn't taken a single selfie, or picture of another person.

Why not? She couldn't remember. She couldn't remember anything of that summer.

That was… disconcerting.

"Allison?"

Allison put the phone down. "Yes?"

Chris smiled at her. "I know we're close to home, but how would you feel about stopping for food?"

Allison glanced ahead. It was the truck stop she knew so well from her many road trips between Beacon Hills and L.A. to see Tony. It was moderately reassuring to see that it was still as decrepit and dirt-coated as she remembered. "Sure."

Chris pulled into the parking lot. Allison got out of the car and stretched. Her body was stiff, from the adrenaline and presumably the long drive from San Francisco. She needed to move.

A wolf-whistle cut across the parking lot. Allison turned to see a couple of truckers by the gas station, checking her out. She rolled her eyes as she slammed her door, going around the car to where Chris stood, glaring at the two men. "Are you okay?" he asked as she walked past him, just far enough away that he couldn't reach for her.

"What, that?" Allison jerked her thumb over her shoulder. "They're amateurs."

Chris turned his head, with what looked like confusion. What, was she supposed to break down and have the vapours when anyone harassed her? She was pretty sure that she would have been just as annoyed by that idea at seventeen as she was at forty-six.

"I wonder what their specials are," Allison said, to distract Chris. It must have worked, because he followed her into the restaurant.

The air was hot and smelled like coffee and pancakes and grilling meat. It was the smell of every truck stop and back-station dive she'd ever been in, sharing meals with her friends before they had to saddle up to save the galaxy. Even seeing everyone in old-fashioned clothing, with the terrible outdated hairstyles, wasn't enough to phase her.

"Table for two?" yelled the waitress. Allison nodded. "Over there."

Allison walked ahead of Chris to the booth, taking the seat facing the door. Chris stood, looking down at her, and for a moment Allison wondered if he was going to tell her to move.

Finally, he sat down across from her.

The waitress banged down two menus. "Specials on the board," she said. "Coffee?"

"Yes please," Allison said at once.

"Not for her," Chris countered. "Just for me. She'll have water."

Allison looked at Chris. "Why not?"

He pressed his lips together. "It's too late. You'll never get to sleep."

Allison glanced at the clock over the cash register. "It's five."

Chris's eyes narrowed slightly before he turned to the waitress. "One coffee, and one water." He waited until the waitress walked away. Then he turned that look back to Allison. "You know not to contradict me in public."

Great. She had managed to forget how controlling Chris had been in that last year. At seventeen, she had pushed back, and all she got from it was a reminder of helplessness and rage. Well, she wasn't going to play any more of Chris Argent's mind games. She only had to put up with a couple more weeks of him, then Tony Stark would crash into her life.

She tried to think of what a suitable act would be, one that wouldn't arouse Chris's suspicions. She couldn't make a scene; he hated those and she had no desire to draw attention. If she acted petulant, or whiny, it wouldn't make any difference.

So in the end, she just shrugged and picked up the menu. She could see out of the corner of her eye that Chris was watching her, but she pretended not to notice.

The restaurant was not busy, and the waitress returned quickly with their drinks. "Ready to order?"

"I'll have the patty melt," Allison said. "With a salad."

Chris ordered a hamburger, and the waitress vanished. Without anything to look at, Allison was stuck. What did seventeen year olds do when they were nervous? Should she even pretend to be nervous? What could she ask about? She'd have to pretend that she was normal, and normal people remember what they had done that summer.

The silence stretched on. Finally, Chris asked, "Do you know what you're going to do until school starts?"

Allison shrugged again. She had a very good idea going in her head, involving setting into motion her half-baked plan to save the universe, but she needed something to tell Chris. "Seeing some friends, probably."

"Like who?"

Allison blinked at the question. "Um, my friends. Lydia? Scott? Stiles? Isaac and the others?"

Chris folded his arms on the table. "Allison," he began. Allison's spine tingled with unease. "You need to stay away from your friends."

Allison didn't move for a long moment. Then she ran her tongue over her lower lip. Her body was tensed for a fight and she didn't know where this was all going. "Why?"

"Not Lydia," Chris said. "But the others. You should make new friends, hang out with them at school."

"Again," Allison said. "Why?"

"You need to cultivate the right kind of friends," Chris said. "You spending time around…" He struggled around finding a euphemism for _werewolves_. "Some of the more undesirable of your peers, it's not good for you."

Allison knew she should just let this go, let Chris go on thinking he was winning or whatever, but this kind of dehumanization of the people she cared about made her furious. That anger, on top of the grief and trauma she'd been living with for years, made her reckless. "So," she said, putting her arms on the table in an echo of Chris's position. "You'd like me to stay away from Scott. And Erica. Who are half-Hispanic. And Boyd, who's black. Did I get that right?"

Anger flashed across Chris's face. Allison held the eye-contact. "That's not what this is about, and you know it," he said in a voice both quiet and hot with anger. "This is about your safety."

"My safety," Allison repeated.

She remembered how the next month was supposed to go – in only a week's time, Maurice Dupont and his Hunter crew had come after her up in the hills in the forest preserve. She remembered Dupont's hand around her throat, calling her a monster's whore. And while she had no plans to restart her relationship with Scott McCall, Dupont and his entire ideology sickened her.

She leaned forward. "Every single one of my friends will do anything to keep me safe," she said. "And I would do the same for them."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Are you sure about that?" After a moment, Allison sat back. She was losing her temper, and she couldn't do that, not here, not yet. She had secrets she needed to keep until after she was out of Chris Argent's reach forever. "I have to go to the bathroom."

"Leave your phone here."

Allison did a double-take. Really? What did he think she was going to do?

Rage and helplessness bubbled in her chest, and beneath that flowed a sense of power that longed to lash out. Rather than deal with it here, Allison jerked her phone out of her pocket, yanked out the battery, then dropped the dead phone on the tabletop as she got up. She shoved the battery into her pocket as she walked the length of the restaurant to the washrooms.

She went in through the door, taking stock. Three stalls, two mirrors and sinks, and no surveillance cameras. Allison checked the stalls to make sure they were empty before going to the mirrors. She rested her hands on the cool porcelain of the sink and tried to breathe. Even the startling sight of her own face, twenty-eight years too young, wasn't enough to quell her growing fury.

Over the years, working with Bucky as Captain America's partner, he'd become half of her impulse control. He was gone now, locked in a Hydra cryo-tube, and even if he did come out tomorrow, he wouldn't know her. Her partner, her anchor, was gone.

Grief and anger welled up in her chest, and something more. The core of who she was, who she had become, poured out, filling every cell of her being with power. She was Allison Stark, daughter of Tony Stark and Clara Vasquez, heir to the Vasquez werewolf pack. Allison was born to the dark of the moon, human in body but werewolf in spirit and in blood. She had run with werewolves since she was seventeen, had fought the pack's enemies, and ever since that terrible, fateful night when Derek had died in her arms in the woods, she had protected the pack.

Allison leaned close to the mirror, letting her hair fall towards her face as her eyes glowed red, the power of the wolf burning through her body.

That was who she was. That was what she had carried with her into the past.

Alpha.

How _dare_ Chris Argent treat her like this? She was not a child, or a fool, and his trying to control her was pushing every button she had. She hated when anyone tried to control her; that was what had broken up most of her relationships over the years. Sam had said that it stemmed from childhood trauma at being raised by her kidnappers, while her auntie Anna had suggested that her Hunter upbringing was a special kind of trauma in its own right. Bucky always snorted and said that anyone who thought an alpha like Allison could be controlled, deserved to have their head smashed in.

And now, to have to sit and let Chris Argent dictate what she could drink and who she could talk to—

The bathroom door opened. Allison shut her eyes, willed the alpha down. The energy coiled back into her centre, glad at the brief stirring, but content now that Allison was back in control.

Allison opened her eyes, the same old brown irises reflected in the mirror. She saw a woman going into a stall, nothing to do with Allison at all.

What was it Bucky had said to her? _Be smart. Be safe. Don't die._

Well, if she couldn't be smart, at least she'd stay alive.

She had a universe to save.

The return to the table wasn't great. Chris was holding her phone. He was silent as Allison sat down. He kept the silence up for long enough that seventeen-year-old Allison would have been worried. But this Allison wasn't. She would be legally an adult in a few weeks. She had options, resources. And in the very thin chance that Chris decided that he was going to pick up Victoria's reins as the physical disciplinarian of the family… Allison had been slapped around by the best villains that the universe had to offer. She could handle it.

Or she could just hit back.

Finally, Chris deliberately put Allison's phone into his jacket pocket. Allison wanted to sigh. "If this is the kind of scene you want to cause," Chris said, "Then maybe I should keep your phone for a few days."

Allison felt her jaw clench. "Are you going to take the next step and ground me?" she asked, unable to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

Chris looked at her. "Now that you mention it, yes. No internet, no computer, no phone."

"So, house arrest."

"That's not what this is," Chris said.

"What about school?" Allison asked. "That starts in a week. I'll see them then. Or are you planning on yanking me out and homeschooling me?"

"That's not a bad idea."

"Oh, for—" Allison bit off the words when the waitress put the plates on the table. She took a breath, and smiled at the woman. "Thank you."

"No problem." She glanced at Chris. "Yell if you want more coffee."

Chris waited until she was back behind the register before he said, "Allison, I need you to listen to me."

"Maybe if you say something that makes sense, I will." Allison picked up the half sandwich and shoved it into her mouth before she said something that would make Chris lose his temper in the restaurant. Although, that might at least get the Sheriff involved, and Allison out of Chris's house before her birthday.

"Don't take such big bites."

Allison chewed for a while, then swallowed and put the sandwich down. "Life is going to get really boring, very fast, if all you do is criticize my behaviour."

"Then behave better." Chris picked up his burger.

"Wow," Allison said. " _Wow._ You do remember that I'm not seven, right?"

"Your behaviour reflects on me as your father," Chris said, putting his burger down untasted. "Your friends, how you conduct yourself."

Allison stared at Chris. She was finally able to figure out what the expression on his face meant.

He was _worried._

Suddenly, all the things she hadn't seen at seventeen made sense. Chris, panicked at how she spent time with the werewolves, how she was acting out, not at all like a proper Hunter. Because Maurice Dupont was in town, one of the old school Hunters who took the old code of behaviour very much to heart.

And Chris was worried that Allison's friends were going to come back to haunt her.

Not for the first time in her life, Allison cursed the Hunter mentality that dehumanized inhumans and sentient supernatural creatures. "Okay."

Chris narrowed his eyes at her. "What?"

"I won't be seen hanging out with my friends," she said. "Until whatever's happening blows over. But I still have to go to school."

Chris was staring at her.

"Just tell me what's going on."

Chris breathed in and out, slowly. "When we get home."

That was apparently all he was willing to say on the subject. He picked up his burger and started to eat.

Well then. Allison turned to her salad. It wasn't much, but it was a start. And it was something she could factor into how soon she could get Maurice Dupont and his buddies out of the picture.

She didn't care if it was in the back of a prison transport or in a body bag.

Being a superhero for sixteen years had done a number on greying her morality.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a simple run in the woods after dark turns into a bigger mess than Allison could have anticipated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am taking into consideration the moral quandaries of writing a character who is mentally much older than the body she inhabits. As with time travel, her choices have consequences, as do the choices of those around her.

* * *

They arrived back at the small apartment around six-thirty. They didn't have much luggage for having spent the summer in France, but Allison decided she had bigger things to worry about.

Once they were inside, Chris said, "You should unpack," in a voice that brooked no disobedience. Allison had no problem with this, as it got her out from under Chris's eyesight for a few minutes. She hadn't been in this apartment since she really was seventeen, but thankfully the doors were open so she could figure out which way to go.

'Her' room was tidy and spartan. Tossing her suitcase on the bed, Allison stood in the middle of the room and turned slowly, taking in every sight, every scent. The room smelled of faded laundry detergent and dust, with the musky undertone of old books. One shelf held schoolbooks, while the others looked like a little girl's storybooks.

It appeared staged, like Allison had been trying to pretend she wasn't the young woman she had become.

Out in the living room, Chris's cell rang. "Argent," he said as he answered, his voice as clear as if he had been standing next to Allison. _Hat's off to alpha hearing_ , she thought. "Not tonight," Chris went on. "We just got back. I need to spend some time with my daughter."

Allison moved over to the bed, idly opening the suitcase. The clothes inside were a mix of clean and worn, with the faint scent-echo of dried blood rising in the air.

"I don't care what you think," Chris snapped out. "Just—wait."

Footsteps warned Allison that he was headed in her direction. She dug a handful of clothing out of the suitcase and dumped it on the bed, giving the appearance that she was doing as Chris had asked before he appeared in the doorway. She looked up. "Is that a work call?" she asked, all innocence.

"Finish unpacking," Chris said, and closed the door on her. She heard him walk back to the living room. "I didn't ask you to come to Beacon Hills. I have everything under control."

Allison held up a blue shirt. There were faint bloodstains on the cuff. "No, you don't," she muttered. She pawed through the rest of the clothing. How had she survived a month overseas with only four shirts?

"No, you're not—" Chris stopped talking, but Allison could hear him pacing. This went on for several minutes, as Allison sorted her clothing piles, one for the laundry and one for the closet. She had even gotten as far as trying on the worn leather boots in the bottom of the suitcase before Chris spoke again. "I understand. I'll be here."

Allison paused, her hand on the boot's laces. Someone was on the way over, someone Chris didn't want to see. What should she do? Act nice and innocent? Offer to make coffee? Maybe just hide?

Footsteps again. Chris opened the door without knocking, which set off Allison's warning bells. "What?" she asked, putting the boots in her closet.

Chris looked at her for a minute. "I have to go out tonight," he said finally. "For work. I don't know when I'll be back, probably late. You shouldn't wait up for me."

"Oh. Okay." Allison tucked her hands in her back pockets, missing the knives she habitually kept there. Would keep there? "I'll watch some shows."

"Right." Chris glanced around the room. "We'll talk tomorrow, okay?"

"Sure, if you want."

Still, Chris didn't move. "You should put some pictures up in here," he said. "Of your mom, at least."

A curl of anger slid around Allison's heart. She didn't have a mother, not since Victoria Argent murdered her on a cold Los Angeles hillside before tearing Allison prematurely into the world. But she had spent years dealing with that particular wound, so all she said was, "Yeah, that's a good idea."

With that, Chris seemed satisfied. He withdrew, leaving the door open this time.

" _Baboon_ ," Allison muttered in Xhosa. She had become conversant in the language after she started working with Bucky, even more so when Shuri became their official UN representative on becoming the Black Panther when T'Challa stepped down as king.

Memories of Shuri came in waves, crashing over Allison. Shuri in the Black Panther suit, saving children from a burning building while Bucky gave her cover. Shuri at the UN, arguing for the rights of the Undusted. Shuri showing Allison the wonders of Wakanda from a hovercraft.

Shuri, sobbing in the dark after Jupiter vanished, along with the best and brightest astronauts of Wakanda's space exploration program.

Allison took a deep breath. She didn't have time for grief. If she did what she needed to do, then none of those things would ever happen. Shuri would grow up safe and loved and so, so smart, and she would be the best ruler Wakanda ever had.

Shuri could do so much good.

And all Allison had to do was to stop Thanos and save the universe.

She shook her head. Here she was, dallying when she needed to be acting. Chris was still in the apartment, but Allison could start in her room

The first step of any mission, Bucky had always said, was having the proper equipment. Sam had used to snark at him, what about when you're sleeping naked at three in the morning and the bad guys came in, and then it devolved into a round of dick-waving jokes that Allison pointedly ignored. So, equipment.

The first step was packing a go-bag, with clothes for a few days and other supplies. She found a small duffle in the back of her closet. In went t-shirts, jeans, underwear. She put the leather boots to the side to go on top, because everyone knew that you kept your boots close to hand in case of emergency.

Then she methodically ransacked the room, looking for what treasures a seventeen-year-old girl might have. There weren't a lot of places to hide things, and she'd have to wait to dismantle the heating vents until after Chris had gone. She did find an envelope of pictures taped to the back of the dresser drawer, which appeared to be of her friends at school events. She put them into the duffle, just in case.

She was vaguely surprised that she didn't find any weapons. As far back as she could remember, she'd had some sort of knife on her. Which, as Sam had pointed out, was worrying, but her life hadn't been an easy one. Had this been the tipping point? Allison wondered. This thing with Dupont and the Hunters?

Uneasy, Allison started hanging up the clean clothes from the suitcase. She wondered where the laundry was, and if she was supposed to do that. She didn't quite recall when sonic washers had taken over for the old-school water-and-soap based ones, but it probably wasn't as far back as 2012.

A knock at the front door pulled Allison up. She hadn't heard the buzzer go to let anyone into the building. Which either meant that their visitor had snuck in with someone else, or they had an access card.

Either way, Allison didn't like it.

Chris opened the front door. "I need another minute," he said.

The unseen visitor said, "We have everything in the car. Come on."

"A minute."

Allison drifted down the hall. The scents from the living room were stress-sweat and the too-sweet smell of rotting apples. Someone who was diabetic? Or, Allison realized as she peeked around the corner into the living room, someone who had a penchant for messing with wyvern poison.

It was Maurice Dupont.

"Allison," Chris said warningly.

The other man looked Allison over like she was for sale. When his eyes finally rose to her face, he smiled in a way that would have mortified seventeen-year-old Allison, and made forty-six-year-old Allison want to punch his nose up into his brain. "So this is Allison."

"Hi," Allison said, keeping her voice quiet. Make him think she was shy.

"Aren't you going to introduce us?" Dupont asked Chris, who had just picked up his jacket.

Chris hovered on the point of saying no, then ground out, "Allison, this is Maurice Dupont. He's a business acquaintance."

"Oh, okay," Allison said. She knew full well who he was, and what he was doing in town. She wondered if she'd have to kill him and make it look like an accident this time.

"Come on," Chris said, going to the door.

Dupont, his eyes still on Allison, moved slowly to join Chris. "I'll be seeing you around," he said.

Allison just smiled inanely until Dupont was out in the hallway. Chris gave her one last glare, then left, closing the door behind him. She heard a key turn in the lock.

Allison stood waiting for a few minutes until she was reasonably sure that they were gone, before tossing the place. With surgical precision, she searched every nook, every cranny, every vent and floorboard and secret hiding place.

She found what she expected of an Argent; stacks of cash, hundreds with non-sequential serial numbers in case an off-the-grid get-away was needed. She took five thousand of it, hoping that was enough, and stacked the other thousands back in their original hiding places.

She also found the weapons Chris had cached around the place. The crossbows and firearms she left alone, not wanting to disturb the alarm system, but she took the straight-edge hunting knife and the two tiny throwing knives. She also left her bow in its lockbox; it was too big to tuck away.

It was what she did not find, however, that made her angry.

Chris had taken the cords for the land-line phone and for the computer modem.

"What is this _bullshit,_ " Allison muttered as she went to the safe. "This is right out of one of those afterschool holo-specials on domestic violence, _seriously_."

She remembered the combination to the safe, which thankfully hadn't been upgraded to require a fingerprint. Inside she sorted out the papers, retrieving her birth certificate, social insurance card, and her bank card. She left the other papers as she had found them, tucked neatly under Victoria's wedding ring and her jewellery.

After stashing cash and cards into the duffle, and hiding the bag under the bed, Allison paced around the apartment. Outside, the sun was just starting to dip down in the sky. Sunset was her favorite time of day in Beacon Hills, and she was suddenly struck with longing to see the sun set over the mountain. Making a sudden decision, Allison went to the bedroom to braid up her hair, change into running gear, and tuck the throwing knives into her tiny pockets. Chris had said he would be out for hours; no need for him to know what Allison got up to.

This line of thought continued right up until Allison tried to open the apartment door. It didn't budge. She tried again, but the door didn't move. Allison stepped back, almost too shocked to be angry.

He had _locked her in?_

"You son of a bitch," Allison said to the door. "You really think that's going to hold me?"

She could have broken the door down, but it wasn't necessary. She went back to the bedroom, opened the window wide, and looked out. The apartment was on the third floor in the back of the building, with an inch-wide brick ledge circling the walls half a foot above the window. And there, only five feet away, was a solid drainpipe.

She took off her runners, stuffed her socks into the shoes, and strung the laces around her neck. In less time than it took to think about it, Allison hoisted herself out of the window, hooked her fingers on the ledge, and swung herself over to the pipe. She let herself down to the second floor, then jumped to the concrete below.

She quickly pulled on her socks and shoes and was off, running on the Beacon Hills sidewalk like any other girl on a Wednesday night.

The freedom and fresh air helped calm some of the anger that being locked in the apartment had stirred in her. She kept her pace human-slow on the way out of the city centre, down past the reservoir, and up to the high school.

She didn't understand what was wrong with Chris Argent. He had always been overprotective, except when it came to things like teaching his daughter to kill supernatural creatures. He'd left any physical correction of Allison's behaviour to Victoria. Outside of torturing her psychologically as part of her Hunter training, he'd generally been a good father.

But thankfully, she only had a few more weeks of dealing with Chris. If things got too weird, she could always pull the trigger early and contact Tony Stark on her own, pretending that she found out about him and Clara.

She ran across the lacrosse field, into the woods that stretched up into the large forest preserve. As she went deeper and deeper in among the trees, she felt a sense of peace surround her, as if she was wading into a cool pond on a hot day.

This was _home._

She came to a stop at the crest of a hill and stretched out her senses, listening for human heartbeats. When she heard nothing, she smiled, and let the alpha rise in her.

Then she ran.

This was what being the alpha gave her; faster reflexes, more stamina, better sight, and pure speed. She ran up the mountain, feet light over the ground. She jumped from rock to rock by the river, letting the gentle murmur of water guide her for a while until the rock face became sheer. Just for fun, she climbed it.

Higher and higher she went, coming out of the woods when the treeline thinned, skirting the scree slopes on nimble feet. Overhead, soft clouds floated in the sky, tinged with deep reds and oranges.

After another scramble up a rock face, Allison reached the top of the mountain. She must have covered ten miles to get up here, and the sun was just setting to the west. Allison sat on a boulder, taking in the colours of earth's sun setting in a perfect quiet sky.

This was what she was going to protect. This world, and every other world. She'd find a way to stop Thanos and the Snap.

There was no other option.

Her heartbeat was loud in her ears, and it took a few moments to register another sound. Another heartbeat, just a fraction off-rhythm from hers.

Not close. But getting closer.

Allison took a deep breath, ready for a fight. The person approaching her made little sound, nothing above a heartbeat and soft breath. Obviously not someone who had found her by accident.

Then the wind changed direction, and Allison could pick up the scent. Werewolf. Worn leather. And the very faintest hint of _Chanel Pour Monsieur_.

Her lips curled up into a smile, warmth pooling in her stomach and in her limbs. "Peter."

The breathing stopped for a moment, then footsteps crunched on the grass. "Allison Argent," came an oh-so familiar voice. "All alone."

"You're alone too," Allison returned, an off-hand volley in a game of words she'd been playing with Peter since the Snap. "With me."

"What makes you think that I would be worried about that?" Peter asked. She could feel the heat from his body along her back, but she didn't turn around. "Little Allison."

"Did you come up here to watch the sunset?" Allison asked. In the distance, a hawk soared over Beacon Hills. "It's so quiet."

"I heard someone running in the woods and came to see who it was." Peter touched the back of her neck with a gentle finger, sending a thrill of electricity down her spine. "Imagine my surprise at finding you."

"I don't see why," Allison said, breath light on her tongue. "It's the most beautiful place in Beacon Hills."

Then she turned around, because no matter how long she and Peter had been playing their little games, she didn't like to have him at her back without knowing what mood he was in.

What she saw, however, knocked the rest of the words out of her mouth.

Peter was so _young_. He couldn't have been older than forty, years younger than Allison was. The last time she'd seen Peter had been the year before when she was in Beacon Hills for Scott's birthday party, and he'd been almost seventy. But this Peter was young, with smooth skin and dark hair and eyes full of a fiery rage, all of it directed at her.

She ran her tongue over her lower lip. The way Peter's eyes caught on the motion was that of a predator watching prey, wondering if it should bother going in for the kill.

Fine. The best part of playing with Peter Hale had always been convincing him that she wasn't his prey. "Did you have a nice summer?"

Peter's expression faltered. "Summer," he repeated.

"Yes." Allison stood up. Peter didn't move, so the motion put Allison far too close to him for safety. "How was your summer?"

Peter reached out, telegraphing his movements with exaggerated slowness. He pushed a strand of hair behind Allison's ear. "Are you trying to make pleasant conversation while I decide if I'm going to kill you?"

Allison rolled her eyes. "You're not going to kill me," she said, stepping back and away from Peter's touch. "If you were, you would have rushed me the moment you saw me. What you have is a problem."

"A problem?" Peter turned to watch Allison walk in a circle around him. "What are you talking about?"

Allison stopped, her hands loose at her sides, aching to touch Peter, to start a fight or something else just as intimate. "You're curious," she said. "Something's going on that you don't understand, and you're trying to figure it out."

Peter bent his head. He was close enough to bite her. "I'm not curious about you," he said, and the lie tasted like night jasmine on the air. "I'm trying to decide if I want to kill you up here, or drag your body closer to town."

"Peter." Allison looked at him. "You're not going to kill me."

"Oh?" Peter moved forward, until his body brushed hers. Old anger warred with something else in his eyes. "You seem pretty sure of that."

"I am." Allison touched the top button on his shirt. She had never figured out how he could run through the woods in a button-up and not look bedraggled after. Born werewolves had all the luck. "Because you can only kill me once. There are so many other things you could do over and over, right?"

Confusion swept over Peter's face, and that was a hell of a thing to see. "What are you doing?"

"I'll make you a bet," Allison said, briskly stepping away. "You give me a five-second head start, and then if you can catch me, I'll tell you anything you want to know."

" _If_ I catch you?" The scorn dripped from the words. "If you run and I have to chase you, I'll kill you."

"We'll see about that." Allison took another step back, calculating her trajectory. The easiest way down the mountain was directly behind Peter. If she went south-west, she'd have to loop back down and around, adding another five miles to her run. "You just have to remember one thing."

"What?"

Her smile grew, as the alpha power uncurled in her limbs. "If I'm dead, I can't answer your questions."

She saw the wolf rise in Peter's eyes, knew he was about to attack, but that didn't matter.

He'd never be able to catch her.

Allison spun on one foot and pushed off, barely evading Peter's reaching hand. Another step, and she was gone, calculating every step before she took it. If she went too straight, she'd end up going down a scree slope that would likely destabilize under her feet. If she went too far to the left, she'd end up having to jump down into a blind canyon.

Peter was right behind her. She didn't turn around, as she'd learned her lesson the hard way that seeing what was chasing you wasn't worth the loss of speed. She angled slightly to her right, flying over the high mountain grass, then banked hard at the last possible second before she flew off into the air, scrambling down the hard-packed wall at little more than a controlled fall.

She heard Peter curse and the sound of his pursuit dropped away as he tried to navigate this new complication. Allison didn't pause, just landed in a roll to bleed off momentum, and ran into the forest.

The high trees blocked out most of the remaining light. That wasn't a problem to Allison's alpha eyes, and certainly not in territory she knew like the back of her hand. She'd been running in these hills since she really was seventeen, and she remembered every change to the terrain from floods, lightning, and fires.

She kept running. She could hear Peter behind her, having likely jumped down the cliff face to save time. It was a little surprising that he was gaining on her. Even in his prime, after Allison had become the Alpha, Peter had never been able to catch her.

Muscle mass, Allison decided as she ran towards the river. Working with Captain America in defending the solar system had come with years of training and fighting, which had added at least twenty pounds to what she assumed she weighed. Not having that muscle now was making her slower, even with her alpha strength.

As Allison scrambled across a fallen log, she was able to admit that taunting Peter into a chase might have been a bad idea.

She didn't know what he would do if he caught her.

She needed to change the game.

There was a place ahead where the water had cut down through the rocks, and if a werewolf ran very fast, they might be able to jump to the other side. Allison had no doubt that she could make the jump, but she also knew she'd lose speed and Peter would not.

So she improvised. She changed direction and ran towards the point, knowing that Peter could cut the diagonal and catch her if she got this wrong. His footsteps were the only sound she could hear in the forest, as if the animals themselves held their breath for the conclusion of the hunt.

Out of the corner of her eye, Allison saw Peter speed towards her, his eyes gleaming bright blue as he reached for her. At the very last minute, before he caught her, she lunged towards one of the ancient pines on the crest of the ridge. Her momentum helped her climb the ten feet to the first branch, and from there she could haul herself from branch to branch, higher with every step, to the place where the sheer rock wall towered over the river.

From the sounds below, Allison could tell that Peter had missed the jump. Soon he would have his claws out to get up the tree, but that left Allison with just enough time to haul herself up to the top of the rock wall to where it flattened out into scrubby trees scoured by the constant wind.

She was tiring, which irritated her. At her full strength, she could run for days. She would have to build up her strength again, and she didn't have the _time._

Peter was coming. She could hear the crunch and thrash of the tree as it shook under werewolf claws. She tried to decide what to do. Run for the hill? Jump over him into the river and hope she didn't kill herself on the rocks?

"Well done, Stark," Allison said to herself. "Get sent back in time to save the world and die bloody on your first night. Really fucking dumb."

She was out of practical options. What could she do? Throwing herself on Peter's mercy didn't seem like a great plan. Maybe she could distract him, channel all that energy into a different outlet.

Vaguely, Allison recalled that she'd done just that with Peter after the Snap, when dealing with their grief and loss had started off as a fight in the forest and ended up with them fucking in the backseat of her car.

It could be done. It wasn't the best idea she'd ever had, but it beat letting the universe decay.

So she stood, breathing hard, with her face towards the river.

Peter crawled over the top of the rocks, his face shifted. When he saw Allison just standing there, he let his features fade back to human, getting to his feet and brushing the dust off his jacket as if he was at an afternoon garden party instead of in murderous pursuit. "Why did you stop?"

Allison put her hands on her hips. "We're at the top of the range. If I kept going, I'd end up in Redding."

"I see." Peter stalked towards her. Allison was beginning to get a little worried. "So, earlier, you asked about my summer." Allison started to back away, but by then Peter was on her, grabbing her around the waist, moving to slam her up against a tree. Peter pinned her there with the weight of his body, holding her so her feet didn't touch the ground. When he smiled, his fangs gleamed in the light of the moon.

"I did," Allison whispered, hardly able to catch her breath as she clutched at Peter's shoulders. His hands were bruising in their strength, but he wasn't digging into her skin with claws.

Not yet.

"So tell me." Peter turned his head to sniff her throat. "How was your summer?"

Allison leaned in and bit his cheek.

With a yelp, Peter pulled back. Allison hit the ground, keeping her feet. They glared at each other. "What was that?" Peter demanded.

"You were hurting me." Allison pulled down the waistband of her running pants. Even in the dimness, she could see the dark red bruises forming on her hip. "Kicking you in the dick seemed like overkill."

Peter rubbed his jaw. "Thanks?"

Allison pulled her waistband back into place. "It's not off the table yet."

Peter let his hand drop. "I told you I'd catch you if you ran."

"You also said you'd kill me if I ran, and yet here we are."

Peter breathed in. "As you say, it's not off the table yet." He stepped in again, trapping Allison against the tree. He was hot and dusty and smelled like running and the forest air and Allison's pack and she _ached_.

She tried twice to swallow. "I also said I'd answer any question you had if you caught me."

"I remember that." Peter leaned in, slowly, and ran his nose down the side of Allison's neck. She closed her eyes against the sensation. "You're enjoying this."

"Define 'this'."

"What I'm doing to you." He put his hand on her waist, over the bruises he had so recently left on her skin.

Allison licked her lips. Peter's breath was hot. "You're not wrong."

"What if I were to do this?" And with that, he licked a warm wet line up her throat.

Allison tried to swallow a squeak of surprise. "That's… okay," she got out.

"And this?"

Peter pulled back, and instinct took over. Allison moved to the side to see Peter open his mouth, fangs out, and she kicked at his knee, twisting her upper body to the side and pushing him over. She rode him to the ground, pulling out a knife to put to his throat. One knee pressed against his thigh, dangerously close to his crotch.

"That," Allison said severely, "You don't get to do without buying me dinner first."

Peter let his head fall back. "Are you going to slit my throat?"

"Probably not."

"Then get off me."

"No." Slowly, keeping the knife over his pulse point, Allison moved until she straddled his waist. "We finish the conversation like this."

Peter's eyebrows went up. "What's this?" he asked. "The littlest Argent has a case of wolf pack fever?"

Allison pressed the tip of the knife into Peter's skin, releasing a drop of blood. The scent of copper and heat filled the air between them. "Call me that again, and the knife goes deeper."

"Then what do you want me to call you? Sweetheart? Darling?" A momentary gleam in Peter's eye. "Princess?"

Allison made a face. "Just Allison."

"Oh, never _just_ Allison." Peter put his hands on her thighs. If he moved fast, if she didn't react, he could gut her like this. "What happened to you this summer, Allison?"

Allison moved the knife back. "I don't know."

"You don't know?" Peter ran his fingers over her left leg. "You run like a werewolf, you climb like a cat, and you smell…"

Allison's fingers twitched on the knife. "I smell like what, Peter?"

Peter's hand flattened on her leg. When he spoke, the slight menace in his voice was gone, leaving only confusion behind. "You smell like home. You smell human but you smell like home. And part of me wants to kill you for it."

Oh.

_Oh._

He was smelling the alpha, the Hale alpha power that had gone to Allison when Derek died in her arms all those years before. And before Derek, it had been Laura, and Talia, and Peter's own father.

Peter was smelling the power that had always meant _family_ to him.

She didn't know what to do.

"Should I kill you?" Peter asked, eyes almost silver in the moonlight.

"No." Allison moved off Peter, standing to walk across the plateau while he regained his feet. "I'd prefer if you didn't."

Peter brushed himself off. "I'm sure you would." He looked around. "Where the hell are we?"

"Two Hat Ridge."

"And how do you know that?"

Allison turned back to him. "Someone told me." Cora, actually, years ago when she came home after the Snap to try to pick up the pieces. "I'll make you a deal."

"I'm listening."

"You asked me what happened this summer." She took careful steps over the rocks. "That's the wrong question."

"Are you going to tell me the right one?"

Allison walked along a line of shadows that put her right in front of Peter. "If you figure out the right question to ask, I'll tell you the truth."

"This feels like a riddle in some old story." Peter looked her over. "Are you a sphinx?"

"No."

"Are you a vampire?"

"Vampires aren't real."

"Are you a vampire?"

Allison sighed. This was going to get tedious. "No."

"Are you a succubus?"

"Isn't that another kind of vampire?"

"Answer the question."

"No."

"Pity." Peter touched the hollow at the base of Allison's throat. "That would have made things more interesting."

Allison raised her eyebrow. "Why?"

Peter met her eyes as his finger slid from her throat down to the top of her running bra. "You know what they say about a succubus."

"That they make you go crazy?"

Peter took his hand away. "That they'll do absolutely _anything_ in bed."

Allison knew that this needed to stop, that she needed to walk away before she did something incredibly stupid, but this game with Peter was the most familiar thing she'd found since waking up in Chris Argent's car that afternoon. "If there's anything in particular you're looking for," she said, turning her head just a little. "All you have to do is ask."

Peter narrowed his eyes at her. "Do you know what you're offering?"

"Yes." Allison tucked her knife back in its little sheath in her pocket. "Do you know what you're asking?"

The corner of Peter's lip curled, and not in a smile. "I'm asking an _Argent_ if she wants to get fucked by a Hale."

"That's not what this is." Allison put her hand on his chest. She could feel his heartbeat in her palm. "This is about you figuring out what I am." She pressed down, the warmth of his skin a familiar balm. "And I know how very much you like to figure things out."

Peter stared at her for a long moment. The only sound was the wind moaning over the rocks, on its lonely journey to the valley.

Then he kissed her.

She was expecting it, but the sensation almost knocked her knees out from under her. The kiss was familiar, even from a man who was simmering in rage. This was Peter, and Allison had been kissing Peter Hale for over half her life.

His lips were bruising, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, and even that was familiar, of Peter angry, Peter hurting, Peter needing a distraction Allison could willingly provide. She gave it to him now, one hand moving to his waist, the other on his neck, as she kissed him back.

As she had hoped it might, Peter's kiss softened from _anger_ to _piqued_ , then to _nettled_ , then slowed to _interested_. His arm went around her waist, holding her as his other hand reached up to cup her breast.

Allison was about to touch his face, pull away to try to figure out what she was supposed to do next, when the tree beside them exploded. Allison yanked Peter down and behind a rocky outcropping before the sound of the gunshot reached them.

"Bitch!" Peter exclaimed. "You lured me up here—"

"Shut up!" Allison pushed him further down. "I need to see where they are."

She raised her head, carefully, scanning the area. If whoever was shooting at them had a night vision scope, they were dead. But, also, the scope itself would give some indication to her eyes… and there, yes, she could see a faint glint of movement off in the distance.

Peter grabbed her leg. "I'm going to _kill you_."

"Save it for the preacher," Allison snapped, ducking back down. "They're up over on the next rise."

"That's five hundred yards away."

"Yeah, so we know their aim sucks." Allison was calculating distances and wind speed in her head. "Go down this way, you can get into the valley and back into town along the power line cut."

"What are you going to do?"

Allison looked at him. He was breathing hard, anger and exhilaration warring within him. Allison wanted to kiss him again, but that would just get them both killed. "I'm going to draw them off."

Peter's grip tightened on her leg. "Or you're going to go meet up with your partners."

Because, of course, what else could it be but Hunters? Allison reached down to pry Peter's hand away. "The only Hunters in town right now would gladly flay me alive for consorting with the enemy." She slapped his cheek. "Go as soon as I get up."

"Allison!"

Allison feinted a rise, jerking back when the bullet bit into rock three feet from her. With all her strength, she ran, up over the rocky plateau, painfully exposed for five seconds. Bullets came after her, biting at her heels until she was safely behind a pillar of stone. There was no way to know if Peter had gone or not; and she still had to get out of here alive.

Allison snarled. She was going to kill Maurice Dupont for this, for attempting the lives of any of her wolves, and in her town. And she was going to enjoy it.

With a burst of speed, Allison ran for the trees. She was out of scope of the sniper in seconds.

Of course, this had her heading away from Beacon Hills. As long as she stayed low, in the thicker areas of the forest, it was unlikely that the Hunters could get down from the heights and track her in the undergrowth. But it was still going to be a slog back into town, over fifteen miles away.

She hadn't heard any more shots since she took to the trees, so she was pretty sure that Peter made it out alive.

At least there was that.

 _Bucky would kill me for this_ , Allison thought as she set her shoulders for the run back to town.

The next hour was a mess of hyperactive senses and self-recrimination. Allison spooked at every sound, every startled rabbit as she ran home. She could hear Bucky's voice in her head, telling her what she'd done wrong and how to be better next time. Sam was there too, chiding her for letting her emotions guide her in the field, and how she'd done so much work to get over that very thing.

Under it all, Allison felt as if she was somehow broken. She had spent years as a superhero, and while they'd won most of their battles, they'd lost people. But over the last year, as the universe had started to dissolve in pockets all around them, the massive loss of life had been staggering. After a while, Allison had been numbed to it all. Even when Carol, a woman Allison had fought along side for over a decade, had died, Allison had only sat there, empty.

The only thing that had made her cry in the last year was that morning, twenty-six years in the future, when she'd looked at her baby sister and realized that to save the universe, her actions would prevent Morgan from ever existing.

Even now. She was in the past, where her family didn't know her and her friends would never understand. Her partner of sixteen years was currently frozen in a Hydra cryo tank, with the added bonus of being brutally tortured if they ever pulled him out. She was stuck in a seventeen-year-old's body, with a so-called father who was trying to cut her off from the outside world, and she had very few options.

Maybe, if she couldn't feel sad, she could get mad. Anger was one area where Allison was a champion.

So. Angry. Angry about no information? She'd get a computer and hack into the Stark servers, which had been easy in the future and should be a cakewalk now. No phone? She'd buy a burner with the cash she'd grabbed from Chris. Hunters wanted to kill her? She'd just kill them right back.

She was a Stark, and like her father before her, she could make her way out of any situation with a paperclip and a box of crackerjacks.

It was well after dark when Allison finally made it back to the apartment building. There were no lights showing in the Argent windows, so Allison took off her shoes for the climb up the drain pipe. She was so tired now that she hurt, but she couldn't stop until she was inside. Up the pipe, holding the narrow ledge to swing her legs towards the open bedroom window, and she was inside the dark room.

As her feet touched the floor, she knew that something was terribly wrong. There was _someone else_ in the pitch-black room with her and she barely had time to drop her shoes before a body crashed into her, knocking her down. Her face hit the floor, her teeth slicing through her lip, blood filling her mouth. She swallowed as she pushed her attacker off, scrambling up and over the bed in the brief space before she was attacked again. On bare feet she bolted for the living room, reaching to get to the gun case. She'd set off the alarm, but she'd be alive.

As Allison yanked on the handle of the gun case, the lights went on. Allison whirled, arms up in defence. Chris Argent stood in the hall, looking like someone had just knocked the wind out of him.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Allison demanded through bloodied lips. "Why did you attack me?"

"I didn't know it was you," Chris said, stalking toward Allison. "Where were you? Why did you go out after I told you to stay here?" His eyes were a little wild. "Was that you in the woods?"

Allison planted her feet. "Were you there?" The air in her lungs turned to ice. "Were you the one shooting at me?"

"What were you doing up there?" Chris yelled. "Who were you with?"

"Why were you shooting at me?" Allison shouted back. "What was the game, Chris, just go up into the woods with your new friends and see if you could bag yourself a werewolf? They're _teenagers!"_

Chris grabbed her, gripping so tight that if Allison hadn't been an alpha, he would have broken her wrist. "I told you to stay here and stay safe, and the first thing you do is run off with your monster friends?" He shook her. "Who were you with? I know it wasn't Scott. Who was it? What were you letting him do to you?"

"Let me go," Allison said, pushing at Chris with her free hand. She could break his fingers in an instant, but she didn't want to get to that point until she had to. "Get _off!"_

"Was it Derek?" Chris went on. "Were you up there meeting Derek Hale?"

"Please," Allison scoffed. "Derek wouldn't let an Argent within touching distance of his dick."

Even with the iron grip on her arm, Allison hadn't really been expecting much more of a fight from Chris. So the closed fist against the side of her face was a shock.

As the punch landed, instinct took over. Allison moved with the blow, sliding to the side and twisting her arm out of Chris's grip. She went low, driving an elbow into his thigh to distract him, before shoving him against the wall. She spun away, backing across the living room in case Chris came after her again. But he just stood there, staring at her.

Allison drew ragged breath. "You don't get to do that," she said. Her voice shook. "I don't care what Victoria used to do to me, or what your father did to you. You don't ever get to do that to me."

Chris rubbed his face. There was blood on his knuckles, and Allison distantly wondered how it had gotten there. "Who were you with?"

"I just ran into a friend, thought we'd get some extra training in," Allison said. She glanced down at her arm. The hand-shaped bruise around her wrist was an ugly red. "Were you really going to shoot me? Put a sniper bullet through my head?"

"At first I didn't know it was you," Chris said. His rage was gone, and now she didn't know what he was thinking. "All I saw was a girl kissing someone who moved like a werewolf."

Allison flexed her fingers. "The only girl who'd be running up in those woods would be Erica. She's hardly even seventeen!"

"Who were you with?" Chris asked again.

"Does it matter?"

He pushed off the wall. "It matters," he said. "You have no idea how much it matters."

Allison stood her ground, hands loose at her sides. Chris was human, and he didn't have any weapons on him, but if he came for her again, she would defend herself.

"Allison. Tell me."

Allison tilted her head. "It was Peter Hale."

Chris drew up abruptly. "Peter?" he repeated, incredulous. "You let _Peter Hale_ put his hands on you?"

"Yes."

"He's a killer! He murdered your aunt in front of you!"

Allison laughed, startling them both. "Kate set _his family on fire!"_ she exclaimed. "He watched his children burn to death in front of him!"

"And you let him _touch_ you?"

"Oh, I was planning on letting him do more than that."

Revulsion crossed over Chris's face. "Why are you doing this?" he asked. "This, this isn't how your mother and I raised you!"

"What, into making incredibly stupid life decisions? I'd say that's exactly how you raised me."

There was a moment of silence. Then Chris lifted his head. "Get out."

Allison stared at him. "What?"

"You heard me. If you want to act like this, then you get out of my house."

Allison looked at him for a moment longer, in case this was some sort of bluff, but he just glared. "Jesus Christ." She walked towards the hall to her room, an eye on Chris until she rounded the corner. Then she ran, deftly grabbing the go-bag from under the bed, her boots from the closet, and yanking her leather jacket off the hanger as she went.

Chris was still in the living room. He looked… older, somehow. Tired. Finished.

"We still doing this?" Allison asked as she pulled on her jacket.

"I can't have any daughter of mine acting like you are right now."

Allison shoved her bare feet into her boots. She thought about telling him the good news, but no, that would have to come out at another time. If the Hunters found out her real parentage, that she was the daughter of a werewolf mother and a human father… she'd be dead in a day. "Then I guess I'll see you around, Chris."

She turned, and left.

There were no signs of anyone in the hallways, no lingering Hunters waiting to pounce. She let herself out of the building into the street. The air was cold, and the wind was picking up.

As the adrenaline faded from the fight with Chris, weariness set in. She had run more than thirty miles that night, fought more emotional battles than she ever wanted to again, and all that on top of travelling back in time to save the universe.

She was tired.

And really fucking hungry.

At a bus stop, Allison slung down her duffle to lace up her boots. She had no idea where to go. She wasn't old enough to rent a motel room. She didn't want to see any of her friends, not like this. Maybe she'd find an all-night coffee shop and wait until the library opened so she could get to a computer.

The past, Allison decided, was very inconvenient.

Hefting the duffle bag, Allison set off. The nearest all-night coffee shop was a mile away, across some seedy streets. She wasn't worried about any of the people out working; just any drunkards spilling out of the Beacon Hills bars looking for trouble.

She'd made it about five blocks before she heard the first shout. "Hey, hottie!" some drunk yelled from the sidewalk in front of the Hamilton Arms pub. "Wanna come over here and take a ride?"

"Can't," Allison called. "By the way, your mother called, she noticed you weren't in the basement yankin' it to farm animal porn. She's worried about you."

"You fucking bitch!" The drunk staggered, sudden fight in him. "You fucking say that to me?"

"Jesus, Chad, let it go," said the drunk's friend.

"No, Chad, let's go," Allison shot back. Deflecting her anger onto some random loser sounded just about right.

"You saying I'm a furry?" Chad went on, his hands clenched.

"That was your take away?" Allison demanded. "Chad, stop drinking jagerbombs on a Wednesday, you're down to your two last brain cells."

"You!" Chad raised his fist, but seeing as how he was listing dangerously to starboard, Allison wasn't exactly worried about the blow landing.

"Hey!" came the sudden voice of authority. A hand clamped down on Chad's shoulder and hauled him back. "Break it up!"

Allison blinked. It was Noah Stilinski, looking very young and spry.

"Sheriff!" Chad's buddy blurted out. "We didn't do anything."

Meanwhile, Noah had spotted Allison, and he looked about as surprised as she felt. "Allison?"

"Evening, officer," Allison said. "Nice night?"

"What is going on here?" Noah asked.

"Me and Chad were just getting to know each other," Allison said. She glanced over her shoulder. "I'll move along."

"What happened to your face?" Noah demanded. "Did you do this?" He turned Chad around. "Did you hit this girl?"

"I never touched her, I swear," Chad babbled. "I just said stuff, but that was stuff, please don't arrest me!"

"He didn't do anything," Allison said. "Just some banter with the lads."

"She's right," another voice said. "He didn't get close to her."

"See?" Allison looked over Noah's shoulder, and saw Natasha Romanoff.

The world narrowed to a point for a moment, just a moment. Natasha was alive. She hadn't died in going after the Soul Stone. She was alive.

One more person for Allison to save.

"Uh," Allison said, trying to pull herself back together. "Thanks for the backup."

"Any time," Natasha said with a smile. She was watching Allison intently. Allison wondered what she expected to see in a daughter of Tony Stark.

Noah let Chad go. "Get out of here," he said. "And next time make better life choices."

"Yes sir," Chad said, and he and Chad-lite high-tailed it down the sidewalk.

"Allison," Noah said. "What happened?"

"Where do you want me to start?" Allison asked wearily. "Actually, scratch that. Can I go?"

"No, you can't go," Noah said. "Were you in a car crash or something?"

Allison stared. "What?"

"You have blood on your face," Natasha said. She took a few steps towards Allison, but Allison backed away. Natasha stopped. "You look hurt."

Blood? Allison touched her cheek. Her fingers came away tacky with blood almost black in the yellow street lights. It took her a moment to put it together – the blood on her face, the blood on Chris's knuckles.

How hard had he hit her?

"Allison," Noah said again. "Can you tell me what happened?"

Allison looked up at him. "Doesn't matter," she said shortly. "Can I go?"

"Sure," Noah said. "I can take you home."

Allison let out a huff. "No thanks. I've already been asked to leave once tonight, that's about as much as I can stomach."

Noah blinked at her. "Your dad threw you out?"

"Yeah." Allison gestured to her face. "I didn't feel like waiting around for an encore. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to find a bridge to sleep under."

"You need to see a doctor," Noah said. "Come on, we'll go to emergency."

"No," Allison said, backing away. That was the absolute last thing she needed – photographic evidence of bruises that would be gone by morning. "I'm not going to the ER."

"That's okay," Natasha said quickly. "We'll find you some place safe to stay tonight, okay?"

"I'm not going to a shelter," Allison said. What game was Natasha playing?

"Of course you're not," Noah said. "I've got a guest room no one's using. Stiles won't mind."

Allison's stomach lurched. Stiles. She couldn't be around Stiles right now, couldn't handle the memories. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine," Noah said. "You're so not fine that I should be driving over to your place now and arresting your father for assault. Do you want me to do that?"

"What would be the point?" Allison wiped her bloody fingers against her running pants. "Look, can you just not make anything out of this? It's no big deal. I can take a punch."

That, perhaps unsurprisingly, did not go over well. Noah cleared his throat, glancing at Natasha. The woman returned the look, then turned to Allison. She pasted a smile on her face and started to say, "Allison—"

"Stop," Allison said. Natasha froze. "If I go with you, can you save the good-cop bad-cop routine for improv night?"

Noah blinked, but Natasha just let the smile fall. "Yes."

"All right."

"We're parked over here," Natasha said. "Shall we?"

Allison started moving, keeping a wary distance from Natasha. Noah walked on Natasha's other side. Belatedly, Allison realized that she should try to feign ignorance about Natasha or her real purpose in town. "Sorry to interrupt your date, sheriff."

"Date?" Noah repeated.

Natasha smiled. "It's not a date," she told Allison, voice low and honey-rich. "I'm a new deputy in town, and the sheriff and I were just meeting over a few beers to discuss old cases. I'm Natasha Rushman."

"Nice to meet you," Allison said. "It's good that you're here. Beacon Hills churns through deputies pretty fast."

Noah coughed.

"Where are you from?" Allison pressed.

"I was working on the east coast for a while," Natasha said. "But I've done some work overseas."

Interesting. She was evading the truth in such a way that a werewolf couldn't pick up on any lie. Allison wondered who had taught her to prevaricate so well. "I just came back from France," Allison said.

"How was that?" Natasha asked.

An excellent question. She had no idea how the last month had gone. "Big. We did Paris."

"You were gone for a while," Noah said as they reached a non-descript car. He opened the back door for her.

"I guess I ate a lot of bread." Allison tossed the duffle in the back seat, and climbed in after it. Noah got into the passenger seat, and Natasha the driver's. "You ever been to France, Deputy Rushman?"

"Yes." Natasha started the car. "A few years ago. On business."

Allison wondered what sort of spy business Natasha had gotten up to before the Avengers, then decided she didn't really want to dig into those details.

"When did you get back into town?" Noah asked.

"Six." Allison adjusted the strap of the duffle on the seat next to her.

"It must have been a long flight."

"Sure was." It had been a hell of a long way to come from 2039, in any event. Allison swallowed down a wave of missing Morgan.

In the front seat, Noah and Natasha exchanged a glance. "Did you do anything interesting while you were away?" Natasha asked.

"Statistically speaking? Probably." Allison shifted around. Her back hurt, probably from being slammed into that tree by Peter. "What happened here this summer? Anything interesting?"

"A few things," Noah said. He spent the rest of the short trip describing a few garden-variety crimes. It didn't sound like anyone had died, at least not gruesomely enough to get on the police radar. Allison wondered what supernatural war zone she was about to wade back into.

 _Welcome back to Beacon Hills_ , she thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chris has reasons for what he's doing, even if Allison doesn't see them just yet. Stay tuned...
> 
> PS this story is about 30% due to the existence of this gif: 
> 
>  


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Allison tries to keep her story straight, and Noah Stilinski gets a disquieting look into the mind of his new house-guest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a POV shift half-way through the chapter, which is something that’s going to be recurring in other chapters. The character to whom we shift will be noted.

* * *

The car pulled up to the Stilinski house. Stiles' jeep was in the driveway, and seeing the old blue wreck sent Allison's heart racing.

Saving the world, saving the universe, Allison would do that for everyone she lost and everyone she could still save.

But Stiles… Stiles was hers. She'd do anything for him, save Derek for him when she hadn't been able to before.

She just hoped they could be friends again.

Noah opened the car door. "Still thinking of finding a bridge?" he asked.

"No, just how far of a walk it is to Sacramento," Allison lied. She climbed out of the back seat, hauling the duffle with her. Every bone in her body ached. "Ow."

"Let's get you inside." Noah put his hand on her shoulder and she instinctively twisted away, banging her bruised hip against the car. She hissed. "Allison—"

"I'm fine," Allison said automatically. She hugged the duffle to her chest. "Just… the day I've had."

In 2039, everyone knew better than to touch Allison without warning. Even Bucky, who had a pretty much free pass on account of their partnership, seldom made contact without telegraphing his moves.

But apparently 2012 hadn't gotten that message.

"I'm sorry," Noah said. He made a show of putting his hands down. "You're right. I mean, of course you're right." He was getting flustered. "Uh."

"Can we take you inside?" Natasha asked. She held out a hand. "That bruise might look better in the light."

"I very much doubt that," Allison muttered. Skirting the others, she started towards the house.

It was the longest walk of Allison's life, and that included the one she'd had to take at Tony's funeral. On the step, she stopped. The door felt like it was miles away.

 _Please_ , Allison thought. _Don't let Stiles hate me_.

Noah moved past her, giving her as much space as possible. "Stiles is probably still up," he said as he unlocked the door. "Are you okay with letting him know what's going on?"

"Sure," Allison said. As the door opened, warm air rushed out, and the smells and scents yanked her back in her own history. For so many years, the Stilinski house had been her home.

Then Derek died and she hadn't stepped foot inside since.

"Stiles," Noah called, walking into the house. "You up?"

"It's okay," Natasha said at Allison's side. "You'll be safe here."

"It's not that." Allison tightened her grip on the duffle's strap. "It's…" She tried to figure out how to tell a wolf-lie, then gave up. It didn't matter if Natasha knew Allison was lying or not; sometimes you could use a small lie to mask a larger one. "If I go in there, then this is all really happening."

"It's already happening," Natasha pointed out.

"I know." And with that, Allison stepped inside.

The house was just as Allison remembered it, like viewing a home movie on faded film in the olden days. The hall was cluttered with shoes and Stiles' lacrosse gear. Allison stepped over a muddy sneaker on her way towards the kitchen.

Overhead came a torrent of footsteps as Stiles clattered downstairs. "Hey, Dad," Stiles said as he burst through the living room on his way to the kitchen. He didn't see Allison. "How was work?"

"Not great," Noah said. He glanced back at Allison as Stiles vanished into the kitchen. "Son, I need a favour."

Allison heard Stiles pull up, the sudden racing of his heart. Natasha sidled past Allison and headed towards the kitchen. Allison could run, just turn around and leave and never have to rip open the bloody scar on her heart that was Stiles Stilinski.

But maybe, just maybe, she didn't have to run.

"Favour?" Stiles' voice slid up a few notes. "Of course. I'd do anything for my dad. My father. My number one padre."

Noah sighed. "I have someone here who needs to stay the night, are you okay with that?"

Allison drifted down the hall. Natasha was already in the doorway to the kitchen, but Stiles still had his back to the woman. "I mean, yeah?" Stiles turned around, and Allison's breath was knocked out of her chest.

Holy shit, he was just a _kid_.

Stiles spotted Natasha, and stopped dead. "Uh. Dad?" Allison could practically hear the gears clicking in Stiles' head. Cute woman in his house after hours, his father asking if someone could stay over…

"Not Natasha," Noah said in exasperation.

Allison took a breath. Stiles' eyes flew to her, and all the jokes or protests he was preparing about Natasha fell away. "I'm pretty sure he means me," Allison said.

Stiles stared for a moment. "Jesus, Allison," he said, brushing past Natasha like she wasn't even there. "What happened? Are you…" He reached out, his hand sketching the air by her elbow, because that was Stiles all over, he got what it was like to be afraid and hurt and out of control.

And he was looking at her like she mattered, like he cared.

Allison couldn't help it. Her Stiles had spent so many years hating her, and now, to have him back before it all went wrong… Tears welled up in her eyes as she dropped the duffle. "I'm not okay," she said.

"Of course not." Stiles held out his arms almost instinctively, and Allison stepped into the hug. She couldn't hug him back, not when she was this emotional; she might hurt him with her strength. But she could clutch at the fabric of his shirt and rest her forehead on his shoulder and let him put his hands on her back, just for a moment, as the tears came.

"Allison needs someplace safe to stay for a while, Stiles," Noah said.

"Yeah, of course." Stiles rubbed Allison's back. "You're safe here, okay? No one's going to hurt you."

Allison took a deep breath. It should have been laughable, this skinny boy promising her safety. But it wasn't, because this was _Stiles_. She lifted her head, the world blurry through the tears that kept coming. She had to pull herself together. "You can't tell Scott," she said, because that was the real danger here; Scott McCall getting involved in this mess now, with Hunters in town out for blood. "Don't tell him I'm here. Please."

"Okay, no Scott." Stiles touched her cheek. "Who did this?"

Allison looked away. She had no idea how to handle this.

"Why don't you sit down," Natasha said, stepping in. She held out her hand again. "We can take a look at those bruises."

Allison nodded. Deliberately, she took Natasha's hand and let herself be guided to the table.

Stiles, meanwhile, had crossed his arms over his chest. "Why is Allison here?" he demanded of his father. "Not the ER? Or her house?"

"Stiles," Noah tried.

"Because I can think of a few reasons," Stiles said, anger dark in his eyes. "California Penal Code 273d-a?"

"What's that?" Allison asked. She leaned sideways to slip off her jacket.

"Child abuse," Stiles snapped. "Which, yeah, but…" He stopped talking as Allison's jacket slipped to the floor. "Fuck."

Allison looked down. The bruise on her wrist from Chris, she expected. But the litany of other bruises on her arms and torso, showing around her running tank, were a surprise. Normally in the field, she was wearing a full body-suit and light armor, and her injuries tended to heal before they made it back to base.

But now, her pale skin was painted in purples and reds. Allison didn't know what was from the chase in the woods, banging around the rocks and trees, and what came from the tackle by Chris Argent in her bedroom.

She stared at her arms. No wonder she hurt.

Noah muttered a soft oath. Natasha took the jacket from Allison. "Are you sure you don't want to press charges against your father?" Natasha asked.

Allison sank into a chair, resting her bruised wrist on the table. "There's no point," she said wearily. What the hell was she going to do? The bruises would be gone in the morning, and here were three people who had seen the evidence.

She took a deep breath. This was the situation she was in, and she had to deal with it.

"I'll be okay," she said. Deliberately, she flexed her hand, stretching against the ache. "A little soft tissue damage isn't the worst thing in the world."

"A little?" Stiles repeated, incredulously. "You look like someone used you as a soccer ball."

"Stiles!" Noah exclaimed.

"It's fine," Allison said, letting a faint hint of the alpha into her voice. Everyone closed their mouth. "Look. There's no point in doing anything to Chris Argent. He threw me out. I'm eighteen in a few weeks. I never have to go back to his house. So please let me close the door on that chapter of my life?"

"He shouldn't have done this to you," Natasha said.

Allison bit down a growl. "I know that. I'm not making excuses for him. But there's more happening in the world." She got up, walking around Noah to get to the sink. "And this," she held up her arm. "Doesn't matter." She took a glass out of the drying rack and turned on the tap. "It'll be gone by morning, anyway."

An electric silence swept through the kitchen. Allison filled the glass, then drank it down while watching the others. Stiles had made the obvious connection to _werewolf_ and was staring at her, horrified. Noah's expression was disturbed. Did he know about the supernatural yet? Allison's recollection on when he'd been brought into the loop was a little hazy.

She drank another glass of water. Natasha was watching her closely. Of course, Natasha knew about Allison's parentage, knew that she could never be infected by a werewolf's bite, or that of any other were-creature. Which might make things easier with Noah over the next little while, but more complicated in the long run.

Whatever. Allison put the glass in the sink. She'd need Natasha to go after Hydra in the coming months, but at this stage in the game the worst the woman could do was introduce her to Tony Stark prematurely.

"Can I go take a shower?" Allison asked. "I didn't get a chance after my run."

Noah stirred himself. "Of course. I can show you the guest room."

"I'll do that," Stiles jumped in. "You can stay here with…" He looked at Natasha.

"Natasha Rushman," Allison supplied. "New deputy in town."

"Right." Stiles blinked. "Good luck with that."

"Stiles," Noah said.

"Going!" He turned to Allison. "Upstairs."

He picked up Allison's duffle bag before she could reach it, staggered a little under its weight, and headed out of the kitchen. Allison glanced at Noah. "Nice to meet you, Deputy. And thanks, Sheriff, for letting me stay here tonight."

"Anything I can do," Noah said. "We'll talk more in the morning, all right?"

Allison gave him a fake smile. "Looking forward to it." She went after Stiles.

Walking through this house was like haunting her own life. Everything was the same as she remembered it. Even following Stiles up the stairs was so familiar.

She was going to change things this time. She was going to do everything to keep everyone safe, no matter what the cost to herself.

"In here," Stiles said, pushing open the door to what had once been Allison's room. The room was cold and impersonal, a guest room that no one used. "Get in."

"Why?" Allison asked as she sat on the bed to unlace her boots. Her eyebrows went up as Stiles closed the door. "What are you doing?"

"Did you get bitten?" Stiles demanded. He bounced onto the bed beside her. "Is that why Chris hit you? What's going on?"

"I'm not a werewolf," Allison said. She kicked off one boot.

"But you said your bruises will be gone by tomorrow!"

"I did." She kicked off the other boot. "Stiles, it's complicated."

Stiles gestured wildly. "Not really!" His expression changed. "Wait. Is it like, Kanima complicated?"

"No." Allison dug the throwing knives out of her pockets.

"Then what? What happened to you?"

Allison dropped the knives on the bedside table before she turned to Stiles. "It's a long story."

Stiles spread his hands wide. "Great. I've got all the time in the world. Just remember that it's a full moon in two days."

That would explain Peter's mood up in the hills. Nothing like getting a werewolf riled up in the days before the full moon. "Do you really want to know what happened tonight?"

Stiles' face contorted in a mixture of disbelief, annoyance, and interest. "Yes!"

"Fine." Allison pulled her braid over her shoulder. "We got back into town around six, six-thirty? Then Chris gets a call and leaves with a new Hunter in town. Only he took my cell phone and the cords to the landline and the modem and locked me in the apartment."

"Why would he do that?"

"He didn't feel like sharing," Allison said. She began unbraiding her hair. "So I did what anyone would do."

"You opened the window and called for help?"

"I put on my gear and went for a run up on the preserve."

Stiles frowned. "Your apartment's on the third floor."

"Yes."

"And there's no fire escape."

"No."

"Did you _jump?"_

"Of course not." Allison pulled a leaf out of her hair. "I climbed down the drainpipe."

Stiles blinked at her.

"So I went for a run and…" She hadn't thought this through. She couldn't explain Chris shooting at her without having a werewolf-shaped reason in the story. Where were they in the timeline? How were Peter and Stiles getting along? She'd started this, might as well finish. "I ran into someone in the woods."

"Someone," Stiles repeated. "Was this someone I know?"

"Yes." Allison combed out her hair with her fingers.

"Who was it?"

Allison shrugged. "Someone who wasn't exactly glad to see me."

"Huh." Stiles scrunched up his nose. "No offence, Allison, but that could be practically anyone these days."

"Right." Allison sighed at the thought of all the relationships she would need to rebuild. "Anyway, after some light menace and gentle threats of bodily harm, we started a game of tag and I ended up on Two Hat Ridge after dark with a werewolf slamming me into a tree."

"Who was it?" Stiles asked again. "It wouldn't be Scott or Derek, they've been texting me all night."

Allison got up to unpack the duffle.

"It wouldn't be Jackson, he took Lydia to the movies."

Allison pulled out a change of clothes.

"Isaac doesn't like the woods alone. And Boyd doesn't like you much but he wouldn't, like, attack you."

Allison untangled a bra strap from the handle of the hunting knife and pushed the knife deeper into the bag.

"Was it Erica?" Stiles asked, getting a little desperate.

Allison straightened up, looking Stiles in the eyes. "It wasn't Erica."

Stiles' mouth gaped open. "Is there someone new in town?"

"No."

Stiles sprang up off the bed. "Peter?" he hissed in a whisper. "Peter attacked you?"

Allison picked up the pile of clothing. "Peter didn't attack me."

"Then what was he doing slamming you against a tree?"

Allison shrugged. "Trying to get some answers? Doesn't matter. I kicked his knee out and stuck a knife against his throat."

"Then what?"

"Then what, what?"

"You've got a look on your face," Stiles said. "Like I really don't want to know what happened next. Did you kill him? Leave his body for the vultures to find?"

"Stiles."

"Just…" Stiles took a deep breath. "Tell me."

Allison let her head fall back. "Then he kissed me."

Stiles jumped back like he'd been electrocuted. "What? _Then_ did you kill him?"

"No." Allison took a step in Stiles' direction. "Then I kissed him back."

The revulsion on Stiles' face wasn't so different from the expression that had been on Chris Argent's face, and it pissed Allison off.

"So, there I am kissing Peter Hale on top of a mountain west of town," she went on, "When guess what? Remember how there's new Hunters in town?"

"Did they kill Peter?"

"Peter's not dead," Allison snapped. "Probably. No, they were with Chris up on the access road to the power cut over Dead Man's Peak, and they had a sniper rifle. So guess who spent a night in the woods with her own father shooting at her?" Allison walked over to the window, needing to get some space before she let the alpha out in her anger. "Me."

"Jesus," Stiles said. "Was he trying to kill you?"

"He said he didn't know it was me at first." Allison looked outside. "He said all he saw was a girl with a werewolf." She rubbed her cheek. "I thought we'd been over this. Chris was supposed to stick to the code. This is so far outside that."

"How did you get away?"

"I ran for it," Allison said. "Told Peter to take the shortcut and I'd pull unfriendly fire. I don't know if he made it, but the bullets all went after me."

"Why?" Stiles came over to lean on the wall beside the window. "Why not just bail on Peter?"

Allison looked at Stiles. He was over the Peter complication now, onto the Argent problem. This was why he was such a great guy to have around in a fight – he could always focus on the real issue at hand. "Because the only reason he was up there in the first place was because he was trying to catch me. He's Peter, but he didn't deserve to die like that."

"Like what?"

"Alone."

Stiles reached out to touch Allison's arm. "But you did?"

"You don't understand," Allison said. "It's my responsibility to keep everyone safe. It's what I do."

"Allison, your _father_ was shooting at you!"

"I have responsibilities," Allison said again. Her fingers tightened around the clothing in her arms. "Stiles, what's the point of me being here if I can't save people?"

"Allison." Stiles was looking at her very steadily. "Listen to me. I don't know what happened to you while you were away and I really don't know what happened up on the mountain, but you're not…" He struggled to find the words. "You're not cannon fodder."

"But I am a soldier," Allison said. "That's what I am. It's all I've ever been. Doesn't matter where or when I am."

"But you're not," Stiles said, and his voice brought Allison back, made her realize that he was a kid, and she couldn't be laying all this on him. "You're just a teenager."

"It doesn't matter," Allison said. "What happened, happened. I can't take it back." She blinked. Her eyes felt gritty. "You can't tell Scott."

"Well, yeah, not about the kissing Peter part." Stiles made a face.

"No, none of it." Allison straightened up. "I need to talk to Derek first, tell him about the Hunters. I'll figure out about Scott later."

"Sure." Stiles pulled his phone from his pocket. "I had plans to meet up with Derek tomorrow, is that soon enough?"

"I sure as hell hope so," Allison muttered. "Also ask him if Peter's alive."

Stiles muttered under his breath as he typed out the message. "You do remember that Peter's both, like, super old, and super crazy."

"He's not that old."

Stiles shuddered. "He tried to kill you and you set him on fire."

"We're a work in progress."

"He's creepy towards Lydia?"

"Yeah." Allison smoothed down the shirt she held. "We're going to have to address that one."

"Oh my god." Stiles rubbed his hand over his face. "You weren't kidding when you said it was complicated."

"No. Can I go shower now?"

"Yeah, it's down the hall."

"I know where it is." Allison hesitated, then walked over to Stiles. She put a hand on his arm. "I missed you."

Stiles bit his lip, and Allison knew he was pleased. Oh, what she would give to keep them all safe, Stiles especially. "It's not so bad, having you around for a bit."

With a gentle squeeze, Allison walked out of the room. As she went, she heard Stiles' phone buzz.

"Derek says Peter's alive, and is promising to kill you," Stiles called out into the hall.

"Just like old times, then." Allison closed the bathroom door behind her.

The reflection in the mirror was ghastly. Her face was pale where it wasn't bruised. Her lip was still swollen where she'd bit through it at the apartment. What parts of her weren't bruised were covered in dirt and dust from the run through the mountains.

No wonder Noah looked so concerned.

Allison pulled down her lip to see that the cut had already closed. With her alpha healing, everything else would be gone by morning. Already her skin itched where the wounds under the bruises were clearing up. Time would take care of the rest.

She stripped out of her running clothes. Her legs were pretty bashed up, but nothing that wouldn't mend. She put her fingers over the bruises Peter had left on her waist. Injury was a strange thing, she mused. She didn't mind what Peter had done, or what had been left on her skin from the chase in the woods.

But the mark on her face, and the angry bruise on her wrist… what Chris had done to her rankled. Not because it hurt; Allison's life had always encompassed a large cross-section of pain. But because Chris has acted like he had any right to touch her.

It didn't matter. Allison turned away from the mirror. After today, Chris was out of her life. Tony Stark was on the horizon, and from there, Allison had to change the future so the Snap never happened. That took precedence over how Allison was currently fucking up her teenage years.

She turned on the shower. The water was hot at this time of night, and she washed herself as quickly as possible. She had plans to make, people to save. And if she was thinking about all of that, she wasn't going to think about Morgan, or Bucky, or all the other people she had lost.

She had to save the universe. That's what Starks did.

### Noah Stilinski

Noah sat on the edge of his bed, awake and exhausted. Natasha hadn't left until midnight, and it had taken Noah a while to settle, even with the kids quiet in their rooms.

In just one day, his entire life had been turned upside down.

The supernatural was real.

Werewolves, witches, all those things Noah thought were just stories, were real. He had met a werewolf the previous morning in Sacramento, and spent the day being thoroughly lectured about what he'd been missing in Beacon Hills over the years.

The evening before, at the bar, Natasha had laid out the other side of the coin. Hunters, and what they did. Specifically, what the Argents did.

And what the Argents had done to Allison.

Noah rubbed his face. It was almost six, and he would never be able to get back to sleep. He stood up, creaking, and went to get dressed.

What Natasha told him about Allison had been a surprise, but not a shock. That girl had never looked like either of her parents, or anyone else in her family. And it hadn't surprised Noah too much that Hunters might kill werewolves, but that they'd also steal a human baby to raise away from her werewolf family.

Then, running into Allison just as they were leaving the bar, and seeing how beaten up the girl was… Noah knew a little bit about being used as a punching bag by a father, and listening to Allison deflect Argent's actions had hit too close to home.

When Allison said her bruises would be gone the next day… Noah didn't know what to think. Natasha had explained that Allison couldn't be a werewolf, but what else could Allison have meant?

Coffee, Noah decided. He needed coffee, and that would help him clear his head.

He left his room, stopping in Stiles' doorway. The boy was dead to the world, bundled up, drooling and wheezing on his pillow. Noah watched him sleep for a minute. After the realization that the supernatural was real, was that Stiles knew that, was friends with the werewolves. That twisted deep in Noah's chest. Not that Stiles was keeping things from him; that much was a given. But that Stiles hadn't trusted Noah with the truth, hadn't asked for help.

Noah rubbed a hand over his eyes. His son hadn't trusted him to help, and that was what hurt.

But he would deal with it. He would figure out the lay of the land, and he'd talk to Stiles, and everything would get sorted out. Everything would…

Noah turned. A sound caught his ear. Faint and muffled, down the hall.

Crying.

Noah walked towards the guest room. It wasn't normal tears, but full-out sobbing, the kind that caught you in grief and knocked your legs out from under you and kept you from breathing. It hurt just to hear.

He tapped on the door. "Allison?" he called.

Instantly, the sobbing stopped. For a long moment, there was stillness. Then the door opened a crack and Allison stood there, her eyes wet but her expression blank.

"I heard…" Noah let the words trail off. Grief was a private thing. "I heard you were up. Do you want some coffee?"

Allison blinked. "Sure." Her voice was rough. "I'll be down in a minute."

"All right." Noah gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile, then headed down the hall. He felt Allison's eyes on him the whole way.

In the kitchen, he set about making coffee on autopilot. He did it every morning, except when he was coming off a thankfully rare graveyard shift, so he wasn't paying attention to his surroundings as he poured the water and scooped the grounds. But there was something…

Something wrong.

Something missing.

Noah pressed the button on the machine. The back of his neck prickled like it did sometimes at work, when he was trying to piece together a puzzle from the evidence. But this was his _home._ What was wrong?

On first sweep, everything looked normal. Table covered in Stiles' papers, the fridge decorated with reminders and bills. The cupboards closed, the stovetop clean, a few dishes in the drying rack by the sink.

Then he saw the empty space.

A knife missing.

A knife missing from the knife block.

Noah took a step forward. The big chef's knife was missing from its spot in the knife block by the stove. He knew it had been there the night before, but now it was gone, and the only people in the house were Stiles, asleep, and Allison.

"Sheriff."

Noah nearly jumped out of his skin. Allison was directly behind him, looking up at him with enormous dark eyes, her hair flying loose around her shoulders.

The bruises on her face and arms were gone.

And she had one hand behind her back.

"Allison."

The girl watched him with steady, inscrutable eyes. "The coffee smells good."

"I try to get the good stuff," Noah said. He took a step towards the fridge. "The coffee at the station is terrible. No need to torture myself here, too."

"That's a good idea." Allison didn't move, just stared at Noah.

Noah exhaled. He couldn't turn his back on Allison until he saw her other hand. "Allison, can I ask you a question?"

"What?"

He gestured at the knife block. "Do you know where the big knife is?"

Allison stood motionless for a long moment, then she slowly took her arm from behind her back. In her hand, she held the gleaming, razor-sharp chef's knife.

The world froze for an instant, as Noah waited to see what Allison would do next.

In a smooth motion, she flipped the knife around so the handle was towards Noah. Carefully, he took the weapon from her. The knife itself was clean and dry, no signs of being bloodied or recently washed.

Disconcertingly, the blade was warm.

"Why did you take it?" Noah asked as he slid the knife back into the block.

Allison blinked. "I was going to put it back," she said.

"That's not what I mean." Noah tried to let the tension out of his shoulders. Allison was just a kid, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he had been in a face-down with a very dangerous person.

Allison crossed her arms over her chest. "What do you want me to tell you?"

"The truth?"

She shook her head. "The truth wouldn't do any good."

"If that's what you want." Noah went over to the fridge to retrieve the milk. He'd have preferred cream, but Stiles wouldn't let him bring anything with that high of a fat content into the house. "See, I can think of three reasons that a teenage girl would need a knife, and none of them are exactly reassuring."

Allison sat down. "What are they?"

"To hurt herself." Noah put the milk on the table. "You don't look hurt."

Allison pulled her legs up to her chest. "I'm not."

"Or to hurt someone else," Noah went on. He plucked two mugs out of the cupboard. "And you haven't hurt anyone in this house."

He thought of Stiles, up in his bedroom, asleep and defenceless, but no, if Allison had used the knife on Stiles in the few minutes before she'd come downstairs, there would have been traces on the blade.

But still, he felt blinding relief when Allison shook her head. "I wouldn't do anything to hurt you," she said with vehemence. "And not Stiles. Never Stiles."

"Okay." He set the mugs on the table and sat down across from Allison. "The third is to protect herself."

Allison wrapped her arms around her legs.

"And given everything that happened, I'm not sure who you would be worried about coming through your door."

Allison rested her chin on her knee, contemplating Noah. He wasn't sure what was going on in the girl's head, but there was a weight in her eyes that made him hold his tongue. Finally, Allison said, "I have a friend. I mean, I… I had a friend. He was on active duty for way too long."

Noah bit down a question on exactly who Allison might know with a military background. It was likely one of Chris Argent's Hunters.

"Even when he was on down-time, he couldn't sleep without a weapon. The only way he could manage it was if he knew someone was going to be keeping watch."

"What does this have to do with the knife?" Noah asked.

Allison looked away. "I have a hunting knife," she said bluntly. "In my bag. But if anyone came for me in the middle of the night…" She pushed her hair out of her face. "I needed another one. Never rely on just one blade."

Noah felt sick to his stomach. This wasn't a girl randomly worried about being barged in on by others in a strange house. This was a girl who was preparing for battle, in a war that had already bloodied her.

"Who would be coming for you?" Noah asked. Allison shrugged. "Your father?"

Allison looked up, visibly startled. "What? Chris? No, of course not."

"Then who?" Noah pressed. "Allison, if you're in danger, I can help you."

"No, you can't." Allison got up. "If you leave this alone, I can promise you it'll blow over."

"How can you say that?" Noah asked. "You just told me you needed two knives with you in case someone comes for you in the middle of the night! How can that be something that blows over?"

Allison brought the coffee pot to the table. "I'm taking care of it."

"That doesn't make me feel any better."

"I have it handled."

"You're _seventeen_."

Allison poured out the coffee. "And how old were you when you joined the Army?"

Noah paused. He didn't know Allison knew about his time in the military. "Eighteen."

Allison sat back down. "I'm eighteen in a few weeks."

Noah rubbed his eyes. "Okay, but the difference is that I'm old enough to look back and know that I knew just two things when I was that age: Jack, and shit." He pulled the milk over. "And Jack just left town."

Allison rested her elbows on the table. She stared at her cup for a long minute. Finally, she said, "Sheriff, I promise you, I'm doing what I'm doing to keep everyone safe."

"I'm the one in this town who's supposed to keep people safe."

"You keep people safe within the law." Allison's words sent a zing through his spine. He set his mug back on the table. "There are things you can't touch."

"And you can?"

Allison exhaled. "Do you remember Talia Hale?"

The question threw Noah sideways. "Of course I remember Talia," he said. "She lived here her whole life, until the fire."

"Right." Allison laid her hands flat on the table. "And if I tell you that this is the sort of thing Talia Hale used to handle, will you understand what I mean?"

Noah felt cold. He'd always suspected that Talia Hale was more than she appeared to be; he'd spent years chasing trouble around Beacon Hills in a deputy's uniform, only to find the problems fixed and Talia Hale standing on the sidelines, looking faintly amused.

But Talia had been an adult, raising her kids and her little brother after their parents died. Allison was seventeen. Noah didn't care what sort of life she'd been raised to. A child soldier was still a child.

"I understand," he said cautiously. "That doesn't mean I'm going to accept it."

Allison sighed. "That doesn't matter." She sipped at her coffee. "I have responsibilities."

"So do I."

Allison looked at him. "I'll make you a deal."

Noah leaned back. "I'm all ears."

"If I come across anything, anything at all, that can be prosecuted under the law, I'll let you know."

"I would hope you'd do that regardless."

Allison smiled then, wide and sharp, and so unlike the girl Noah remembered from before she and Chris Argent had left the country the month before. "Of course," she said. "Always happy to help out local law enforcement."

"So what's my side of the deal?"

"If you hear any strange things, rumours, weird stories, tell me. I'll pass the intel along to the people who can help."

"People like Talia?" Noah asked.

"Possibly."

"Anyone I know?"

Allison opened her brown eyes wide, all innocence. "Would you have me betray a confidence, Sheriff?"

Noah pushed his chair back. "Depends," he said. "Is anyone going to be in danger if you tell don't me?"

Allison's expression faded to one of consideration. "Possibly," she said after half a minute. "But if I tell you, and there's any chance it could come back on them, I can't do it."

"Are any of these people kids?"

Allison turned her head, a gesture that might have been coquettish if the gleam in her eyes wasn't so cold. "Don't ask questions that you don't want answered."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"If I told you that a hypothetical character, let's call her Kamala, is twelve years old and is a shapeshifter. What would you do?"

Noah held his tongue, because he knew exactly what he would do.

"Would you tell her parents?" Allison pressed. "Even if she had absolutely nothing to do with any trouble in town, and was no danger to anyone?" Allison stood up. "I can't tell you, Sheriff, because I won't put anyone in danger from anyone else. And I'm sorry, but that includes you."

Noah exhaled. "What if they're a danger to the public? Hell, to themselves?"

Allison put her hands on the table. She looked absolutely exhausted. "If I see someone who's a danger to others, and I think you can do more good than harm, I'll tell you. But that doesn't include anyone in town right now."

"You're taking a lot of responsibility on yourself," Noah said.

"Like you don't?"

"I signed up for this. And I've been doing if for a very long time."

Allison straightened up. She rubbed her hand over her eyes. "I signed up for this, too," she said. "I knew what I was getting into."

"You're seventeen," Noah had to repeat.

"Doesn't matter." Allison blinked a few times. "Do we have to keep talking about this?"

"You got something else to talk about?"

"Breakfast?" Allison suggested. "I'm starving."

"I can whip something up."

"No, I got it," Allison said. "I should do something to pay you back for letting me stay."

"That's not necessary."

"Yeah, but sitting around doing nothing is going to drive me over the edge." Allison walked to the fridge. "Are you and Deputy Rushman working on any interesting cases?"

"Nothing in particular," Noah lied.

A smile crossed Allison's face. "I hope she enjoys it here. Beacon Hills can be so quiet after the wild life in New York."

Noah's eyes narrowed. "Did she tell you she was from New York?"

"Didn't she?" Allison rummaged around in the vegetable drawer. "My mistake."

"Allison."

Allison set a handful of vegetables on the counter. "Yes, Sheriff?"

"Something you want to share with the class?"

Allison's smile grew sharp again. "She just looks so much like that Avenger, the one who was flying the alien ship?" Allison pulled a cutting board out of a cupboard without any hesitation, which made Noah wonder when she had been in his kitchen before. "You know the one." Allison reached for a paring knife, brandishing it absently. "Black Widow?"

Noah coughed. "She, uh, said she's been getting that a lot since aliens invaded New York."

"Must be rough." Allison turned to the cutting board and started dicing. The speed and skill with which she decimated the celery was more than a little worrying.

Noah decided to change the subject. "Do you know what you're going to do today?"

"I need to get a new phone." Allison finished massacring an onion, and turned her blade on a pepper. "Chris took my phone yesterday when it appeared I might actually dare to contact any of my friends without express written permission."

Right. Chris Argent. Noah was going to have to do something about him, even if it was to put the fear of the law into him to keep the man from beating up on Allison again. "Anything else?"

"Hmm?" Allison glanced at him briefly as she went to get a frying pan. "Maybe some shoes. I only have the boots I left the house in, and running in the woods is impossible in heels." She put the skillet on the stovetop and added some butter to the pan. "I was going to go to the library to use their computer but I'll see if Stiles will let me use his laptop. I should start looking for a place to live." She sighed. "Damn it. And look for a job."

"You can stay here for as long as you need," Noah said. Allison glanced at him. "Really."

"I don't want to impose," she said, but the abject relief on her face made Noah doubt that.

"You're not imposing." If anything, Noah would rather she be safe at his place while he and Natasha untangled the mess of Allison's past. "You heard Stiles last night. He wants you here."

"Stiles." Allison looked towards the ceiling. "Stiles might want me here, but…" She shook her head before turning to the cutting board. "I don't want to come between him and Scott."

"Why would that happen?"

"It's complicated," Allison said. She swept the vegetables into the frying pan, sending up a fragrant sizzle. "But it starts and ends with the fact that I need to keep Scott safe. I need to keep them all safe."

"And keeping Scott safe will drive a wedge between him and Stiles?"

Allison concentrated on stirring the vegetables. A clatter in the hall pulled on Noah's attention for a second. Stiles stumbled into the kitchen, yawning and blinking. Allison went to get a mug from the cupboard. "Keeping Scott safe," she said as she handed the mug to Stiles and shoved him in a chair, "Is an area where Stiles and I are in complete alignment."

"Right!" Stiles said, then blinked some more as he reached for the coffee pot. "Wait, what's wrong with Scott?"

"Nothing." Allison opened the fridge. "There is something I need to tell both of you."

"Finally," Stiles said. "Oh, morning, Dad."

"Morning, son."

Allison emerged, arms full of eggs and cheese. "Chris had a visitor last night, before the night's entertainment began." She dumped her armful on the counter. "His name is Maurice Dupont, and I think he has some business connection to Chris, but I'm not sure of the details."

"Is he a Hunter?" Stiles asked, then froze, his eyes going round as he looked at Noah. "I mean, a person, who in the woods… hunts."

"Yes." Allison reached into a lower cupboard to pull out a mixing bowl that even Noah didn't know was there. "He was giving me some serious Green River Killer vibes when he was at the apartment. Like he wanted to see what I looked like with my skin off."

Noah winced. Stiles choked on his coffee. "What the fuck?" he gasped.

Allison turned, frowning. "What?"

"That's—" Stiles made a few frantic gestures. "That was a metaphor, right?"

Allison blinked at him. "Metaphor?"

"Oh my god." Stiles banged his head on the table.

"I don't have any actual proof he's done anything," Allison went on as she cracked eggs into the bowl. "But maybe someone can run his name through Interpol, see if there's anyone looking for him."

"I think I'm going to be sick," Stiles said. "I'm not even awake and I'm tasting vomit."

Allison set the bowl down and walked over to the table. She crouched beside Stiles. "Hey." She waited until he looked at her. "Listen to me. Dupont and his crew, none of them are touching any of you, okay?" She put her hand on his wrist. "I promise."

"Okay, but how can you promise that?" Stiles turned in his chair so he was facing Allison. The sudden intensity of the conversation between the two teenagers was startling, like this was life-and-death.

Noah felt ill. Because that was what this was. Life and death.

He needed to talk to Natasha, _now_.

Allison took Stiles' hand in between hers. "I told you last night. You guys, all of you, you're mine to protect. I will keep you all safe."

"All of us," Stiles repeated.

"Yes."

"But why?" He bit his lip. "I said it last night and I'm going to keep saying it, apparently. Why you?"

"Because that's who I am." Allison squeezed Stiles' hand.

"Why are you telling us this now?" Noah asked, startling Stiles. Allison transferred her dark gaze to him. "Why not last night?"

"Because." Allison rose in a smooth movement, then returned to the stove. "I just promised you that if it could be prosecuted under your laws, I'd tell you."

"So this isn't the sort of problem that Talia Hale would deal with?"

Stiles jumped like a scalded cat, whipping his head back and forth between Noah and Allison. "What? _Who?"_

"Derek's mother," Allison said. She poured the eggs into the pan. "I don't know if she would have or not." Allison stirred the mix, staring down at the stove. "But people like Dupont, they're the ones who burned the Hale family alive. It might be nice if someone stopped them before anyone else gets hurt."

Stiles hunched in his chair, looking so worried that Noah's heart ached. He reached across the table to squeeze Stiles' shoulder. "I'll look into things," Noah promised. "But you tell me if you know anything else, okay? That's how this is going to work."

"What is going to work?" Stiles demanded. "How long was I asleep?"

"If bad guys come into town, we tell your dad," Allison said. She dumped a handful of cheese into the pan. "If he hears any spooky stories, cryptids, ghosts, that sort of thing, he tells me."

Stiles flapped his jaw a few times, but nothing came out.

Allison turned off the burner. "Get plates. I'm hungry."

Stiles got up, still speechless. Noah looked at Allison. "I've been looking for a way to get Stiles to stop talking since he was ten months old."

Allison smiled. "I don't know, I like it when he's talking. It distracts everyone."

"No one loves me for my contributions," Stiles muttered.

"Yes, we do." Allison carried the eggs to the table. "You always have the best ideas."

Stiles brightened up under the praise. "I do alright," he said with false modesty.

Noah settled back, watching Allison draw Stiles out of his defensiveness with deft ease. She paid attention to what he was talking about, asking him questions that told Noah that she was listening, and letting the boy guide the conversation. It was either true interest, or a deft usage of interrogation techniques.

And Noah might have thought it was the former, but for the way Allison had looked that morning when she stood in front of him with a knife hidden behind her back.

* * *

Noah knocked again on Chris Argent's door. "Open up," he called. "Beacon Hills Sheriff's Department."

He was just starting to wonder if he needed to go find the building's super when Chris opened the door. The man was haggard, like he hadn't slept in weeks.

Well, Noah wouldn't sleep either if his kid didn't come home. But then, Noah knew that Chris hadn't called the station to make a missing person's report on Allison.

Noah's heartstrings remained unplucked.

"Sheriff," Chris said. He looked as if he was steeling himself for a blow. "What is it?"

"I came here to talk to you about Allison."

"Allison," Chris repeated, and blanched. "You should probably come in."

He stood back to let Noah into the apartment, then closed the door and walked around to the couch, sitting down. Noah remained standing.

"What… what about Allison?" Chris asked. His hands were clasped together so tightly that his knuckles were mottled white.

"What about Allison?" Noah asked, incredulous. "I find your daughter getting into a fight with a couple of drunks in the bad part of town, looking like someone's been using her as a punching bag, and you ask me 'what about Allison'?"

Of all the ways Noah expected Chris to react, _relief_ wasn't one of them. "She's okay?"

"No, she's not okay!" Noah exclaimed. "That kid's been put through the wringer and in the kind of way I doubt started last night." He paused to take in how Chris sagged in his seat, like he was hardly listening. "Wait, did you think I came here to make a _notification?"_

Chris glared up at Noah, pulling himself back together. "My family doesn't have the best track record with the Sheriff's Department showing up at the front door."

"What the hell is going on in this house?" Noah demanded.

Chris stood. "That's none of your concern."

"When I've got seventeen-year-old girls walking around town close to midnight looking like someone's been using them for batting practice, then it sure as hell is my concern!"

"I didn't do that to Allison," Chris objected.

"So you just punched her in the face."

"I didn't—" Chris stopped.

"She says you did." Noah was watching Chris very closely. "And her wrist. You could have broken her arm, you know that?"

"I needed her to listen to me," Chris said.

"Yeah." Noah took in a short breath. "I know a lot of guys who get their kids to listen like that."

Chris's face twisted up. "I'm not—I don't beat my daughter!"

Noah put his hands on his belt. Anger fluttered hard and fast in his chest. "She's staying at my place," he said. "She's safe there. I think it might be best if she stays for a while."

Chris swallowed audibly. "Maybe you're right."

"That's it?" Noah asked. "No asking how she is? Wondering if she's upset?"

Chris finally looked away.

"Fine. Just get Allison's running shoes."

"What?"

"Her running shoes," Noah repeated. "She only has the boots you threw her out in."

Chris sucked in a breath, then without a word left the room. He was back in a few moments. "Here." He thrust a pair of runners at Noah, their laces knotted together. "Anything else?"

Noah took the shoes. "Yeah." He took a step closer to Chris. "Allison doesn't want to press charges against you. In fact, she made it pretty damned clear that she wanted nothing to do with you." He saw Chris flinch. "It might be a good idea if you stay away from her for a little while."

The steel returned to Chris's spine as he looked at Noah sidelong. "Or what?"

Noah thought about all the things he could say, all the threats he could make to keep Allison safe, and knew that all any of it would do would be to endanger Allison. Still, he made himself smile. "See you around." He stepped away from Chris, gave a curt nod, and walked out of the apartment.

The air outside the building was bracing. Noah headed back to the squad car and got in the driver's side. He handed the sneakers to the other person in the car.

"My contacts are finding interesting connections between Dupont and Argent's company," Natasha Romanoff said, staring at her tablet. She put the shoes on the car floor. "Nothing criminal, yet, but it might lead us to something Dupont's hiding."

"Great." Noah started the engine. "I really want to go back up there and give Argent a taste of his own medicine."

"That won't help Allison."

Noah pulled the car into the road. "Ever notice that very little of what we're doing is actually helping Allison?"

"I know." Natasha tapped at her computer tablet. "We'll get there."

Noah let the car roll to a stop at a red light. "None of this feels right. Argent admitted to hitting Allison in the face and I can't do a damned thing."

"You said that she was perfectly healed this morning," Natasha pointed out. "You have no evidence that anything happened."

Noah accelerated on the green. "But how is that possible? Yesterday… I didn't imagine any of that? Those bruises?"

"No." Natasha sat back in her seat, staring at the road. "I told you, she can't be a werewolf. I don't know what's going on. But I doubt that bringing it to Chris Argent's attention is going to make anything better."

"Perfect." Noah changed lanes. "Great. Wonderful." He drove in silence for a few minutes. "Deputy Rushman, do you have any information on those break-ins on Harper Street I asked you about yesterday?"

"Of course, Sheriff Stilinski," Natasha said smoothly, and told Noah about her conversations with a local pawn shop owner as they bumped over the railway tracks on the way to the station.

No matter what else was happening in Beacon Hills, at least the human criminals never took a break.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allison makes a decision on trusting Stiles (complete with flashbacks to the years ahead), Lydia needs a favour, and Peter expresses his displeasure. Melissa McCall is more than a little bit shaken with what happens on the night of the full moon at the sheriff’s station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: Talk of suspected self-harm and past child abuse, and some violent imagery and outright violence.
> 
> The way this AU is set up, it’s canon divergent after season two of Teen Wolf, and Allison lived, and was there for the general plot points through the rest of the series. Times might be altered a bit compared to canon but it’s all vague *handwaves*

* * *

After Noah left for work, Stiles gave Allison an unnecessary tour of the house, ending up in the laundry room. She put her running clothes and the t-shirt and sweats she'd used as pajamas in the washing machine, while Stiles sat on the basement steps.

"What are we going to do about Scott?" he asked.

Allison looked around from where she was trying to figure out the laundry soap. "What?"

"Scott," Stiles repeated. "I have to tell him something. I know you two were…" He made a complicated hand motion. "But he's still going to want to know you're okay."

"That's not a good idea." Allison tossed in half a scoop of the powdered soap. _Powdered soap_. Next someone was going to make her hand-crank the laundry machine or something equally archaic.

"Why not?"

Allison closed the machine's lid. "The full moon is tomorrow."

"So? Scott's control is a lot better now."

"Doesn't matter." Allison turned the dial. "He needs to focus. And thinking about me isn't the way to do that."

"But I can't…" Stiles raked his hand over his hair. "Allison, it's Scott."

"I know." Allison went over to sit beside Stiles. "Trust me, I know." And she did. In those years after the Snap, the loss of Scott had bitten deeply. She'd ached with missing him, but Stiles had been utterly destroyed. "I'm not asking you to lie, but can you just give me a day or two? I need…"

What _did_ she need? Why was she really so hesitant to see Scott? It wasn't that she was worried she'd have feelings for him – seeing the baby version of Stiles the previous day assured her of that.

If it had been her Scott, the one who had just turned forty-one, with three kids and a great job as an architect, she wouldn't have a single qualm.

But this Scott… He didn't know her. He didn't know she was an alpha, or what she had become – the knife in the dark to the blunt force of Bucky's Captain America.

Allison could never walk away from the fact that she was a killer. She had done so many things to protect people, to do good, but she had taken lives in exchange.

Bucky had told her it was what soldiers did. Aunt Anna said it was what alphas did. And late at night, when Allison couldn't sleep, she'd looked back at family photos with the knowledge that, as Argent or as Stark, she'd been born with blood on her hands.

And if he found out, seventeen-year-old Scott McCall would be horrified.

Better to keep him at a distance. Let Scott be the innocent for a little while longer.

Allison sighed. "Can you think of any way to tell him that I'm here and have him not immediately rush over?"

Stiles bit his thumb. "Uh, no."

"Can you just avoid telling him until Saturday?"

"Can you give me a reason?"

Allison turned to look at Stiles. His gaze was steady. "I need more time."

"Until what, you go all furry on Friday?" Stiles shot at her.

"I'm not going to turn," Allison said. "I told you."

"How do you know?" Stiles asked. "Scott started to heal quick too, after he was bitten."

"It's not the same, at all."

"Allison, do you know when all this started?" Stiles pressed. "Or even what happened?"

Allison stood up and paced over to the dryer. "Stiles…"

Stiles also stood. "Because last night, I kept asking you what happened, and you deflected into a story about Hunters. Which, great, good knowledge to have, but not the answer I need."

"I'm not a danger to you," Allison said. "Or your dad."

"I never thought you were!" Stiles rubbed his hands over his face. "Allison, if you don't know what's going on, we can help find out!"

"No!" The word came out louder than Allison intended. Stiles took a step back. "Stiles, you can't press this."

"Why not?"

Allison breathed deep. "Because it won't be safe for you."

Every emotion under the sun ran over Stiles' face. "Safe for me?" he finally managed to exclaim. "If I know about you, then I'm not safe? What crazy town logic is that?"

"Stiles…"

"No!" Stiles crossed his arms over his chest. "I said it last night and I'll say it again. You're safe here. I might be an easily breakable five-foot-ten, but I've got werewolves coming out of the woodwork. And we've also got my dad, who is super pissed off at Chris."

Allison crossed her arms, echoing Stiles' pose. "How do you know that?"

"He hates people who hit their kids."

"Chris doesn't—" Allison stopped, and let it go. "Stiles, I can't tell you. There's so much at stake right now, I need to get my feet under me and figure it out."

"So tell me what you've already figured out!" Stiles practically shouted. "I can help!" He took a step forward. "Please, Allison, I can help."

"I know you can." Allison knew Stiles could help her, but the last time Stiles found out she was the alpha, Derek's blood wasn't even cool on her hands. And everything he felt towards her turned to blinding hate.

But this was different. Derek was alive. Stiles didn't hate her. Stiles was her _friend_.

"Don't…" Stiles suddenly looked so heartbreakingly young. "Don't you trust me?"

Did she trust him? Yes, of course she did.

But did she trust him with the truth about herself?

She understood now that this wasn't about Scott. This was about the two of them, Stiles and Allison. Stiles might be human, but he was also the only one of the pack with a heart that could be cold enough to think rationally and logically, even as a teenager.

So, could she trust him with the truth about what she was?

Of course she did.

Allison let out her breath. "I trust you," she said. She crossed the floor to stand in front of him. "But I need you to understand that, knowing about me, the truth about me, is possibly the most dangerous thing you could know right now."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not real."

The question was forming on Stiles' lips, but Allison had already made up her mind. She reached up to touch his cheek. His breath caught between his teeth.

"What I am, can't be real."

She breathed in. As air filled her lungs, she let the power flow out from her heart. The alpha rose in her eyes, blood and power flowing over her skin as she stared at Stiles.

His heartbeat exploded as he grabbed her arm, but not in violence. "Your eyes are red," he said in a shocked whisper. "Allison—how? What happened?"

"I'm an alpha," she said, running her thumb over Stiles' cheekbone. "A human alpha."

 _"How?"_ Stiles demanded. He grabbed her free hand and turned it over, examining her fingers. "What happened to you?"

"It's a long story," Allison said wearily.

"I don't care if it's Les Mis in the original fucking French, tell me!"

Allison gathered up Stiles' hands in hers as she let the alpha retreat from her eyes. He was trembling slightly, but he wasn't afraid.

He wasn't afraid of her. He didn't hate her.

Maybe, this time, Allison would get to keep her friend after all.

"I… I met this guy while I was away," Allison said. She could tell partial truths to Stiles; he would never know what she deflected. "He was an alpha. One of the good guys."

"Did he bite you?"

"I told you, I'm not a werewolf." Allison squeezed Stiles' hands in reassurance, then went back to sit on the step. "He didn't bite me. But we were out in the woods and we were attacked. It was an ambush, at least seven of them, and just the two of us."

It had been her and Derek, on the far side of the mountain when the pack that had been running around town in a territory struggle found them. Derek was the alpha and Allison had her knives but it wasn't enough.

It had been a death sentence.

"They came after us, and he told me…" Allison put her hand over her mouth. "He told me to run, but I couldn't. I had to try to help."

Stiles sat at Allison's side. He didn't touch her, but his warmth was an anchor in her remembered grief.

"I got a couple of them with my knives, but the rest went after—after my friend."

"What happened?"

Allison looked at her hands. "After my two went down, I found him. He had taken out the others, but he was… He… They'd ripped him practically in half."

"Oh, god," Stiles breathed.

"I couldn't do anything," Allison said. "I swear, I tried, but he was losing so much blood and there was no one else—"

"It wasn't your fault," Stiles said, horrified. "It was the other wolves, not you! You tried to help."

The tears she had never been able to shed over Derek's death welled up, scalding as they slid down her cheeks. "We knew the rest of the other pack was coming, we could hear them," Allison went on. "He said—he asked me to kill him."

"Why?"

"Because if another werewolf killed him, they'd become the alpha, and his pack would never stand a chance," Allison said. All she could see was Derek's mangled face as he begged her to kill him. "If he died at my hand, he thought his sister would become the alpha, even if she wasn't there."

It had happened before, when Laura Hale became the alpha after Talia died in the fire, and Derek was desperate that Cora be given the same chance to save everyone in the Hale pack.

"What did you do?" Stiles asked.

Allison looked at him. He already knew, of course, because he was Stiles and he was ten yards ahead of everyone else when it came to the cold practicality of violence and death in Beacon Hills. "I told him I was sorry. Then I cut his head off."

She could still remember the hot gush of blood on her legs as her knife bit through Derek's throat, his spine, and how his eyes had glowed red one last time as he died.

"Then you became the alpha?" Stiles asked in a small, horrified voice.

"Yes."

Allison could still feel the rush of power and anguish that smashed into her, clawed its way into her heart, tore at her throat. She remembered how she had screamed out her rage, that anyone dared to hurt her pack, her territory, her wolves.

She remembered the other wolf pack descending on her and Derek's body, expecting her to die easily.

She remembered killing them all.

"How?" Stiles shook her hand gently. "Allison, if you're human…"

"I am." Allison blinked. She had to get back to weaving a story that was believable to Stiles, one that would be plausible as more of her past was revealed. The problem was, no one had ever figured out what made Allison an alpha. Anna thought it was because she was born to the dark of the moon, but Shuri had always theorized that the universe was so messed up after the Unsnap that anything could have happened, metaphysically.

Bucky's personal opinion was that Allison had been born an alpha after her mother was murdered, and that Derek's death had just pushed her over the edge, but Allison had always thought he was making that up so she'd feel better.

"So." Allison closed her eyes. She'd started down this road with Stiles, and she might as well keep going. "You know how I have brown eyes?"

"You mean when they're not glowing bright red?" Stiles asked.

Oh, good, he was feeling better if he was being sarcastic. "Yes, then." Allison opened her eyes to give him a glare. "Chris and Victoria don't have brown eyes."

"So?"

"So I'm pretty sure I'm not their biological daughter. At least not both of them," Allison said. It was about the right time, wasn't it? When Allison questioned everything in her life and read about eye colour and realized she had never been like either of the people who had raised her.

"What, like your mom was messing around? Or you're adopted?"

"I don't know." Allison took her hand back from Stiles. "But… maybe I'm something else. Like Lydia."

"Right." Stiles paused. "Wait, like Lydia what?"

Allison froze. Oh shit, was this before they figured out that Lydia was a banshee?

"I mean, yeah, we know something's up with Lydia," Stiles went on. "Did you figure anything out? Do you know something?"

"No," Allison hastened to say. "But, just…"

"Right." Stiles gave his head a dramatic shake. "Sorry, I'm totally being supportive of you being born this way and we will one hundred percent figure this out, I promise you."

Allison began to breathe again. "And in the meantime," she went on, "Maurice Dupont is in town and considering what Hunters are expected to do when they go all supernatural, I am five minutes away from staring down the barrel of someone else's gun."

Stiles flapped his jaw. "Oh my god."

She got up. "Dupont would strangle me for having werewolf friends, Stiles. What do you think he's going to do if he thinks that I'm a werewolf?"

Stiles exhaled. "Explaining that you're a human alpha won't help?"

"Stiles."

"Okay, right, we continue with getting rid of the other Hunters." Stiles rested his elbows on his knees. "What about Chris?"

"What about him?"

Stiles was looking at her with a very direct gaze. "Considering what he did to you last night and what happened with your mom, is he going to be the one holding the gun on you?"

Allison sighed. "I don't know," she admitted. And she didn't. When she had lived through this the first time, Chris had already moved on from Beacon Hills. When they crossed paths, a year later, Allison was a full-time superhero. And the Snap had changed so much for Hunters, in any event.

"So, and this is just a suggestion, maybe we can avoid turning over that rock." Stiles stood. "I know I said at first that we should tell Scott, but now I don't know."

"You can…" Allison shook her head. "I don't know, tell him I'm staying with you. But I need space, just until after the moon."

"Okay, yeah." Stiles was already thinking ahead. "He's at work today. Maybe after we see Derek, I can go over to his place and let him know that you're back in town. And are perfectly normal, except for being beaten up by your, uh, possibly not-father."

"You can also leave out the Peter thing," Allison added.

Stiles made a face. "I'm trying to block that out of my own head, don't expect me to put it into Scott's."

"Thank you." Allison tucked her hair behind her ears. "I mean that, Stiles."

"Not a problem," Stiles said, standing tall. Then he jumped. "Oh my god!"

"What?"

"That's why you said you had responsibilities!" he exclaimed, pointing a finger at Allison in glee. "I get it now! You're going full alpha!"

"Stiles."

"You said you'd keep us all safe!" Then Stiles stopped. "Wait. Are you going to tell Derek?"

"Absolutely not," Allison said. "The last thing this town needs is an alpha turf battle."

"You think Derek would fight you?"

"I think that all Derek needs to know is that I will do anything and everything to keep every member of his pack safe."

"But…"

"Stiles. Remember what I told you. I'm not possible."

"Hey, this is Beacon Hills," Stiles scoffed. "Nothing about this town is possible."

Allison shook her head. The worst part was, Stiles wasn't wrong.

* * *

They finally got out of the house around eleven. Stiles drove them to Target, where Allison's first order of business was to pick up a burner phone. The battle between price and functionality was brief, and she got one where she could type on a keyboard instead of mashing at the number keys like some sort of hyperactive macaw.

The past was _so annoying._

"You need any back-to-school stuff?" Stiles asked, poking at a display of notebooks. One of them overbalanced and knocked several of its neighbours to the ground. Stiles jumped back.

"I could use a computer," Allison said. But the cost of the computing power she'd need to get anything done would far outstrip the funds she had taken from Chris's house. "Maybe in a few weeks."

"What happens in a few weeks?" Stiles hastily shoved the notebooks behind the display and dashed after Allison.

"We'll see if I'm still alive?"

"That's not funny."

"You're telling me." Allison paused in the aisle. "Stiles, if you had a hundred dollars and needed clothes, where would you go?"

"I don't know. Thrift store?"

"What about if you had a hundred dollars and needed knives?"

"Army surplus." Stiles frowned at her. "Wait, why do you need knives? Can't you just…" He slashed at the air with a clawed hand.

Allison raised an eyebrow. "Human, remember?"

"Okay." Stiles grabbed an eight-pack of Red Bull off the shelf. "Great. Knives. Why not guns?"

"Because you run out of bullets." Allison looped her arm through Stiles' to haul him towards the front. "Same with arrows."

"People can get closer to you if you're holding a knife."

"All the better to stab them with."

Stiles shuddered, but he didn't pull away. "You are freaking me out right now."

"I'm sorry, do you want me to tone it down?" Allison asked acerbically.

"No, it's just that I'm usually the one making people uncomfortable."

They reached the register. Allison put the phone on the belt. "We'll trade off. You can have Tuesdays and weekends."

"Deal."

The teller barely looked at the bills Allison handed her, and they got out of Target without much delay. Back on the road, Stiles kept glancing over at Allison while she tried to figure out how to enter new contact information into the phone. "What?" she demanded after a few minutes.

"I was thinking about money," Stiles said. "What are you going to do?"

Allison shrugged. "Your dad said I could stay with you for a bit. I grabbed some money from Chris before I took off. I should probably get a job." She put the phone down to stare out at the road. She'd never really had to think about money. Chris Argent had made millions through his arms business, and then Tony Stark made up for missing the first eighteen years of her life by throwing money at her.

Now, she was seventeen, with no high school diploma, no employable skills, and no source of funds on the horizon.

Great.

"I always thought…" Stiles trailed off, which was unlike him. "I mean, Derek has money. I thought… Alpha…"

"Derek has money because the Hale family was loaded," Allison told him. "They're old money, at least California old."

Stiles frowned. "How do you know that?"

"I heard it around," Allison lied. Peter and Cora had split Derek's part of the Hale estate after Derek died, and Allison had overheard most of the screaming matches that uncle and niece had about the money. "The Hale Trust owns most of the land downtown."

"Then why does Derek live like a hobo?" Stiles demanded.

"I don't know, ask him." Allison picked Stiles' phone out of the cupholder. "You think Peter wears two-hundred-dollar shirts because he has a job or something?"

Silence filled Stiles' half of the cab. While Allison waited for the other shoe to drop, she scrolled through his contacts until she found Lydia's number to type into her new phone.

"So, Peter."

Allison moved onto Erica's number. "What about him?"

"That was going to be my question."

Allison hesitated over Scott's number, then decided to add it just in case. "He's not that hard to understand."

"Oh, I understand Peter." Stiles slowed to make a right-hand turn. "The first time he met you, he was going to kill you."

"The second time."

"What?"

Allison put Stiles' phone down. "The first time I met Peter Hale, I was shopping for a dress for the Winter Formal and he came over to tell me how perfect my skin was."

Horrified disgust showed on Stiles' face. "And then you let him _kiss you_ last night?"

"Yes." Allison pocketed her phone. "Whatever happens, worst case scenario, Peter rips my throat out. I have bigger problems."

"Okay, but for those of us tragically left behind, that means Peter will be an alpha again!" Stiles turned into the parking lot outside the army surplus and camping supply store. "So maybe stay out of killing distance?"

Allison waited until Stiles had parked and turned off the engine before she put her hand on his arm. "I need you to drop the Peter thing."

"Gladly."

"Stiles." She waited until Stiles looked at her. "I mean it. Whatever is going to happen between him and me, it's my business."

"Allison, Peter is _dangerous._ "

Allison squeezed Stiles' arm. "So am I."

"Well, I _know_ that!" Stiles exhaled. "You told me like an hour ago you chopped someone's head off. But that's different than how Peter's dangerous."

"Everything Peter does, is for Peter." Allison let go of Stiles' arm. "It makes him easier to understand."

"Are you sure of that?" Stiles' eyes were dark and intense.

"Stiles."

"Just…. Don't do anything crazy."

"Are you kidding?" Allison opened the car door. " _Stark raving mad_ is the family motto." She got out of the jeep. "Are you coming?"

She was halfway across the parking lot by the time Stiles caught up with her.

The store was mostly empty. Stiles was distracted by something sparkly on the wall, so Allison left him to it as she went over to the display case that held the knives.

A young man, not that much older than Stiles, rolled over in a wheelchair. "Can I help you find something?" he asked.

This man looked nothing like Bucky, but Allison was struck by such a sense of loss that her knees felt weak. He was missing both legs from the thighs down, and had the too-old stare that Allison had seen in countless veterans over her lifetime. Instead of falling in on her loss, Allison smiled at the man in front of her. "Yes," she said. "I have a list."

The man was wary at first, trying to get Allison to look at a badly designed folding knife just because the handle was purple, but they soon fell into a conversation about the durability of various alloy steels in the field. Allison could almost hear Bucky's voice as an echo in her head.

Stiles drifted over a few times, his eyebrows moving in strange ways as he saw the growing pile of knives on the counter. He dropped a few things beside Allison's haul before spinning back into the store.

Allison and the sales clerk were just wrangling over the merits of a lightweight compact hatchet when the door of the store jingled open, and a very familiar voice said, "Stiles?"

Allison looked around. Her ears hadn't deceived her. It was Lydia Martin.

"Stiles?" Lydia said again, looking very out of place amidst the camo, in four-inch heels and a fluttering flowery dress. "Are you in here?"

Stiles burst out from behind a taxidermy bear, wearing a truly hideous fishing hat. "Lydia! Hi! Why are you here?"

"I saw your jeep. What are you _wearing?"_

Allison turned to the clerk. "I'll take it all. And the sharpening stone set."

"You sure?" the man asked dubiously. "That's going to be over four hundred dollars."

"I'm paying cash."

The man smiled. "I'll ring you in at the front."

He scooped Allison's purchases onto his lap and rolled away, while Allison gathered up the things Stiles had left before making her way across the store. Stiles and Lydia were in a face-off, mostly with Lydia making disparaging comments about the store's cleanliness while Stiles tried to get her to put on a fishing vest.

Allison took a deep breath. "Lydia?"

The girl spun around mid-word. "Allison?" she squeaked

"Hi."

Lydia flung herself at Allison, who barely had time to drop her armful before Lydia was wrapping her into a hug. "When did you get back?" Lydia demanded. She pulled back to look at Allison. "Why didn't you call me all summer?"

"It's a long story." Allison squeezed Lydia's arm before gently extricating herself from the embrace. Lydia looked exhausted, like she wasn't sleeping well. "Are you okay?"

Lydia sniffed. "Of course." She looked around. "Why are you in here with Stiles?"

"It's a long story," Allison said. "Are you doing anything?"

"No." Lydia looked around. "Seriously. Why are you in here?"

"Resupply," Allison said. "Stiles, do you want any of this stuff?"

"Not really." Stiles was stuck trying to extricate himself from the fishing hat.

"I'm going to pay."

Lydia caught Allison's arm. The unexpected contact made Allison's heart race. It was just Lydia, she reminded herself. Lydia's touch wasn't dangerous. Her voice, her intelligence, her cutting wit? Those would make anyone tremble.

But her touch didn't hurt.

Taking a deep breath, Allison walked with Lydia over to the counter.

The total was closer to five hundred dollars, which Allison paid for with Chris Argent's cash. Lydia watched the transaction, and the subsequent wrapping of the weaponry, with increasingly narrowed eyes. "Are we under siege?" she finally asked. The clerk raised an eyebrow at the question.

"Not yet," Allison said. She took the bag from the young man, got her change, smiled, and sailed out of the store with Stiles and Lydia on her heels. "Do you guys want some lunch? I want lunch."

"Always," Stiles said. They stopped beside Lydia's car. "Lydia? Up for some crunch and munch?"

Lydia held up her hand. "Never say that again," she told him. "And yes. I need a favour, anyway."

Stiles practically swooned. "I live to serve you."

"Great." Lydia looked at Allison. "We eat, I get my favour, and you get to tell me why I haven't heard from you in ages and why you're suddenly so stabby."

"Deal." Allison stepped back before Lydia could hug her again. "Stiles, I'll meet you at the jeep."

As she walked away, Allison heard Lydia hiss, "What's going on? What happened to Allison? She looks terrible!"

"I know!" Stiles replied. "I guess she didn't pack any makeup last night when her dad kicked her out of the house."

"What?" Lydia yelped so loudly that Allison didn't even need alpha powers to hear her. "Her dad did what?"

"Yeah, that was the least of it," Stiles said. "And it's not my story, not really. Can Allison tell you?"

Lydia sighed. "Fine. I'll see you at Anton's."

"I hate Anton's," Stiles muttered.

At the jeep, Allison opened the passenger door and opened the bag of knives, wondering which of the knives she could stash on her person before lunch.

She had just decided to tuck the five-inch tactical knife into her waistband when Stiles heaved himself into the driver's seat. "How do you feel about Anton's?" he said brightly.

"You hate Anton's."

"I do, bu—" He broke off suddenly. "Wait, could you hear us?"

Allison stuffed her new hatchet back into the bag, then stashed the bag under her seat. "Stiles. Alpha hearing?" she reminded him as she got in and closed the door behind her.

"Oh man." He started the engine, then jumped around, staring with wide eyes. "Wait, your room is just down the hall from mine."

Allison rolled her eyes. "So jerk off when I'm not around."

"Oh my god," Stiles whined.

"Drive."

Still freaking out, Stiles put the jeep in gear and off they went.

He managed to pull himself together in a few blocks. "What are you going to tell Lydia?"

"About what?"

"You? The summer? Yesterday's punchapolooza?"

"What I'll tell everyone else. I'm fine, staying with you and your dad for a bit because Chris threw me out after a fight, and I really don't want to talk about the summer so can we talk about you instead?"

She tacked on a pouty lip and a wide-eyed stare at the end. Stiles shivered. "It's creepy when you do that."

"What?"

"Use your feminine wiles."

"Yeah, well, I'm out of practice."

"No, it worked, it was just…" Stiles concentrated very hard on the road. "Like, there was last year's Allison, and how you got super scary after your mom died. And then there's the you from yesterday and this morning." He let out a breath. "It's like you were gone a lot longer than just a month."

Allison rubbed her eyes. This was what worried her so much about Stiles – how perceptive he was when he took a break from the sarcasm and the knee-jerk reactions. Not that it mattered. Who would possibly believe the truth, that Allison had come back from the future to save the entire universe?

And with that thought, a wave of grief for Morgan kicked Allison in the stomach. She pressed her hand over her mouth, willing herself not to cry.

If she started crying about losing her family, she might never stop.

"Allison?"

"I'm all right," she said, her voice catching. "A lot can happen in a month, Stiles."

He had no reply to that.

After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, they pulled up in front of Anton's, a Beacon Hills dive where the only thing older than the chef was the decor. Lydia was already standing out front, looking impatient.

"Here we go," Stiles muttered.

The restaurant was crowded and loud, with the only available table back by the kitchen. Stiles had to perch on a chair with a missing leg, while Lydia and Allison squeezed together on a section of bench. Once the hostess vanished, Lydia said, "Tell me everything."

Allison leaned back. "My dad threw me out of the house for telling him exactly what I thought of his child rearing techniques, so I'm staying with Stiles and the sheriff."

Lydia blinked. "What?"

"How was your summer?" Allison went on.

Lydia looked to Stiles, who shrugged. "Okay, I guess?"

"Oh, and I have a new phone." Allison pulled out the old-fashioned square and dialed Lydia. "Chris kept the old one."

"With all your stuff on it?" Lydia breathed, appalled. "That's _terrible_."

"It's okay, I've got you guys in person now." Allison looked up as a waiter approached with water glasses. He took Stiles' order of nachos, Lydia's request for a salad, and then turned to Allison.

"Can you put a chicken breast on top of a hamburger patty?" Allison asked hopefully.

"You mean instead of?"

"No, in addition to."

The waiter looked at her. "You want bacon and cheese too?"

"Yes. Oh, and can I get a side of coleslaw along with the fries?"

"Whatever you want, sweetheart. But it'll cost you."

"Story of my life." The waiter shrugged and left. Stiles and Lydia both turned on Allison. "What?"

"Are you pregnant?" Lydia demanded.

"I sure as hell hope not." Allison drained the water glass, nearly giving herself brain-freeze. "You going to drink that?"

Stiles was staring at her, mesmerized. "Is this because of the—" He yelped as Allison kicked his leg, nearly falling off the chair. "The long plane ride!"

Allison gave him as disapproving a glare as she could without letting the alpha out. "That's a lot of food," Lydia said.

"And you can have some if you want. Now, tell me about this favour you need from Stiles."

Stiles perked up.

Lydia took a deep breath. "I need to talk to Peter, and he's not responding to my texts."

A sliver of ice ran down Allison's spine. "Why do you need to talk to Peter?"

Stiles looked just as appalled. "Yeah, why?"

Lydia tossed her hair. "Because I have questions."

"Oh god." Stiles rubbed his face with both hands. "About what?"

"I want to know why he did what he did. I deserve that much."

Allison bit her lower lip. She knew Stiles was glaring at her, but she had to focus on Lydia. "Do you want to know why he did it, or do you want to know what that means about you?" she asked cautiously. "Because if you want to know about what's going on with you, we can help you. Me and Stiles."

Allison really hoped that it wasn't the former, because she knew exactly why Peter had targeted Lydia as his back-up plan, and it wasn't just that Lydia was different.

It was that Peter thought she would be an easy victim.

Allison had spent years working through her issues with Peter Hale, but she was under no illusions as to what the man was like.

"I'm with Allison," Stiles said. He rested his elbows on the table. "You don't need Peter. We'll figure this out on our own."

"Our own little pack," Allison added, reminded of something Kate Bishop had said after she and Kamala joined A-Force. _Just us humans, running around, saving the galaxy on our own. We don't need no alien help_.

Lydia fidgeted with her bracelet. "What if he comes after me again?" she whispered.

Allison put her arm around Lydia's shoulders. "Peter will never come after you again," she said as Lydia leaned against her. "He doesn't have any power over you."

"But what if he does?" Lydia said again.

"Then I'll kill him," Allison said. She heard Stiles suck in a breath. "I mean it. If he tries anything with you, I'll end him."

Lydia hung onto Allison. "I don't know if that's reassuring or terrifying."

"It's both," Stiles said. "This has been my entire morning." He met Allison's eyes. "It's been a long summer, apparently."

Lydia sniffled, then sat back. She dabbed at the corners of her eyes before digging a compact out of her purse. "All right," she said. "Where do we start with Operation Lydia Martin?"

"Step one," Allison said, thinking furiously. She couldn't just tell Lydia she was a banshee; that hadn't gone over well when it happened last time. They'd need to find some evidence. "Examine the subject."

"Me." Lydia put the compact away. "Seventeen, five-three, adorable."

"Incredibly smart, empathetic, and protective," Allison said. Lydia frowned. "You know, I bet twenty bucks that you'll be the first person to win both the Fields Medal and a Nobel."

Lydia blinked. "I didn't know you knew what the Fields Medal was."

Allison smiled. "Fifty bucks if you do it before you're thirty-seven." That was when Lydia had received her Nobel in Chemistry, and Allison had a hunch that she'd be faster this time around.

Lydia gave her head a shake. "We're talking past state, not future."

"All right." Allison turned to Stiles. "Your dad's a cop. Any ideas on what to do next?"

"Well." Stiles bit his lip. "You're not adopted. Right?"

"No."

"So, any weirdness in the family? Your parents seem pretty normal."

"Yes. But…" Lydia pulled her bracelet off her wrist. "Ugh. Don't tell anyone. My grandmother was crazy."

"What do you mean?" Allison kept her voice quiet.

"She died in a mental institution," Lydia said. Her fingers were trembling. "It was when I was a kid. I don't remember much."

"It's okay," Stiles said. He reached across the table to take Lydia's hand. "We're going to figure this out."

"And you know what?" Allison asked. "With our track record, any time anyone calls us crazy, it's just because there's real stuff happening that we haven't deciphered yet."

"Exactly." Stiles grinned at Lydia, who gave him a watery smile back.

"So we'll figure it out," Allison said. "Oh good, food."

The waiter dumped the plate of nachos in front of Stiles, then gave Lydia her salad with a modicum more grace. Another waitress came up behind him, carrying a towering hamburger that was held together with a steak knife. She gave Allison the once over, put down the plate, and said, "If you finish that entire thing yourself, the chef's going to give you a free dessert."

Allison beamed up at the woman. "Challenge accepted."

"There has to be at least two pounds of meat in there," Lydia said.

"I sure hope so." Allison removed the knife, smashed the burger down, and tried to figure out how she was going to eat the damned thing without unhinging her jaw.

"What do we do next?" Stiles asked through a mouthful of chips.

"Lydia should research her family tree," Allison said. "Say it's for school."

"School hasn't started yet."

"Then say it's for extra credit." Allison bit down. She was so hungry.

"What are you going to do about your father?" Lydia asked.

Allison shrugged.

"Allison's eighteen in a few weeks," Stiles said, his mouth only a fraction less full than Allison's. "She can stay with us until then. Then she can, I don't know, go be an adult somewhere."

Allison swallowed. "An adult who still has to finish two years of high school."

"Huh. Do you know what you want to do when you grow up?"

"At this point, I'd settle for surviving the next few weeks." She bit into her burger again.

Lydia's nose twitched. "Does this have anything to do with why you just dropped five hundred dollars on pointy objects?"

Allison gestured towards Stiles with her elbow. "Tell her."

"Why me?"

"You summarize better."

Grumpily, Stiles gave the ten-cent synopsis of the last couple of days in Allison's life, thankfully omitting any Peter Hale-shaped details. Allison concentrated on eating. Lydia wasn't as shocked as Allison had feared she might be, just sat and nodded. When Stiles was finished, the girl turned to Allison and said, "Your life sucks."

Allison dipped her fries in the coleslaw. "Tell me about it."

"Are you going to tell Derek about the Hunters?"

"We're going there next."

"Good luck." Lydia speared a cherry tomato. "I have family stuff on Saturday, but we should do something on Sunday. To give you a break from bachelor living."

"Hey," Stiles said, affronted. "There's nothing wrong with bachelor living."

Lydia's eyebrows went up. "I have been to your house," she said, as if that was the last word on the subject. "Allison?"

"I guess. What do you have in mind?"

"Mani-pedis?"

Allison chased a French fry around her plate. The last few years of her life, fighting to protect the galaxy while the universe crumbled around them, hadn't been a place where Allison could spend time on frivolities. Her version of self-care had been curling up for a few hours' sleep before the next emergency began.

Somehow, the idea of a casual girls-day with Lydia made her spine itch.

But she had to say something. Lydia was looking at her hopefully. "Maybe we could do some research?" Allison suggested. "Or a movie?"

"Fine," Lydia said. "Or we could go shopping, if you're still throwing money around. Those clothes are hideous."

Allison, who had spent the majority of the previous decade wearing pajamas when she wasn't in her body armour, just said, "We'll see."

"Great, it's a date!" Stiles said brightly. "When do we start?"

Lydia rolled her eyes, but Allison smiled. It was nice, having her friends getting along.

* * *

"All I'm saying is that we can try to figure out more about you, too," Stiles said as they walked into the abandoned train station. "Buy one family secret, get one free."

"Helping Lydia learn about herself is more important," Allison said. She gazed around the mid-day twilight, her senses heightened. Who was here?

"Why?"

"Because she's just starting her journey. She needs to know more about what she can do."

"And you don't?"

Allison touched Stiles' arm. "I already know what I can do. Now shut up."

Stiles opened his mouth, then snapped it closed. He held out his hands as if to say, _fine_.

Allison listened. Over Stiles' heartbeat, she could hear the trace of one other heartbeat, along with the faintest hint of steady movement. Boots, soft, on concrete.

"Stiles. Allison."

Allison turned around, and saw Derek Hale.

He didn't look as young as the others had, although the years had fallen away from him. But then, Derek had already lost so much in his life by this point; betrayed by Kate Argent, his family murdered in the fire, his sister Laura slaughtered by Peter. And from the sounds of things, he still didn't know that his sister Cora had survived the fire and ran away.

Which reminded her: Allison was going to have to put _finding Cora Hale_ at the top of her to-do list.

Derek paced towards them on quiet feet, looking over Allison in irritation. But he was alive and whole, and Allison was going to keep him that way. "Stiles said you have information on new Hunters in town," he said. That was Derek, no time for chit-chat.

Allison took a breath. Derek would never die in her arms on a cold mountainside. She had to focus on where she was, and on what she could change. "Yes."

"And?"

Allison fell into a slouching parade rest, her hands linked gently behind her back, close to her knife. "Five of them, if my intel is correct. Not sure on their home base, but the alleged ring-leader, Maurice Dupont, has had some dealings on the east coast and up into Canada, probably around Montreal."

"Why are they here?"

"I don't know. To the best of my knowledge, they got into town recently. Dupont met up with Chris yesterday when we got back into town ourselves."

Derek took a few steps towards her, getting into her personal space. Allison could feel her body respond to the presence of the alpha, senses heightened, ready for… for what? Not for a fight, and certainly not sex.

Maybe just a recognition that they were both the same? They were both the Hale pack alpha, Allison realized, both with power pulled from the same untold generations of werewolves.

Derek glared down at her, then, lowered his head and sniffed.

"Oh god!" Stiles exclaimed. He jumped forward, physically shoving himself between Allison and Derek. "Why are you smelling her?"

"She smells weird," Derek said, his gaze frosty. "Like I've met her before."

"You have." Stiles manhandled Derek back a few steps.

"She doesn't smell like an Argent any more," Derek went on. Allison shifted her weight to the balls of her feet, slipped one hand under her shirt to touch the knife handle in case Derek attacked.

"What does an Argent smell like?" Stiles asked, and that was enough to yank Derek's attention off Allison.

He blinked, shook his head, and turned away to walk into the artificial dusk. "Pain."

"What?" Stiles turned to Allison, his hands moving in a show of confusion. She stepped over to his side and pressed her finger to his lips. _Quiet._

"Derek," she said once she was certain Stiles wouldn't blurt anything out. "A lot of things happened this summer. I know… I know I have to take responsibility for what I've done. Part of that is keeping everyone safe."

"Like you did with Peter last night?" Derek was still pacing. "He said you lured him up to the mountains where Hunters could shoot at you."

"If by _lure_ you mean running for my life while he chased me with his claws out, then sure. I didn't know that the Hunters would be up on that ridge, Derek, and if I did I sure as hell wouldn't have gone anywhere near them."

"You expect me to believe that?" Derek passed the terrible couch, rubbing his hand over the cushions.

"You can believe whatever you want. But when Peter and I split up, Chris was shooting at me, not him."

Derek jerked his head around. "Your father? He was the one on the other end of that gun?"

"That's what he says." Allison risked taking a few steps towards Derek. "Look, I don't know what's going on, or why the others are in town, but I'm going to find out, and I'm going to get them out of here as fast as I can."

"You," Derek said. "You're seventeen, human and from what Stiles tells me, homeless. How are you going to get rid of five Hunters and a father who doesn't seem to care if he hurts you?"

Allison held his gaze. "Through any means necessary."

"If they come after any of my pack, I'll deal with them my way."

Allison shrugged. "Okay."

"Okay?" Derek repeated. "You're suddenly fine with me killing people?"

"Self-defence isn't murder."

"Oh my god," Stiles breathed out. "No! No killing! Why can't my dad just deal with this?"

"Your dad?" Derek said sharply.

"Allison told him about Dupont in case there are any outstanding warrants or anything to arrest him," Stiles explained. "Wouldn't it be great if just once we didn't have to deal with things?"

"Human law for humans only works if the people enforcing the law are on our side."

Stiles glared at Derek. "My dad is on our side!"

"Is he?" Derek asked, and thankfully his attention had moved off Allison. She took a step back. "What does he know? All he sees is what he's supposed to see. How can he do anything to help my pack when he thinks this town is overrun by animal attacks?"

"Do you want to tell him about the supernatural?" Stiles demanded. Allison kept moving backwards, away towards the door. This sounded like a familiar argument.

"What good would that do?" Derek was glowering at Stiles now, his attention fully on the boy, so Allison quietly sidled behind the old train car. "That puts everyone in danger!"

"So what are you talking about?"

"We can't win!" Derek shouted. Allison walked deeper into the building, past the pile of old rail ties. "If people think werewolves are a myth, then nothing that happens to us matters. If they know we exist, they hunt us down."

Stiles' reply was too muffled for Allison to hear. She left them to their banter, knowing that Derek would never hurt Stiles, and Stiles could run his mouth off to keep the conversation going for a while. Allison just needed some time alone.

Had she ever been in this part of the station before? The old maintenance warehouse, which was actually the biggest building in the complex, had mostly been stripped for the sellables when the inter-urban line shut down in the seventies, but the building infrastructure remained. Allison picked up a length of pipe, rusted from long disuse, and moved it to a workbench by the window.

Derek really needed to find a less depressing batcave.

Allison wandered among the embedded installation. Here, a few broken windows let in some light. There was less graffiti than she would have expected. Something had kept out the kids and the homeless seeking shelter over the years. Maybe the place was haunted.

Maybe—

Instinct took over and Allison ducked, a fraction of a second before a concrete chunk hurtled through the air where her head had just been. She rolled and got to her feet, bracing herself just as a body crashed into her. Arms encircled her waist and heaved her into the air.

"Hi, Peter!" Allison called as she kicked, trying to free herself.

"I'm going to kill you," Peter hissed in her ear. He squeezed, a vise-like grip that threatened to break all of Allison's ribs.

"Not today." She kicked back and up, tipping Peter's balance for the second she needed to throw all her weight to the side. His grip slipped as she planted a foot on his thigh and went up, stepping off into a backflip to get away from him.

She landed on a workbench, already running. Peter was right on her heels as Allison leapt from bench to bench. She changed direction, bolting for an old cherry-picker abandoned with its bucket halfway to the ceiling.

"Stop!" Peter yelled.

"No!" Allison leaped onto the cherry picker's arm, climbing nimbly. She had to clear the height before Peter tipped the thing over, and with the mood he was in, that could be any moment.

There was no time to think. Up and up, and as soon as she had her hands on the guardrail of the bucket, she gathered all of her strength to jump.

She barely caught the edge of the raised walkway grate, her face slamming against the metal as her other hand came up to grab the railing. Blood dripped down her chin as she hauled herself onto the grate, a mere moment before Peter could grab her leg.

"Almost got me," Allison panted. The attack and the taste of blood had awoken the alpha, just spoiling for a fight. "But not quite."

"You almost got me killed last night," Peter growled, already shifted to the wolf. "I came to return the favour."

"Then we're even, you almost killed me." She got to her feet, moving carefully over the broken grating. "And I saved your life last night."

"How exactly do you figure that?" Peter asked as he climbed onto the guardrail.

"Hunters were firing at me, not you," Allison said. She climbed up and over a six-foot gap in the grate. "And do you want to know the best part?"

Peter jumped. The entire walkway shook under his weight.

"It was _Chris_ shooting at me." Allison hopped over another broken space, trying to put as much distance between herself and Peter as possible. "Wouldn't that have been poetic? Girl kissing werewolf slaughtered by father's own irrational prejudices?"

"How do you know it was him?" Peter demanded. His face had shifted back to human, but his eyes still glowed blue.

"He told me." Allison crouched, using her sleeve to wipe blood off her face. Peter was hot and angry and before, when he'd gotten like this, the two of them would end up fucking against any nearby flat surface. That was probably out of the question at this point, but Allison's body still responded to the memory. "Right before he threw me out of the house."

"Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?"

"Nope." Allison climbed up onto a railing, calculating distances. It was probably over twenty-five feet to the ground, a landing Allison could make on a good day, but she ran the risk of losing her balance if Peter jumped her. "But think about it – you won't even need to kill me if Chris Argent gets there first."

Peter sank to a crouch, contemplating Allison. "I don't understand you," he said. "No human should have been able to make that jump, or duck that fast."

"But you guessed I would," Allison finished. "Otherwise you'd never have thrown that concrete at me."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that." Peter shifted his weight. "The harder you are to kill, the more fun I get to have."

"I told you last night, you're not going to kill me." Allison breathed deep. "Because first you have a mystery to solve. And there's the matter of what else is currently on the table."

"Yes." Peter moved forward, testing his weight on the cracked railings. The metal groaned. "But do you really think that putting the two of us together in a room without any witnesses is going to end well?"

"I guess it depends on what you want," Allison said. She looked around. Peter was blocking her escape to the west, and the walkway to the east was hanging by only a few rusty screws. "What do you want out of me, Peter?"

"Answers," Peter replied, and dove for her.

Quick as a thought, Allison dropped and rolled, grabbing at the piping underneath the walkway. She flung herself off the grate, swinging in mid-air by one hand as Peter recovered. She didn't know what to expect, but it certainly wasn't for Peter to swing himself off the grating and grab her around the waist.

"Allison!" Derek shouted from below

Great, the cavalry had arrived. "I'm a bit busy!" Allison yelled, trying to keep her hold on the pipe with Peter's extra weight hauling her down. "Get off me!"

"Why would I do that?" Peter asked, then kicked. The added momentum, combined with the awkward hold Allison had on the pipe, pulled too hard in a bad direction. Allison's shoulder popped out of its socket and she lost her grip.

They fell together.

The landing was rough. Allison managed to bend her knees to lose most of the momentum, but she was off-balance enough that she fell onto her injured side, the pain from her dislocated shoulder a blinding-white agony.

A hand closed on her uninjured arm and she kicked out as she rolled, getting to her feet as she drew the knife from her waist, preparing for the next portion of the fight. But it was only Derek, standing with one hand around Peter's throat, the other reaching for her. Stiles, smart boy, was back out of reach.

"Fight's over," Allison said, breathing around the pain. Still, she held the knife in front of her. "Right, Peter?"

"Right," he agreed. His eyes were fixed on the tip of her blade. "You didn't have that last night."

"I didn't know I had psychopathic hunters on my trail last night," Allison said. She shifted her gaze to Derek, who was glaring at her with alpha-red eyes. "Derek? We got a problem?"

"I don't know, do we?"

Allison moved back a few paces. The added distance helped her breathe. "If Peter says we're done, we're done."

"You trust Peter's word now?" Derek let his uncle go.

"As long as I know what he's after." Allison glanced over Derek's shoulder at Stiles. "Come here."

"Actually, I'd like to stay as far away from this clusterfuck as possible," Stiles said. Still, he approached on cautious feet. "Why does your arm look like that?"

"Dislocated." She twirled the knife in her fingers and offered it to Stiles, handle first. "Hold this." The boy took the knife like it was a poisonous snake.

"Does anyone want to tell me what just happened?" Derek demanded.

Peter straightened his shoulders, his spine cracking in a few places. "Some preliminary negotiations, that's all."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means that we're good now." Allison tried to move her arm. Pain ricocheted from the shoulder. "Right?"

"Right," Peter said, and smiled.

"Oh my god," Stiles muttered.

"You should go get that looked at," Derek said, nodding at Allison's arm.

She didn't have time to seek medical attention – if she didn't set her arm soon, her alpha healing would try to heal it wrong. She needed some field medicine.

This was really going to suck.

Allison crossed over to Peter, who looked faintly alarmed. "Hands," she ordered. After a moment, he held out his hands, palms up. "Not like that."

She took his left hand and put it against her injured arm, just below the shoulder. Then she moved his right hand to her elbow.

"Squeeze, and don't move."

Peter looked at her. "Do you know what you're doing?"

"Saving myself a whole lot of future pain," she said. "Squeeze."

"What's going on?" Stiles demanded, just as Peter tightened his hands around her arm in a bruising grip.

"Emergency measures." Allison rolled her torso back and down. Her arm popped into place, the pain receding. She let out a shuddering breath. "All better."

"I need to sit down," Stiles said.

Peter was still staring at her. He let her elbow go, but kept his hold on her upper arm. "That wasn't your first time."

Allison ran her tongue over the blood drying on her lower lip. "It's been a weird summer."

"I have no doubt." Peter's eyes strayed to her lip. "What would you do if I tried to lick that blood out of your mouth?"

"I told you yesterday," Allison replied. "Not without buying me dinner first."

"Wait, what?" Derek interrupted, incredulous. "What the hell is going on?"

"My personal nightmare," Stiles called.

Peter ran his thumb over Allison's lower lip, coming away with a smear of blood. He licked his thumb as he let Allison go. "Mmm," he said. "I knew you'd taste sweet."

"No." Derek grabbed Peter's shirt and hauled him backwards. "No, no licking, _no_."

Allison grinned as Stiles darted in to haul her away. "I'll let you know if I find out anything else, Derek," Allison called over her shoulder. "Bye, Peter."

"What is wrong with you?" Stiles demanded as he pushed Allison across the warehouse floor. "Peter just tried to kill you!"

"He wasn't trying very hard." Allison flexed her hand. No tingling, that was good. "He won't do it again. Knife me."

Stiles handed back her blade. "You trust him?"

"Like I said, he knows what he wants now." Allison slid the knife into the sheath at her waist.

"Which is what?" Stiles voice rose.

"He wants to figure me out."

"Well, so do I, but you don't see me trying to hit you and saying I'm going to lick the blood out of your mouth, which, _ew._ "

"I should hope not." Allison slung her arm over Stiles' shoulders. "Come on, let's go home, I want to sharpen all my new knives."

"Why is this my life," Stiles groaned, but he let Allison lead the way out of the shrouded train depot into a beautiful California summer day.

* * *

It was a quiet afternoon. When they got back to the Stilinski house, Stiles collapsed face-first onto the couch while Allison went to change out of her bloodied clothing. Then she brought her knives out onto the back porch to sharpen them. After a while, Stiles came outside, sitting in a patch of sunlight next to her.

"Tell me about your summer," Allison said when it seemed like Stiles might start asking questions. The boy did so, going into detail about the last full moon, and on a few recent weird finds that he and the wolves had made in the woods.

The one-sided conversation went on for a while. Allison was lulled by Stiles' voice and the rhythmic scrape of metal over the whetstone. The hatchet wouldn't hold a decapitating edge for long, but if she got into a fight where she needed to keep chopping, it was unlikely she'd live to walk away.

She and Bucky had done this almost daily; Allison sharpening her knives, him polishing the shield as he talked through their missions, or just telling her stories. He seldom spoke much around the others, only with her and Sam. Allison wondered where Sam was now. She knew his partner Riley had died in 2011, so Sam was either finishing up his tour before leaving the military in disillusionment, or was already working at the V.A. She hoped he was okay.

She also hoped that she'd be able to pull the strings some day to get Sam connected with the Avengers. The world needed more heroes like Sam Wilson.

"Your turn."

"Hmm?"

Stiles squinted at her. "Tell me a story."

"All right." Allison wiped the hatchet with a soft cloth. "Once upon a time, there was a boy who was stolen away to a war that never ended."

She told Stiles the story of Bucky Barnes, without using his name or any identifying details. How he was drafted into a war he didn't want to fight, but he had to protect people. How he was captured by bad men, tortured and experimented on, and was rescued by his friend. How he was different, after that, colder, deadly, and every night he prayed that he wasn't turning into a monster.

Allison put the hatchet to the side, and picked up a dagger. She re-wet the sharpening stone and started in on the blade as she told Stiles how the boy refused to leave his friend's side, refused to let him go into danger alone, until one day he fell from a mountain and was trapped in a frozen lake where more bad men found him, cut his arm off to free him from the ice, and brought him back to their base, where they tortured him for years before freezing him into the ice once more.

"This is a terrible story," Stiles said, watching Allison's hands on the knife.

"I know." She turned the dagger over. She went on with the story, how the boy was stripped of his past, his memories, even his voice, and was sent out to kill before being returned to the ice. Years passed, people died, until one day the boy went after a man he recognized, a man who recognized him, and in the middle of a battle over a river, the boy finally remembered that the man was his friend.

"Does this story have a happy ending?" Stiles wondered.

"Sort of." Allison wiped the dagger. The blade glistened in the sunlight. "Once he knew his friend was safe, the boy walked away, disappeared into the crowd. No one ever found him, but I like to think that he was able to remember part of who he was, and maybe he could find a little peace."

That wasn't what happened, of course. Bucky was framed for the UN bombing that killed T'Challa's father, was outted as the weapon that Hydra used to kill Tony Stark's parents and had his arm ripped off for it. His life in Wakanda before Thanos' destruction ravaged the universe was a small measure of comfort that Bucky had held close to his chest, all those years later.

"Was that some sort of metaphor?" Stiles asked. "For anything that happened to you?"

Allison sheathed the dagger. "This story wasn't about me."

"Someone you care about?" Stiles hazarded. "Maybe, an alpha you met over the summer?"

Allison wiped up the water around the sharpening stone. "The boy in this story was never an alpha," she said. "He never wanted to be."

"But a werewolf?"

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway caught Allison's attention. "Did I say that?"

She rose to her feet, the dagger loose in her fingers. Stiles stopped fidgeting. "What is it?"

Allison listened hard. The front door opened, and someone entered the house, not trying to mask any sound. "Hey, kids?" Noah called. Allison relaxed. "You around?"

"It's your dad." Allison knelt to collect her knives. "Go inside, I need to stash these."

"You are aware that carrying any of those concealed is illegal in California," Stiles pointed out, stumbling to his feet.

"I'm not concealing anything." Allison stood. "We're out back!" she called.

Stiles made a gnashing sound and darted into the house. Allison was on his heels, placing her knives in a box by the basement stairs.

"Hey, son," Noah said. "Where's Allison?"

"Doing nothing illegal!"

"For fuck's sake," Allison muttered. She went into the kitchen. "Hi, Sheriff. We were out back, just enjoying the day."

"Uh huh." He held out a plastic grocery bag. "I picked these up for you."

Allison took the bag. It held her sneakers. "These were at Chris's house."

"Yeah." Noah walked to the fridge.

"You went to see Chris?"

"I did." He pulled a can of soda from the fridge door, popping it open.

Allison and Stiles looked at each other. "Did he say anything?" Allison asked. "Did he ask how I was?"

Noah stared down at the soda can. "Not really."

Allison exhaled. In spite of the many years between her and the revelation of her parentage, at a time when he should have thought Allison was his biological daughter, Chris Argent's behaviour stung. "Then I guess that's that." She held up the sneakers. "Thanks for getting these for me. Shoes are expensive."

"You're welcome." Noah gave her a tired smile. "Did you two do anything fun today?"

"What's fun?" Stiles asked. "Allison, do you know what that word means?"

"I got a new phone," Allison said, putting the shoes on a chair. "We met Lydia for lunch. And we went to see Derek."

"Derek," Noah repeated. "How was that?"

"Great," Allison said. "Wasn't it great to see Derek, Stiles?"

"Yeah, great." Stiles rubbed the back of his neck. "Seeing Derek. Just Derek. And no one but the Derek."

Allison bit down a smile at the look Noah gave his son. "And Stiles was just saying that he was going to cut the grass this afternoon," she added, causing the boy to send her a wounded glare.

"What a great idea," Noah said. Stiles rolled his eyes. "I have to get back on duty, but I came to talk to Allison about something."

"Yes?" Allison asked, hoping that her cash purchases hadn't attracted the attention of Beacon Hills law enforcement.

"You said this morning that you were thinking of getting a job."

"I did." Allison wondered where this was going.

"We've got some stuff you could do at the station," Noah offered. His expression was guileless, but Allison could hear the increase in his heartbeat, smell the wariness. "Filing. A bit of data entry. Looking over some old misdemeanour cases, see if we missed any connections."

"That sounds pretty easy."

"Great!" Noah smiled. "How about you start tomorrow afternoon?"

Ah, the other shoe. Allison let her own smile grow. "Of course, Sheriff, I would _love_ to spend the night of the full moon in the Beacon Hills sheriff's station." Stiles whimpered. "I can't think of a safer place to be."

Stiles whimpered again, and Allison elbowed him in the side.

"Quiet, or you're coming too," she hissed at him.

"Sounds good." Noah sipped from his soda. "I'll head off. See you both at dinner. Thanks in advance for mowing the lawn, Stiles."

"Sure, Dad," Stiles called. He and Allison stared at each other until the door closed after the sheriff. "What was that?"

"Are you sure your dad doesn't know about the supernatural?" Allison asked. "Because some of his questions are getting a bit pointed."

"He can't know!" Stiles exclaimed. "He can't." A beat. "Can he?"

"I think you two need to have a conversation," Allison said. "What are we having for dinner?"

"What, are you hungry again?"

"I'm a growing alpha," Allison said. "How about chicken?"

Stiles let his head fall back. "Why me?" he asked the ceiling.

### Melissa McCall

Melissa trudged up the steps to the sheriff's station. She was dead on her feet after a twelve-hour shift in the emergency room, but she had to get a statement to the sheriff on a suspected case of theft from the hospital pharmacy before the weekend.

At least she didn't have to pull the overnight shift on a full moon. Those shifts in Beacon Hills tended to be… memorable.

Now, as soon as she got her statement safely into the sheriff's hands, she could head home, put her feet up, and worry about her son from the comfort of her own couch.

 _Oh, Scott_ , she thought. _How am I going to keep you safe?_

As usual, the universe held no reassurance for a mother's plea.

The door opened into a station at its usual fever pitch for nine o'clock on a Friday night. Deputies moved hither and fro in the same patterns as at the hospital, only in beige instead of pastel scrubs.

Melissa waited until the deputy at the counter was free. This woman was new, with red hair and green eyes and looking just a little bit like Lydia Martin. Melissa wondered if they were related. "Can I help you?" the woman asked.

"Yes, Deputy…" Melissa looked at the woman's nametag. "Rushman. I have a statement for the sheriff."

"Yes." The deputy looked over a paper list. "Name?"

"McCall."

"Right. Stay here, will you?"

The deputy got up and went back behind the counter. Melissa rested her elbows on the ledge, wondering how long this was going to take. She wanted to go home and have a shower and maybe sit up with a baseball bat until Scott came home safe.

Maybe she'd make popcorn.

Melissa rolled her head to work out the kinks in her neck. She glanced around. The waiting room was tucked in behind a few plants, holding a handful of people in various stages of anxiety. Deeper in the building was the deputy bullpen, with a few deputies talking to each other and certain representatives of the citizenry.

And, in the far desk on the way to holding, was the last person Melissa expected to see.

She took a step closer, blinking to make sure she wasn't imagining things. What was _Allison Argent_ doing sitting behind a deputy's desk, reading through police files like she belonged there?

Melissa hadn't known Allison was back in town, and she certainly doubted that Scott knew; when they'd spoken around four, Scott had been his usual full-moon energized self with no mention of Allison.

Something scratched at Melissa's attention. Allison looked different. True, she had been gone for over a month, and teenagers at seventeen could go through growth spurts in odd ways, but as Melissa watched look through a folder, it was more than that.

Allison was… stretched thin, was the best way Melissa could describe it. She was pale, dark circles under her eyes. She looked hungry and fragile, but that might have been due to the ill-fitting clothing she wore. Melissa was pretty sure that t-shirt was one of Stiles'.

What was going on?

Allison sorted through folders, retrieving a couple from the stack at her side, and making notes on a pad of paper. She was utterly oblivious to the chaos in the room, the arguing deputies, and the slightly hysterical voice of someone who was not having a good night.

There was something different how about Allison held herself. Melissa had gotten to know the girl's usual posture, how she held her shirt-cuffs in her palms, how she hunched her shoulders like she was cold when no one was looking, how she was, well, a teenager.

But now, Allison was folded up in the chair, one knee propped against the desk. Her shoulders were back, her spine straight, more like a dancer than the gymnast Melissa knew she had been.

It was strange and just a little disconcerting, to see her son's first girlfriend suddenly looking so grown-up.

"Hey."

Melissa nearly jumped as Noah appeared at her side. "Hi," she said. She gestured at Allison. "What…"

"We should talk," Noah said meaningfully. He held his hand by her arm. With one last glance at Allison, Melissa let herself be led away.

She waited until Noah closed his office door before she said, "Okay, what's with that?"

Noah dropped into his desk chair. "Allison is looking for some patterns in a bunch of cold larceny cases."

Melissa stared at him. "That's not what I mean and you know it."

Noah sighed. "You should sit down."

Melissa wanted to decline on the principle of the thing, but her feet really hurt. She sat down across from Noah. "What happened? Scott doesn't know Allison's back in town, how recent is this?"

"Recent." Noah leaned back in his chair. "Allison and Chris Argent got into town on Wednesday night."

"Wednesday?" Melissa repeated.

"And in the space of about four hours, they got into a fight, Chris hit Allison in the face, and kicked her out of the house. She's staying at my place until further notice."

Icy shock washed over Melissa. "Has she seen a doctor?" Melissa asked, ready to walk right back out into the bullpen to give Allison a full once-over. "Is she okay?"

"She refused to go to the hospital," Noah said. "And, well. I saw those bruises on her skin clear as day on Wednesday. They were gone by Thursday morning." He met Melissa's eyes.

Melissa's heart sank. Had Allison been bitten by an alpha? But no, she had been out of town, and if Derek had attacked Allison before then, Scott would have said something.

Wait.

Scott. Werewolves.

"It's the full moon," Melissa blurted out, then instantly regretted it. She didn't like the look of understanding on Noah's face.

"I suggested to Allison that she hang out here for the night," he said. "I'm pretty sure she was laughing at me when she said yes."

"So she's not…" Melissa ran her hands over her knees as she tried to think of another way to say, _dangerous_. "She's okay?"

Noah shook his head. "She's not okay," and he was letting too much weariness into his voice. "The first night, when I woke up, she was crying like everyone she ever knew was dead. Last night, she started screaming in her sleep at three in the morning. Stiles practically had to kick the door down to wake her up."

"Nightmares?" Melissa asked, her mind already cataloging symptoms, and not liking where this was going.

"She said she didn't remember any nightmares." Noah moved some papers on his desk. "She's been taking knives with her to bed."

Melissa's stomach turned. "Is she cutting herself?"

"I don't think so. No cuts anywhere I can see, and no blood on anything in the room." Noah made a face at Melissa's expression. "She was wearing shorts and a tank this morning, okay? You know how the kids don't wear much in the summer around here."

"So she's having nightmares, not really sleeping, crying, hiding weapons in her bedroom, and her father was hitting her," Melissa summarized. "That it?"

"No." Noah put his arms on the desk. "She told us that Chris has some friends in town." Noah's eyes were on her. "She said one of them looked at her, and I quote, like he was wondering what she'd look like without any skin on."

"Oh god," Melissa whispered. She saw and heard terrible stuff every day, but that was truly horrific.

"When Stiles asked if that was a metaphor, I was pretty sure from the look on her face that it wasn't."

Melissa pressed her hands to her face. "What's she gotten herself into?"

"Nothing she wants, I'm pretty sure." Noah still had his eyes on her. "She also said that her number one priority was keeping Scott safe."

Melissa closed her eyes. That had to mean Hunters. Hunters, in town, and her baby out on a full moon with his werewolf friends.

"I have to text Scott," she said, pulling out her phone with shaking hands.

"Stiles said he was going to make sure Scott knew to be careful."

"You don't understand," Melissa said, trying to unlock her phone.

"Does Stiles?"

That pulled Melissa up. She stared at Noah over the desk. "What?"

"Does Stiles understand why Scott has to be careful?"

The office fell into silence. The only sound in Melissa's ears was her heart pounding in her chest.

Did Noah think… did he suspect that Scott was… different?

"I'm just asking," Noah said, leaning back, and Melissa realized that she was on her feet. "Stiles knows about all of this, and I know that the most important thing Stiles and Allison have in common is making sure that Scott's safe."

Carefully, Melissa sat down. "If Stiles knows," she said, "Then I'm sure Scott knows."

A ghost of a smile crossed Noah's face. "You know, I can't even remember a time before those two met," he said. "I'm glad they're still friends."

"Me too," Melissa said, and meant it. But now that she knew there were Hunters in town who would scare Allison Argent, she had to get home and make sure her son was safe. "I promised you that statement."

"Of course." Melissa handed over the folded sheets she'd printed out on her lunch break. "Thanks for bringing this in, I know the full moon is always a weird one for us."

"Sure thing." Melissa stood. She felt like she hadn't slept in a month. "Can you let Allison know that if she needs someone to talk to, or if she, um, needs to see a nurse for any reason…" She let the thought trail off. "She probably won't talk to me, but I can get her the name of someone."

"I'll let her know." Noah stood.

"I'll see myself out," Melissa said. She stepped back.

"Right." Noah put the pages on his desk. "Have a good night."

Sure. As soon as she had Scott locked away in his bedroom with a firm lecture in his ears.

She escaped into the lobby.

The red-headed deputy was back at the desk, talking to a harassed older man. Melissa skirted them, wanting to get one more glance at Allison before she left, now that she had Noah's words ringing in her ears.

What had happened to Allison when she was away?

The bullpen was much as it had been before, full of frenetic energy, and Allison still working her way through the folders. One of the guys who had been sitting in the waiting area before was now seated beside a desk, his head in his hands, his foot jittering. The deputy to whom the desk belonged was nowhere to be seen.

And then, just as Melissa was about to turn and leave, Allison's head snapped up, all her attention focused on the jittering young man.

Melissa's heart was in her throat. She had seen a few dangerous creatures since she found out Scott was a werewolf, and more than her share of drunks and cranks in the hospital over the years. None of them had ever scared her as much as Allison was, right at that moment.

As Melissa watched, Allison rose to her feet in a single motion, as slow and as deadly as mercury.

Then the jittering guy let out an inhuman scream, jumping up, clawing at his arms. Around him, deputies were grabbing their guns, shouting and yelling as the guy kicked the desk to the side, grabbed the chair he'd been sitting on and threw it across the room. The chair missed Allison's head by less than an inch, but the girl didn't flinch.

"Get them off me!" the guy screamed, reaching clawed hands up to his face, and Melissa didn't want to see, didn't want to watch this man rip out his own eyeballs under the fluorescents of the Beacon Hills sheriff's station.

But he didn't, because Allison was there, grabbing his hands and spinning him around so his arms were behind his back, knocking him to a clear patch of floor. The guy screamed again, struggling, but Allison held him down with an effortlessness that should have been impossible.

"Hey, man," Allison said, and her voice quieted his screamed to whimpers. The deputies stopped shouting, but their guns were still out. "I got you. What's your name?"

A grunt, a gasp, and the man wheezed, "Troy!"

"Hi Troy, I'm Allison." The girl held Troy immobilized. "You gotta tell me, Troy, what did you take?"

Troy whimpered some more.

"A little rocket fuel? Meth? Holy water? Come on Troy, you got to give me something."

Deputy Rushman crossed the field of Melissa's vision, skirting around Allison and Troy to the other side of the bullpen.

"Ketamine!" Troy gasped out. "There's demons here, why are there _demons?"_

"How much did you take, Troy?"

Noah was at Melissa's side, pulling her to the corner of the room.

"All of it!" Troy said, then screamed. "Make it stop!"

"Well, that's not great." Allison looked around the room, eyes sliding over Melissa like she wasn't even there. "Anyone have more first aid training than I got in an afternoon at the Y?"

Melissa stepped forward. Noah caught her.

"Come on, Troy," Allison said, her attention back on her struggling captive. "We're going to get you through this and then you're going to swear off the animal tranqs for life, right?"

"There's _demons_ ," Troy sobbed.

Melissa wretched her arm out of Noah's grip. "Get an ambulance," she snapped. "If paralysis sets in and he vomits, he could aspirate. Now!"

Melissa approached the two on the floor, extremely glad that the deputies were lowering their guns.

"You're not haunted, Troy," Allison was saying. "You're having a bad trip, it happens all the time."

"But there's demons!" Troy said again.

"Am I a demon?" Allison asked.

"No!"

"How about you?" Allison didn't glance up as Melissa knelt beside them. "You worried you're possessed, Troy?"

"No!"

"Well then, that makes it us against the world." Allison looked at Melissa then, and there was no recognition in the girl's eyes. "Troy, we got us a medic here, can you let her help you?"

"She's one of them!" Troy sobbed, his struggles renewed. "The nuns, they always know!"

"Oh great, religious trauma," Allison muttered.

Melissa compartmentalized the fact that Allison apparently didn't know her, and focused on the overdose patient on the ground. "He's in danger of vomiting," Melissa said. "Holding him down like that isn't helping."

"You hear that, Troy?" Allison said. "We're going to move your arm, all right?"

As easily as if she was manipulating a doll, Allison slowly moved one of Troy's arms around in front of his chest so he was propped up on an elbow. Melissa watched, not even surprised after a few minutes of shocks, that Troy struggled to reach his eyes, but Allison pressed his palm flat against the ground.

"Better?"

"I want my mom!" Troy cried.

"I know," Allison said, so quietly, but everyone heard in the stillness of the bullpen. "Listen to me, okay? We're in this together."

Troy sobbed.

Melissa scooted around to do a visual check of his airways. No signs of vomit, and he didn't show any indication of paralysis from the ketamine. She hoped that he managed to hold out as more of the drug was absorbed into his system.

"Do you want to know what I know about demons?" Allison said. "Demons aren't real. They can't make us do things we don't want to do."

"I see them!"

"Your brain's trying to deal with an overload," Allison said. "It's making you see and feel things that aren't real, and I know it sucks but you have to remember that this is going to end, all right? It'll be over."

"I always see them," Troy yelled. "Always, since I was a kid, but I keep forgetting!"

"It happens," Allison said. "Just ask the medic."

"It can," Melissa said. "Troy, have you ever had a psychotic episode? A family history of schizophrenia?"

"I don't know!" Troy dissolved into sobbing, his struggles against Allison's grip weakening.

"Where's my ambulance?" Melissa demanded of the room.

"On it's way," Noah said. "It's a busy night."

"Not the hospital," Troy whimpered. "I'll be good, I promise."

"I know," Allison said. "I was once stuck in the hospital for a month with twelve broken bones. I can't look at hospital food without throwing up."

Melissa frowned at Allison, because _what the hell?_

"But you're lucky, all they're going to do is to make sure you can breathe until the ketamine wears off."

"I don't want to go back!" Troy said. "Don't send me back!"

"Back where?"

"Echo House. I promise I'll be good!"

Melissa wasn't sure what made her look at Allison's face, but the sudden pale anger there took Melissa's breath away. "I'll do everything I can to keep you out of there," Allison said, and it was a promise that Melissa felt in her bone marrow. "I've been meaning to set Eichen House on fire for a while. This sounds like a pretty good reason."

"Hey," Noah said, hitching his trousers as he crouched down, out of reach. "No threats of arson in the bullpen."

"It'll look like an accident," Allison said.

"I have no doubt it will." Noah rubbed his hands together. "The EMTs are coming. Allison, you going to be okay to let Troy here up?"

"Of course, Sheriff."

"Troy?" Noah raised his voice over the whimpering. "Can you go with the nice ambulance attendants and not try to hurt anyone?"

"I don't want to go back," Troy sobbed.

Noah shook his head. "Here they come."

Sure enough, into the bullpen walked two of the EMTs Melissa knew from work. "Melissa, I heard you had the night off," Sandra said, already gloved and ready to go. "Moonlighting for the sheriff now?"

"Like the pay could be any worse," said her partner Kyu-won.

"You'll need the restraints for this one," Melissa said.

"What else on a full moon?" Kyu-won asked rhetorically. "So, are we taking the one on top or the one on the bottom?"

"Hey," Noah barked.

Allison shook her head. "If I get a free ride to a padded cell, count me in for a good night's sleep." She eased up off Troy. "Come on, Troy, time to face the music."

When Allison's weight was off him, Troy started bucking. It took Kyu-won and three deputies to get Troy onto the gurney, and only because Allison kept her grip on his arms until the restraints were strapped in place.

"I don't want to go back," Troy kept repeating.

"I know." Allison patted his hand as Sandra set the monitoring leads in place. "You get better, Troy."

"I don't want to go back."

Allison watched the EMTs guide the gurney outside with their deputy escort, absently rubbing her hands on her jeans. "That was exciting," she said once the doors closed behind them. "Do I get hazard pay for this job?"

"Do you think anyone gets hazard pay for this job?" Noah asked. "That was an incredibly stupid thing to do."

Allison swung around. "I had it covered, and your in-custody death stats didn't go up."

Melissa couldn't take this. "You should have let the adults handle this, Allison."

Allison turned, cold anger already on her face. Then she stopped, staring at Melissa like she hadn't realized Melissa was there.

Noah looked between the two women. "Allison, do you remember Scott's mom?"

"Of course I do." Allison didn't move. "Were you here the whole time?"

That was such a strange reaction that Melissa wasn't sure what to do. "Yes?"

Allison shook her head, her long dark hair sliding over her shoulders. "Sorry. Haven't gotten tunnel vision like that in a while."

"It's okay," Melissa said, although on top of what Noah had told her than night, and all that she had seen, it really wasn't. "Are you going to be okay? No delayed shock?"

Allison frowned. "Why would I be going into shock?"

"Because," said Deputy Rushman, appearing at Allison's elbow holding a family-sized bag of beef jerky. "Normal teenagers don't talk down overdose victims and then go back to work like nothing happened." She offered Allison the bag.

"Whatever." Allison took the beef jerky. "I'll be at my desk, pretending to have the socially required vapours." She gave Noah a look, then turned to Melissa. "Mrs. McCall. I'm pretty sure Scott doesn't need to hear about this."

Melissa's hackles went up. "Oh, is that what you think?"

Allison ripped open the bag. "I mean, tell him if you think it'll make him feel any better." She ruined the effect by shoving a slab of dried beef into her mouth. "I have work to do."

And with that she went back to the desk by the wall, either not noticing or not paying attention to the stares from law enforcement all around her.

"Oh yeah," Deputy Rushman said. "I love a full moon." She left.

Melissa looked at Noah, who rubbed his eyes. "Do what you want," Noah said wearily. "Do you want a ride home?"

"My car's outside." Melissa glanced over at Allison again, who was very pointedly not looking in her direction. "I need a drink."

"I'll walk you out."

On the steps outside, the air was crisp. Melissa crossed her arms over her chest. "What the hell just happened?"

"I have no idea." Noah looked up at the moon. "It's been like this for three days."

"School hasn't even started."

"God help us."

"Did you hear what Allison said about being in the hospital?"

"Yup."

"Did that happen? How does someone get twelve broken bones?"

"Car accident," Noah suggested. "Falling off a building." He sighed. "Having a parent who really doesn't like the way you're acting?"

"I can't see Chris hurting Allison like that," Melissa said. "I know what you said about what he did earlier this week, but he loves that girl more than life itself."

"Yeah, well." Noah turned to go back inside. "Allison used to have two parents."

Melissa breathed in deep. "I'm going home."

"Drive safe," Noah said. "Tell Scott I say hi."

"I will." Melissa pulled her keys out of her purse. "Remember what I said. If Allison needs someone to talk to, I can find someone for her."

"I appreciate that," Noah said. "I'll tell her, once she's done eating all my beef jerky."

Melissa started across the parking lot. "I thought Stiles was keeping you away from too much salt," she called as she walked.

"That's why I keep it at the office."

Inside her car, it took Melissa three tries to put the key into the ignition, her hands shook so bad. That night had been a bad one, but everyone walked away alive. And if Troy's airways held, he would be doing better in the morning.

Everyone was alive.

So why was Melissa so terrified?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point in the story:
> 
> Allison: I have this _pretending I’m a seventeen-year-old_ thing down pat.  
> Everyone else: What the fuck is wrong with this feral child


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After another night of no sleep, Allison goes for a run up in the hills after midnight, makes new friends, gets in an argument with the sheriff, but still has to go to her day job. In an effort to avoid Scott, what steps will she take and what bad decisions will she make?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so please heed the story warnings. This chapter contains a sex scene between Allison and Peter. Also, said scene has the characters (separately) engaging in coping mechanisms for past experiences. 
> 
> Also I have finally pinpointed the exact AUness of this story (which, five chapters in, a new record for me) – we’re taking place after the end of season two, but the chunk about the Alpha Pack in season three of Teen Wolf has been pushed back to later in the year. So no Alpha Pack yet, no Cora Hale locked in a basement. Allison has enough on her hands.

* * *

Allison stared at the ceiling in the dark bedroom. It was close to three in the morning, the last drag of night pressing on her tongue as she lay in the cold bed. The hilt of her dagger was loose in her hand, her hatchet just in reach under the pillow, and still she couldn't sleep.

She was fucking everything up.

Everything with Chris was a disaster. She was complicating the lives of Stiles and Noah by just being there. She was out of ideas when it came to what to do about Natasha Romanoff, or how to approach Tony Stark, or the Avengers, and she had absolutely zero idea how she was supposed to stop Thanos and averting the snap.

Also, she had no idea what she was going to do about Scott.

Allison sat up, swinging her legs off the side of the bed. She couldn't believe she hadn't registered Melissa McCall at the sheriff's station that night during the overdose. Sure, in the heat of the moment in a fight, Allison tended to put details like who and why to the back of her head, focusing on how to keep everyone safe.

But Melissa had seen what Allison had done, and if she told Scott… What would Scott think? What would he do?

Allison rubbed her eyes. She was tired, but after having been woken the previous night by Stiles hammering the door down, telling her she'd been screaming, she hadn't been able to let herself drop off to sleep.

Whatever. She'd spent the previous decade on four hours of sleep a night. She could do it again.

Allison got up and paced over to the window. The full moon was sinking to the southwest, its illumination brilliant enough to light up the world for Allison's alpha eyes. Allison yearned for the days when she had been out at night on a full moon, just her and the pack and the forest around them.

Allison desperately wanted to go out, to be at home in the woods, her woods, even if she was all alone. If she remembered, when the werewolves were teenagers, they tended to burn hard after sunset and crash around two.

She could go out, and she could be alone.

Her hand was on the window latch before she stopped. She couldn't just vanish out of Noah's house without a word. If something went wrong, and she didn't get back before one of the Stilinskis woke up, she should at least leave a note.

Not that having left a note would have fixed the mess with Chris, but at least he might not have tackled her.

Having made her decision, Allison swiftly dressed in her running clothes, pocketed both throwing knives, then slipped silently downstairs. She found a blank piece of paper next to the telephone for a message.

 _I'm out for a run don't worry I'll be back for breakfast- Allison._ She studied the words, then added, _PS haven't been kidnapped just going stir crazy_ , and propped the note up against the coffee pot.

She went back upstairs. Stiles was breathing quietly in his room, his heartbeat slow and regular. Noah was also asleep, tucked behind his closed door.

Allison breathed out. She wasn't going to disrupt their nights anymore. She'd figure out a way to stave off any night terrors.

 _And how?_ the Bucky-sounding voice in her head asked. _You couldn't manage that with a full suite of medical doctors and the pharmacopeia of the future._

Allison shook her head. Bucky wasn't there. Bucky was trapped in a Hydra cryo-tube, and even when (and it was going to be _when,_ not _if)_ she got him out, he wouldn't know her. He would still be brainwashed, with triggers implanted deep in his mind, with only a fractured clue of who he was.

She'd lost Morgan, because by stopping the Snap Morgan would never be. But in coming back in time, she'd also lost Bucky, and that hurt almost as much.

But she had to do it. She had to save the universe. That's what Starks did.

Allison ghosted down the hall to her bedroom. She closed the door, picked up her shoes, and slung them by the knotted laces over her shoulder. It was easy work to open the window, slip outside, and move soundlessly over the roof to jump down to the backyard.

She took a minute to put on her shoes, then crept soundlessly to the back gate and was out on the road in a few moments.

Beacon Hills was deserted this time of the morning. The only sound was the hum of the street lights, her soft step on the sidewalks. In the stillness, she was able to hear the approach of any car, and duck into the shadows whenever any came too close. The last thing she needed was someone calling the cops about a teenager out so late after curfew.

Her path took her along the railway cut on the way to the edge of the running trails that dotted this side of the mountain. She had no desire to run those trails, but it was a way into her forest.

An early morning freight train rumbled around the curve of the rail line. In the cover of its shadow, Allison darted across the road, through a parking lot, and up into the trees.

This part of the woods smelled too much like human interference for Allison's taste – garbage, cigarettes, the lingering aftertaste of car exhaust. She hung a left at the park gate and darted through the thin undergrowth. The moonlight overhead illuminated her way perfectly.

She kept going. Her feet were on familiar ground now, on the way to the Hale house. She hadn't been up here in years, but the Hale house had always been a sore spot on her psyche. This was where the Hale family died, where Peter had been so badly hurt.

Where Derek buried Laura.

So much pain and violence, inflicted on one family because they were born werewolves.

Allison hated it. But still, she ran.

She had known the house hadn't been rebuilt yet, but she wasn't expecting the punch in the gut when she saw the burned-out shell on the rise under the moonlight. The exposed timbers looked like a scream of pain, frozen in time.

She stopped. The normal sounds of the night surrounded her; the whir of bats in the air, the night birds, insects, the movement of nocturnal mammals. The forest didn't fear the Hale house, or what had happened here.

Allison walked forward.

Entering the house was an experience in sensory overload. The faded stench of char wasn't enough to cover the lingering decay and blood soaked into the floorboards.

She had never been in the house as an alpha. It had been torn down and something new built in its place long before the Snap. Allison wondered how Derek had ever been able to stand walking back into this house on his own.

She went into the living room. She could still smell the blood, the scent strongest in the corner where Kate had fallen. Allison knelt to touch the stain. Kate had bled out here, on the end of Peter's claws, just a bare minute before Peter himself had died at Derek's hand. For Allison, it had been over twenty-eight years since that night. But hardly a few months had passed in this house.

She shivered as she stood up. There was nothing here for her. Only the memories of death and murder, of hatred and pain.

She turned to leave, and froze.

There was a woman in the shadows.

There was a woman in the shadows and there couldn't be, no heartbeat, no breathing, no scent, but there was a _woman in the shadows_.

She was tall with dark hair hanging over her face, like every horror movie ghost since the invention of cinema, and Allison was so scared that she couldn't breathe.

Fear welled up in her, pulling the alpha power with it. Allison bared her teeth, her eyes glowing red. "Who are you?" she demanded.

The woman didn't move, but Allison was suddenly no longer afraid. She felt… curious?

Then in the space between one heartbeat and the next, the woman was gone.

Allison spun around, but there was no one there. She was alone.

Her heart hammering in her chest, Allison backed towards the door. Once she was outside, she ran, putting on alpha speed to put as much space between herself and the ghosts of the Hale house.

She'd spent her entire life knowing ghosts didn't exist, and in the space of a moment, that was all turned upside down.

As she ran up the hill, towards the river, she wondered who it might have been… or who it used to be. All the Hales had dark hair, so it could have been any of the women who died in the fire.

Allison jumped from a rock down-slope, landing in leaves and skidded down the hill.

One of the things that she had never discussed with Peter, not in all the years they had been together, was about the wife or children he'd lost in the fire. She knew _of_ them; she'd accidentally seen the police report on the fire as part of an investigation into supernatural fires in Beacon Hills in the years after the Snap, and in any event, Cora had filled in the details for Malia, when Allison had been close enough to hear.

And oh, shit, Malia.

Allison slid to a stop. Malia Hale, Peter's first daughter, was up in the mountains somewhere as a coyote, unaware of her humanity. Scott and Stiles wouldn't find her for a while yet, and even then, it was far longer until they figured out who she was.

Cora Hale was one thing, but Malia?

Allison looked around. There was a large tree just off to her right. She crawled over to it, sat with her back to the solid trunk, and looked skyward. The moon was casting the faintest light, but in the east, the sun was coming.

Allison could do this. She'd find Cora Hale and make sure she got home to Beacon Hills safe. She would somehow find a single werecoyote in a vast forest full of coyotes and ask her very nicely to turn back into a human.

She would find all of her lost pack, and make sure they were safe.

For now, she stayed where she was. The tree trunk wasn't exactly comfortable, but she was warmer out here than she had been in the bed in the Stilinski house. The air was fresher, more alive, and it sank into her bones. The adrenaline from the shock of the Hale house was fading, leaving a soft, gentle glow in Allison's centre.

She was so tired. Maybe, just for a minute, she could rest.

* * *

Something bit her hand.

Allison jerked away before she was fully awake, to see a small fox leap back from where it had been seeking out a meal of her fingers, and dash away into the bushes.

"And stay out," Allison muttered, shaking her hand. The skin wasn't broken, so she guessed she'd be fine. Served her right for falling asleep in the middle of the forest.

Then she saw how light it was.

"Shit!" She jumped to her feet, already running. She wasn't quite sure when sunrise was, but she was pretty sure that if the sun was over the mountain, she was screwed.

She made as direct a line for home as she could, which included a shortcut through the industrial area. It was a Saturday, so business wasn't brisk, but she still got more catcalls from early-morning delivery drivers than she wanted as she headed south.

The residential area that held the Stilinski house was pretty quiet. Allison ran down the sidewalk, half an eye on her surroundings to avoid vehicles, and so she had already flown past a car with two occupants before she registered who they were.

She stopped with a metaphorical screech of brakes and whirled around. There, behind the windshield of a non-descript rental sedan, sat Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton. They looked about as surprised to see her as Allison was to see them.

Straightening up, Allison walked back to the car. Natasha was in civilian clothes, and had recovered enough to raise her coffee cup to her lips. Clint, however, was trying to stuff the remains of a breakfast burrito into his mouth.

He looked a hell of a lot better than Allison remembered. After Natasha's death, the Unsnap and Tony's funeral, she hadn't seen much of him. But here he was, whole and mostly intact and remarkably unconcerned about being caught spying on civilians on a Saturday morning.

Natasha was rolling down her window when Allison arrived at the car, but Allison just kept going, opening the back door and climbing inside.

Clint and Natasha looked at each other, then turned to Allison. "Deputy Rushman," Allison said. "Stalking your new boss?"

"There's an explanation for this," Natasha said.

Allison turned her eyes on Clint, giving him the once-over. "You're not a cop."

Clint shrugged. "I have a problem with authority." He grinned. "I'm new in town. Deputy Rushman was just giving me a quick tour."

"Starting with the sheriff's house."

"We were in the neighbourhood."

Allison raised an eyebrow. "You got a name, new guy?"

"Clint Barton." He extended his hand. Allison took it, feeling the arrow-string calluses. "I'm the new gym teacher at Beacon Hills High."

"Why, did you lose a bet?"

"No, my life's just like that."

"Whatever." Allison sat forward. "I'm not going to ask why you two are sitting outside my house at…" She glanced at the clock. It was only quarter to seven. "Too early to be up. I don't care if it's some weird sex thing, or criminal harassment. But I won't tell Noah that I saw you, if you don't tell him you saw me."

Natasha looked at her, considering. Her green eyes were steady when she finally said, "Deal."

"I have to go inside." Allison reached for the car handle.

"Did you fall?" Clint asked suddenly. "There's…" He gestured at her. "Dirt."

"I fell asleep in the woods," Allison said. She popped open the door. "See you at work later, Deputy Rushman."

"See you in school," Clint called as Allison got out. She pointedly closed the door, then, with shoulders straight, walked across the street to the Stilinski house.

She could hear the voices as she climbed up onto the roof by her window. Father and son were in the hallway, hidden from view of the window by the half-closed bedroom door.

"Are you sure she didn't say anything to you?" Noah was asking.

"Dad, come on, do you think I'd have let her go on her own if she did?" Stiles protested. Allison eased the window up and slipped inside, closing the window again without a sound

"So she just decided to sneak out of the house in the middle of the night?"

"The note said she went for a run."

"On the night of a full moon, she just wakes up and goes for a run?"

Allison toed off her running shoes. She caught sight of herself in the mirror – dry dirt and leaf fragments clung to her clothes. Perfect.

"Maybe she couldn't sleep."

"Damn it, Stiles." Footsteps.

"Dad, where are you going?" Stiles chased after Noah.

"I don't know, to call the station in case anything's happened."

Shit. Quick as she could, Allison stripped out of her running clothes, yanked on the t-shirt and sweats she'd left on the floor, and hurried downstairs.

Noah and Stiles were in the kitchen, both facing away from the stairs, Noah on the phone, Stiles biting his thumb nervously. Allison's note was very prominently laid on the middle of the table.

Silently, Allison sat down in a chair to wait.

"Yeah, it's Stilinski," Noah was saying, He turned slightly. "Any reports of a disturbance in town, specifically involving a teenage girl--"

He stopped abruptly when he saw Allison.

Stiles jumped around. "Where did you come from?"

"Never mind," Noah said, and hung up the phone. He crossed his arms over his chest as he stared down at her. "What the hell is going on?"

"I left a note."

"A note that you were going for a run?" Noah moved forward to grab the paper from the table, and it was too much like an interrogation, angry men looming over her before the violence started. Allison went utterly still. "Damn it, Allison, it's dangerous out there for a girl your age!"

"Dad," Stiles jumped in, waiting until Noah stood back.

Allison kept her eyes on Noah as Stiles pulled up a chair, telegraphing his movements very clearly.

"Allison." Stiles put his hand on the table next to hers, not touching, but close enough that she could feel the warmth. "Are you okay?"

"I'm always okay." She couldn't look away from Noah.

"Yeah, same." He hesitated. "Do you remember what you said yesterday?"

"I said a lot of things yesterday."

"What about when you said you trust me?"

Allison finally dragged her eyes off Noah. Stiles was practically vibrating as he looked at her. He wouldn't… he wouldn't tell Noah about her being an alpha, would he?"

"What about when you said that you had to keep us all safe?" 

"Of course I do."

Stiles leaned forward. "That goes both ways. You keep me safe, I keep you safe."

"No," Allison said quickly. "Stiles, I told you, I have to keep you safe—"

"And I have to keep you safe." That dark, intense look was back in his eyes again. "You and Scott and Dad. This is not negotiable, okay?"

Allison's stomach cramped with the memory of how Stiles had lunged at her beside Derek's body, screaming in his grief, trying to claw at her as Cora hauled him away. "You don't know what you're saying."

"I do." Stiles touched the back of Allison's hand. "After the last year, I know exactly what that means."

"No, I mean about me." Allison stared at their joined hands. The world was getting a little blurry around the edges. "Stiles, you don't know…"

"If you trust me, then trust me when I say that I'll do anything to keep you safe."

Allison closed her eyes, tears sliding down her cheeks. "I'm supposed to keep everyone safe, otherwise what's the _point_ of me?"

There was a scrape of a chair on linoleum, then Stiles said, "Hug incoming."

He put his arm around her shoulders and she turned into the embrace, clutching at his shirt. She was crying and she didn't want to, but she couldn't stop.

"Keeping each other safe, that's what friends do," Stiles said in her ear. Then, in a whisper, "That's what pack does."

"I told you, I'm not…"

"Human pack." Stiles held onto her as she cried silent tears against his shoulder. She could feel the alpha rising, wanting this connection with Stiles, a connection that they'd never had in the future. "You and me."

"After everything that's happened?"

"Yeah." Stiles squeezed her hand. "Because a lot of shit happened and since it's Beacon Hills, a lot more's going to come at us, right? We need each other."

"You're just a kid," Allison whispered. "You shouldn't have to deal with any of this."

"Like you should?"

"I'm older than you." Allison slowly, reluctantly, sat back from the embrace. Noah was on the far side of the kitchen, watching the two of them with concentration.

Stiles gave her a tired smile as she wiped her eyes. "So, this is great! The first official meeting of the Argent-Stilinski Mutual Admiration and Protection Society is called to order."

Allison twitched at the use of the name Argent. "How about the Allison and Stiles Stilinski club? We can abbreviate."

That got the first hint of amusement out of Noah since Allison had entered the house. "I cannot believe you two."

"I didn't mean to worry anyone," Allison told him.

"I meant what I said. It's dangerous for a girl out there at night. Any girl."

"First off," Allison said, and Stiles groaned. "This city? Is really safe after dark if you stay away from the bars and that one area down by the pawn shop on Belladonna Road. And I know that you know that because I've seen the crime heat maps in your office."

Noah turned to make coffee. "Not everyone is at the same risk out there."

"I'm in more danger in school than I am out in the middle of the night," Allison went on.

"Wait!" Stiles burst in. "The Allison & Stiles Stilinski House of… of…" He snapped his fingers. "Almost had it."

"Is this about what time of the night I was out, or the night on which it happened?" Allison pressed.

Stiles froze. Noah just looked tired. "It was that I came down here and found you gone," he said, reaching for the coffee grounds. "If Stiles was gone and I found that note, I'd have been just as worried." He fixed his son with a glare. "Like I have done, in fact."

"That was only once," Stiles blustered. "Or, okay, like four times, but I had a very good reason!"

"You always have a good reason." Noah pushed the button on the coffee machine, then went over to his customary chair. "Look, I get why you might need to go out to clear your head. After what happened at the station last night, and everything else… that's a lot for a kid to deal with."

"It wasn't just that," Allison said. "It was…" She glanced at Stiles. "I've got a lot to think about. Like, money, and what I'm going to do with my life. And there are things I have to do, things I owe people."

"What, like, money?" Stiles asked.

"No." Allison pulled her legs up to her chest. "I have… I had a friend. He—"

"Is this the guy you were talking about yesterday?" Noah interrupted. "The one who couldn't sleep without a weapon?"

Allison nodded. Thinking about Bucky was like a knife to the chest – sharp at first, then a nauseating burn of pain that would last for ages. "Before he…" She had to stop to breathe around the ache. "Before I lost him, he told me this saying his mom always said to him. That if you save a life, you save the world." She dug her thumbnail into the seam of her sweatpants. "Maybe, if I can save enough lives, I can make up for everything that's happened."

"Do… do you mean, like, what Kate did?" Stiles asked.

"That. Everything that the Argents have done to this town, to everyone." Allison thought about her favourite picture of her mother, of Clara Vasquez smiling at the camera, seven months pregnant, holding a little toy wolf over the baby bump that was Allison.

Clara had died alone on a cold hillside at Victoria Argent's hands, before Victoria had sliced Allison prematurely out of her mother's body.

And that wasn't Allison's fault, had never been Allison's fault, but twenty years of therapy hadn't been able to help Allison stop blaming herself.

"You didn't do any of that," Noah said.

Allison made herself uncurl to sit straight. "That doesn't matter," she said. "It happened. If I can do something to make things better, I have a responsibility to do it."

"Why?" Noah sat back in his chair. "Why you?"

Allison put her arms on the table. Fine. If Noah wanted to do this now, they would do this now. "Why you?" she responded. "Why do you put on that badge and go out and put yourself in dangerous situations?"

"I was elected."

"You were a deputy before you were elected sheriff. You made the choice to protect people."

"Maybe I was just too dumb to do anything except go into law enforcement."

"No." Allison stared at Noah, not wanting to turn the conversation into a power struggle. "If you were a different kind of man, one who wanted to use your authority as a power play, then sure. But you're not."

"Then what am I, Allison?"

The kitchen was silent, Stiles hardly daring to breathe. The coffee dripped from the filter with a soft _plop, plop_.

"You're the kind of person who can't just stand back when someone's getting hurt. And if you can't save them, then you'll figure out what happened and get justice for them."

Noah rubbed his hand over his face. Stiles was practically vibrating with the effort to keep still. "Maybe I am," Noah said after a moment. "Maybe I'd like to be the man you just described." He leaned forward. "But I have seen too many dead girls in this town to not worry when you're out there, alone."

"Do you mean Laura Hale?" Allison asked.

"What? What about her?" Stiles demanded.

"You should know, you found the body," Allison said.

"Half the body," Stiles mumbled, then looked away over his shoulder when Noah threw him a glare.

"Adding on that what you said yesterday, about the Green River Killer, it's hard to sit easy," Noah said.

Allison spread her hands. "I can defend myself."

"I have no doubt that you can defend yourself," Noah said. "And I know you can take a punch, and I know you can take care of yourself." He stood up. "But you're seventeen, and you shouldn't have to."

"I wasn't born to be safe, Sheriff."

"None of us were." Noah brought the coffee pot and three mugs to the table. "Doesn't mean that an old man can't wish for it." He sat. "And you can call me Noah."

"Oh!" Stiles' exclamation cut off Allison's smile. "I've got it!" He spread his hands and looked between his father and Allison expectantly. "The Allison & Stiles Stilinski House of Logical Encouragement Society!"

Allison bit down on a smile. "Oh yeah," Noah said as he reached for the sugar. "That sounds about right."

Stiles beamed.

"So did anything happen while you were out there?" Noah asked once Allison had her coffee. "Anything weird?"

"It's Beacon Hills, everything's weird," Allison said. She sipped. "I went for a run up to the Hale house."

Stiles made a face. "Why?"

Allison shrugged. "I was going that way. It's not a place people tend to hang out around." She sipped again. Should she say she saw a ghost? If that was what she'd even seen? Probably not the right audience. Maybe she'd tell Stiles later. "Then I just ran around for a bit. Took a break against a tree. I might have fallen asleep."

Noah put his cup down a little hard.

"What?" Allison pulled one knee up to her chest.

"You went by yourself up into the woods and just took a nap?" Noah demanded.

"It wasn't like there was anyone else around. It was almost five."

Noah rubbed his hand over his face. "Allison, do you even hear what you're saying?" he asked wearily. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?"

"Nothing in the woods last night was going to hurt me."

"How do you know that?" Noah asked. "What if any of your friends had done this? What if Lydia did this?"

"Lydia Martin isn't going to start roaming the woods alone after dark."

"What about Erica?" Stiles asked, biting his thumbnail. "If she was out last night, alone, with Dupont in town?"

"That's too dangerous," Allison said, then stopped, only then realizing Stiles' point.

"So, maybe, if you think that about Erica, then maybe you get why Dad's worried about you?" Stiles went on.

"Which one is Erica?" Noah asked Stiles in an undertone.

"The blonde one."

"Right."

Allison put her face in her hands. She must have been more tired than she realized, to have fallen for Stiles' trap like that. "I need you to know that I can take care of myself."

"I know you can." Noah picked up his coffee again, tasted it, and made a face. He stood up. "But more than half the time staying safe means knowing how to avoid trouble."

"I know."

Noah retrieved the milk from the fridge. "Did you get any sleep last night?"

"About an hour in the woods, I guess."

He sat down. "Any before that?"

Allison shook her head. "I didn't want to wake anyone up again."

Noah and Stiles exchanged a glance. "Aren't you tired?" Stiles asked.

Allison lifted her mug. "I don't need sleep if I have coffee, right?"

"You should go try to get a few hours more," Noah suggested.

"I thought I was working at the station today. You said ten until four."

Noah sighed. "I did say that, didn't I? How about you try to get a couple of hours? I can wake you up at nine-thirty, we can still get there in time."

"But you said you had to go in at eight," Stiles reminded his father. "Why doesn't Allison take the jeep?"

Allison raised her eyebrows at this. "Aren't you doing anything today?"

"Nothing really," Stiles said evasively. Allison looked at him. "I kind of told Scott I'd hang out with him after lunch." Allison's eyes narrowed. "Hey, you said you only needed until after the full moon! I've been avoiding him for days!"

"Fine," Allison said. She pushed out of her chair. "I'm going upstairs. I'll see you at the station at ten, Noah."

"I look forward to it."

Allison turned to go, then hesitated. "I'm not…" She didn't know what she wanted to say. "It's been a long time since anyone was worried about my safety. I'm not used to it."

"Well, get used to it," Stiles said. "It's pretty much the rent you pay for living here."

"There's no rent," Noah contradicted. "Allison. What matters is that you're safe, okay?"

Allison nodded, then went down the hall and up the stairs.

She could hear Stiles let out an explosive breath. "Dad, you can't just do that!"

"Do what?" Noah asked, his confusion itching in Allison's ears.

"You were looming!"

"When?"

"When you were standing up!" Stiles' footsteps sounded on the kitchen floor. Allison padded soundlessly down the hall to her bedroom, listening. "Chris and Ger- her grandfather, they loom a lot too, okay?" He sighed, a sound of pain. "Maybe we can be a loom-free household for a while."

"Stiles." A chair creaked, then a step. "Is there something you want to tell me?"

"Yeah." A sniff. "It's like… sometimes it's like…" Stiles sniffed again. "You can't treat Allison like she's a normal kid, okay? She's not."

Allison froze. Stiles couldn't be about to tell Noah what she'd told him, could he?

"How do you mean?" Noah's voice was soft and interrogative.

"She's had a lot of bad stuff happen to her, okay? She told me some, but sometimes she says stuff and it's like there's a whole waterfall behind a couple of drops of water."

"Yeah, son," Noah said. "I've seen that too."

"It's not fair," Stiles said. "How come one person has to have so much happen to them?"

"I wish I knew."

Allison turned her back on the conversation below. What she'd been through, didn't matter. What she'd lost, didn't matter. She had a mission. She had to prevent the Snap, stop Thanos from destroying half the life in the universe.

What happened to her didn't matter.

* * *

She managed to get an hour of fitful sleep, showered, dressed in the last of the outfits she'd taken from Chris's place, then twisted her hair into a fishtail braid while Stiles ranted about the lacrosse practice schedule that Finstock had emailed around.

Then Allison took Stiles' keys. "Text me when Scott leaves," she said.

"You don't want to see him?"

"Not today." She checked her jacket pockets. She was leaving all her knives but an easily concealable throwing knife upstairs, so she had more space for the usual in-any-event gear. She had chapstick, three spare hair elastics, a pencil stub, driver's licence, a pad, five hundred dollars in get-away money, a stick of gum, and two paperclips bent into just the right shape to be used to pick a lock.

All set.

"You're going to have to see him eventually," Stiles pointed out. "School starts Tuesday."

Allison grabbed an energy bar from the cupboard.

"What am I going to say to him?"

"Anything you want." Allison shoved the bar into her pocket. "Just not about the alpha thing."

"Sure." Stiles pushed at his hair. "Hi Scott. Apparently Allison lives with me now. She's kind of scary and my dad's convinced she went feral this summer. How was your night?"

Allison poked Stiles in the shoulder. He pretended to wince. "Your dad does not think I went feral."

"Well, not until what you pulled last night."

"If he thought I was going crazy, he wouldn't let me near the sheriff's station." She slipped her phone into her pocket. "It complicates prosecutions."

"Oh my god," Stiles said to the ceiling.

"Later."

"Put gas in the jeep on the way back!" Stiles shouted after her.

It took a few moments to remember how to drive stick, but Allison made it out of the driveway without stalling.

Stiles' radio stations were all terrible. After some fiddling, Allison found a station that played Spanish music, and sang along with the radio until she pulled into the station parking lot.

Inside, people looked at her a little weird as she walked over to Noah's office. His door was open, so she went in before she realized he was on the phone.

He motioned her in, pointing to the chair across his desk. "Should have it by Thursday," he said. "Ibarra's out on vacation until then. I'll get him to call you." A pause. "Sure thing, Dave." He hung up the phone. "Hi."

"Hi." Allison let her eyes slide around the office in daylight. "I wanted to check what I was supposed to do today."

Noah dug around in the papers on his desk. "Right, you finished up on the geographic patterning in those files last night." He looked at the report Allison had printed off for him just before midnight the previous day. "I thought that would take a week."

"I'm good with patterns," Allison said. Bucky had always said that, usually with pride after she'd kept their asses out of the grave by figuring out attack matrices in the field. "Do you need anything typed up?"

"Brodie could use someone to help him with file indexing." Noah stood up. "How do you feel about spending the rest of your day in records storage?"

"Anything for the minimum wage you're paying me," Allison said, getting to her feet.

Noah just rolled his eyes. "Come on."

They walked through the station bullpen. Allison felt everyone's eyes on her, heard the whispers that wondered how a girl like her had held down a full-grown man going through a psychotic break, and made herself keep going.

At the hallway, they turned left instead of the right to take them to holding. "What happened to Troy?" Allison asked as Noah paused by a large door, with a sign that said _RECORDS_ taped to it.

"He's in the hospital." Noah pressed the little buzzer. "I can't say much. Medical privacy."

"Okay." Allison stood, waiting. "I wonder if he had undiagnosed schizophrenia. That would explain why the ketamine threw him into a loop like that."

And why he had spent time in Eichen House.

"I can't say," Noah said. He pressed the buzzer again.

"I know." Allison turned one ear. Inside the room, she heard footsteps. "Is he going to be okay?"

"The overdose didn't do any lasting harm," Noah said carefully. "But he's in rough shape."

"Right."

A lock turned in its tumbler, and the door opened. Allison blinked in surprise.

There, in a Beacon Hills deputy uniform, stood a brownie.

He was about five-foot-five, with a buzzcut and five o'clock shadow, but Allison could smell the hint of every-day magic about him. He looked her over with irritation. "What?"

"Brodie, this is Allison," Noah said. "She's the station's new intern."

"So?"

"So you said you needed help with filing."

Brodie looked at Allison again. "Can you read?" he asked her.

"Yes."

"What?"

"Pardon?"

"What can you read?"

"English," Allison said. "French and Spanish." She hesitated, because at this time in her life, she hadn't had any exposure to the numerous other languages she'd acquired over years of saving the galaxy. "I'm good at picking things up."

"Hmm." The man turned back to Noah. "Fine."

"She's off at four," Noah said. "Allison, I'm at the front if you need anything."

"Thanks."

With a look over his shoulder, Noah headed down the hall.

"Come in." Brodie stood aside to let Allison into the large filing room. It smelled of paper and dust, and Allison sneezed. "Do you have any food?"

Allison frowned. "I have an energy bar. Do you want some?"

"No. Put it over there." He waited until Allison set the unopened bar on the desk by the door. "No food in the archives. And no drinks!"

"What about water?" Allison returned. One must always bargain with a brownie, she'd learned the hard way during a mission in 2031 up in Scotland.

"Water is acceptable," Brodie said. He cocked his head. "You smell like wet dog."

"I'm friends with the Hales," she replied, wondering what the brownie would make of that.

Brodie sniffed. "Figures," he said sourly. "All right, what else can you read?

"I told you—"

"You were lying in front of the sheriff, which, granted, is the modus operandi of young people these days." He fixed her with a glint in his dark brown eyes. "What?"

"Chinese, German, Russian, Afrikaans and Xhosa, and some Greek and Portuguese if I can use a dictionary."

Brodie snorted. "You're certainly not from around here, then." He turned to trundle down one of the long corridors sectioned off by the shelves. "Most of this is in English. Try not to mess up, and maybe I'll let you come back another day."

"Anything I can do to help."

As they walked past another shelf, Allison wondered why she wasn't more on edge. Maybe it was because she'd never had any trouble with brownies or any other fae, even in the more unsettled times in Beacon Hills.

Maybe it was because the archives felt _safe_ in a way she hadn't experienced in a very long time.

"There." Brodie pointed at a table covered in loose files and papers. "One of the idiots knocked over a shelf last month. Everything's mixed up, sixes and sevens. Fix it."

Allison stared. "How?"

"You said you can read." The man turned away. "Figure it out."

Well. Allison went over to the table, pulled the chair back to the wall, and considered. This was like one of those tasks the hero got in a fairy tale, appearing nearly impossible, but there was a way in the end.

Taking a deep breath, and wishing she'd eaten the energy bar on the way over, Allison started to work.

It wasn't as impossible as it first appeared. The folders had file numbers and names, and most had the official report stapled to the inside. Deciphering the handwriting on the notes was a chore, and the crime scene photographs were appallingly anonymous until she realized that the date was printed in tiny letters on the back of the sheets.

From there, things went pretty easily. After all, it was just pattern recognition.

At some point, when Allison had the folders sorted, the photographs all stacked in chronological order, and most of the notes arranged according to handwriting, she heard someone cough. She looked up to see Natasha Romanoff in her deputy gear, hands on her hips. "I'm not done yet."

"It's been three hours," Natasha said. "Lunch break."

"Okay, but I can come back, right?"

"You better!" floated Brodie's voice from somewhere in the room. "No leaving a job half-finished in my archive!"

"Let's go."

Allison rolled her shoulders, her spine cracking in a few places as Natasha led her down the corridors. Soon they were out into the hallways of the station, voices echoing off and around the concrete walls.

Natasha went into the break room and Allison followed her. There were a few people at the table, but when they saw Allison, they packed up and vanished.

"What's going on?" Allison said as Natasha went to the fridge.

"I told them you needed some space," Natasha said. She pulled a large lunch bag out, and carried it over to the table. "Sit."

"No," Allison said. "I'm not really feeling like taking orders today."

Natasha raise one perfect eyebrow at her. "Just today?" She pulled a tupperware container from the bag, then another. "Relax, it's lunch. Noah told me you aren't eating much at home."

"When do I have the time?" Allison sat, watching Natasha warily. "And I didn't think it was in a deputy's job description to feed stray dogs."

Natasha didn't flinch so much as lose the smoothness of the motion in opening the first tupperware. "Child labour laws," was all she said. "Eat something, okay? It'll get Noah off my back."

She stabbed a fork into the contents, pushed it in front of Allison, and sat down with the other container. Grudgingly, Allison picked up the fork. The container held diced chicken on a bed of rice and vegetables, and once Allison's brain recognized it as _food,_ she couldn't hold back from digging in.

She had been so damned hungry since she woke up in the past, it had faded to background pain.

A bottle of water appeared at her hand. "The archives are too dry," Natasha said.

"Is this part of your naturally nurturing nature?" Allison said with a full mouth. "Or an interrogation?"

"Little of both," Natasha said. She watched Allison with very clear green eyes. "Noah thinks you need to talk to a therapist."

"No."

"A priest?"

"Why?"

"How about a doctor?"

"There's nothing wrong with me."

"That's debatable." Natasha took a delicate bite of her chicken. "You run up out of nowhere at quarter to seven on a Saturday morning, covered in dirt and grass like you fell down a mountain, and your first impulse was to blackmail me into keeping quiet."

"That's not true." Allison speared a carrot. "I was also blackmailing Mr. Barton."

The corner of Natasha's mouth twitched. "You should talk to someone."

"Okay." Allison took a deep swig of water, then set the bottle down. "Here's how that will go." She cleared her expression and opened her eyes wide. "It's just that, with my mother stabbing herself in the heart in my bedroom and my father throwing me out of the house, I'm a little depressed, doctor."

Natasha leaned back to watch the performance.

"And, see, I've only just learned what terrible things my aunt Kate did to the Hale family, and Derek's always been so nice to me."

"Go on."

"Everything I do, I feel like I have to make up for what the Argents have done, but I'm only seventeen and don't know how. It's hard to sleep, but staying with the sheriff and Stiles is helping, you know?" Allison picked up her fork.

"I like it," Natasha said. "Except for that part about Derek Hale, it felt like you meant every word."

"I do," Allison said. She shoved more chicken in her mouth. "That's the best way to lie."

Natasha sighed. "What's really wrong with you?"

Allison chewed. "You expect me to open up to someone I met, like, three days ago, and who spends her spare time stalking me?"

"Why not? Sometimes it's easier to talk to a stranger."

Allison reached for the water bottle. "How about this?" She drank the rest of the water. "I'm homeless, have seven items of clothing to my name, no money, no way to support myself, and two years of high school to get through." She put the empty bottle down. "My mother is dead, my father made a fortune off selling weapons that kill people, and everyone I care about is gone." She stood up. "Thank you for lunch. It was very good. I have to go back to work."

Natasha looked at her steadily for a long moment. "I'll tell Clint you liked the chicken."

Of course. "Deputy." Allison left the room.

She checked her phone in the bathroom. She had three texts from Stiles.

_Scott's here and he can smell you on everything. That's gross, right?_

_Scott's mad at me, this is not fair._

_He says he's staying here until you get home, so, fyi. Please don't steal my jeep and make for Portland._

Allison pocketed her phone with a growl. Of course things with Scott were turning into a disaster. He'd been a loyal, caring person his whole life, and that loyalty turned into stubbornness at the drop of a hat.

What was she going to do?

Well, for starters, she was going back to work. She had papers to file.

* * *

At four, Allison stood on the front steps of the station, breathing the heavy air. A thunderstorm was rolling in.

Stiles' last text, sent at three-thirty, said that him and Scott were in the middle of a video game, with no sign that Scott was leaving any time soon. So that meant Allison couldn't go home without dealing with Scott McCall's puppy-dog eyes, and her patience wasn't in a place where she could deal with that right now.

Seventeen-year-olds were so much _work_.

A distant rumble pulled Allison back to herself. She put her hands in her jacket pockets and headed towards the jeep.

She stopped at a gas station to fill the tank, then headed off on a drive through Beacon Hills. Parts of town hadn't changed much, while others looked depressingly bare and old-fashioned. Twice she drove down streets thinking she could connect out the other side, and ended up turning back because the connecting roads hadn't been built yet.

The forest might not have changed much, but the city of men was another story.

Allison drove aimlessly, ending up by the river north-west of the city centre. It took her a few minutes to realize why her surroundings looked so familiar.

Peter lived just west of here.

Allison let the car drift to a stop by the side of the road. It was the day after the full moon, and none of the wolves were likely feeling their best. But it had been days since Allison last saw Peter, and the sensation of his thumb on her bloodied lip haunted her.

Going to see Peter was probably the stupidest idea she'd had in years.

She turned west anyway.

She parked a couple streets over, Stiles' jeep being so instantly identifiable around town, and walked through the alley. Rain drops were starting to fall, sending the scent of petrichor into the air. Allison breathed deep. Earth was the only place she'd been where the rain smelled like this, soft and round and cooling.

Lightning crackled over the mountains as Allison climbed the stairs to Peter's apartment. The thunder that rumbled over town was a conversation in the clouds. Only when it ended did Allison knock.

Peter opened the door after a minute, saw Allison, and almost closed the door again. "Really?"

"Are you going to invite me in?" Allison asked. The rain was picking up.

His mouth twitched. "Does that mean you're a vampire after all?"

Allison moved forward. With a sigh, Peter stepped back, allowing Allison to cross the threshold. "Not a vampire," Allison said. Peter closed the door and turned the locks. "How was last night?"

"Really?" Peter crossed his arms. "Small talk?"

"We don't have to talk," Allison replied.

"We don't have to—" Peter broke off. "Jesus Christ." He walked down the hall. Allison took off her wet boots and set them by the door before she followed him.

She found Peter in the living room half of the large studio apartment, staring out the window down at Beacon Hills. She perched against the back of the couch and watched him in silence.

Finally, he said, "I didn't think you were serious."

"About what?"

He turned his head to look at her. "About spending time alone with me."

Allison wanted to sigh. "I'm sorry, was I being too subtle in my intentions?"

"Oh, you know how it goes." Peter moved towards her. "A girl thinks she can flirt with a man without any consequences, but never has any plan to actually walk the talk."

Allison lifted her chin. "Trust me, Peter, I'm perfectly willing to finish anything I start." He was close enough for her to touch the front of his shirt. "And I'm willing to accept the consequences."

"Are you?" Peter traced a line from her cheek down her throat. His fingers curled around the back of her neck while his thumb pressed gently against her artery. "Even if I lose control of myself and rip your throat out?"

"Going to bed with me isn't going to make you lose control." Allison slid both hands around to his waist. He was so warm, this close to the full moon. "If you rip my throat out, it's because you want to."

Peter moved in another step, pressing against her legs. His hand on her throat didn't move. "Maybe I want to."

"Maybe." Allison slipped one hand under his shirt, to touch his skin. He shivered. "Probably not."

"Why do you think that?"

"Because." Allison stood up, her body flush against Peter's. "Like I said, you can only kill me once."

Peter's hand slid to cup the back of her head. "What's your plan, Allison?" His lips ghosted over her cheek. "Take me to bed, then what?" He kissed the corner of her mouth. "Go back home to the sheriff and cry rape?"

The words were so soft that it took Allison a microsecond to take in their meaning. She pushed Peter away. "No! What are you talking about?"

"Maybe just a little statutory rape, then?" Peter went on. He held her arm like he had in the warehouse, just below the shoulder, just a little too hard.

"Oh my god, no." Allison shoved at him, and he let her go. "This isn't a trap, Peter. I'm here because I want to be."

"Doesn't matter, right, as long as it happens?" Peter caught her and backed her against one of the support pillars around the apartment. "I doubt 'sorry, officer, I didn't realize she wasn't eighteen' is going to cut it with the sheriff."

Allison balled her hand up in Peter' shirt and hauled him in close. "Fine, you want to play this game?" she demanded. Anger swirled in her chest, that he'd think she'd do something so dirty. "First, I would never do that, not to you, not to anyone. Second." She twisted his shirt to make sure she had his attention. "Here's a little nuclear deterrence for you. I go to Noah, he charges you, and there's suddenly a whole bunch of Hunters in town who know that I'm getting down on my knees for a Hale. How healthy do you think I'm going to be after that?"

Peter pushed back from her, and Allison let him go. "Chris let you fuck around with Scott, how is that any different?"

"Victoria tried to kill Scott because she knew if word got out about what I was doing, I was going to end up with a bullet in my head." Allison stalked across the room, needing to get rid of the angry tension bubbling inside her.

"What? What the fuck is wrong with you people?" Peter demanded.

"Don't lump me in with them," Allison said. She went to the window, trying to calm down. "All I ever wanted to do was to protect people."

"So if it's so dangerous for you to be here," Peter said, "Why _are_ you here? Is this some sort of game?"

"It's not a game." Allison watched lightning crackle across a roiling sky. "Ever since I got back, you're the only person who has actually bothered to look at me."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Thunder boomed, an almost physical pressure on Allison's eardrums. She breathed through the sensation. "Everyone else looks at me and sees what they want to."

Peter walked across the room to join her by the window, standing just close enough that she could feel the warmth from his body. "What do they want to see?"

"Derek sees an Argent," Allison said. "I mean, I can't blame him. Noah sees a teenager who gets smacked around by her father and can't stand up for herself. Everyone else looks at me like I'm crazy."

"And what about me?"

"I don't know." Allison leaned back into Peter. He put one arm around her waist. "You look at me like you're still trying to figure me out."

"I am." Peter's breath was warm against her ear. "You don't make any sense. Not the way you move, not the way you smell, and not the way you're acting." He kissed her cheek, a gentle brush of lips over skin. "There has to be a reason you're like this."

"There is." Allison put her hand on Peter's arm.

"What is it?"

She turned her head. "Do you think I'm going to give it up that easily?"

"I don't know." Peter's eyes were searching. "You were practically taking your clothes off before I even opened the door."

Allison ran her tongue over her lower lip. "Oh, that you can have."

"You are so messed up," Peter whispered, and kissed her.

This kiss wasn't as desperate as the one on top of the mountain, but it was just as intense. Allison turned in Peter's arms, wanting everything all at once. Peter's tongue was in her mouth, his hands moving under her shirt, and it wasn't enough.

Peter managed to slip the jacket off her shoulders without breaking the kiss. Then he slid one hand over her shoulder and tugged on her braid, and it was like a bucket of ice over Allison's head. She broke away, pulling her hair away from Peter's fingers.

"What's wrong?" Peter demanded.

Allison took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. "I think we need some ground rules."

"Ground rules," Peter repeated.

"Yeah." Allison yanked the elastic from the end of her braid, shaking her hair loose. "No hair pulling."

"Okay." Peter put his hands on her waist, holding her as she breathed through the adrenaline. "No hair pulling."

Allison swallowed. "And I should probably say up front, no claws and no fangs."

"As long as you're okay with no knives." Peter ran a hand over Allison's back pocket, where she'd tucked her throwing blade.

"Fine." Allison pulled out the sheathed knife and tossed it onto the coffee table. "Anything else?"

Peter reached up to trace the edge of her jaw. "Just one." He ran his thumb over her lower lip. "No condoms."

Allison frowned. She hadn't expected that. "Why not?"

Peter was watching her closely. "Yes or no?"

She put her arms around his neck, thinking. He knew that he couldn't catch anything from her, but there was the other consideration. It was a weird power play, sure, and given the number of children Peter had scattered over the timeline, not a surprising one.

But what the hell. Victoria had put her on birth control practically since she started her period, which Allison had at first thought was progressive, but later realized was so that she didn't accidentally have puppies in high school. Her last depo shot was probably still good, although Allison didn't have her phone to check the dates.

"All right," Allison said. "No condoms."

"All right." He was still studying her. "Anything else?"

"No." She leaned in to kiss him. This kiss was like falling over a cliff, that instant of exhilaration just as gravity caught her and carried her down.

She breathed him in, felt his body move under her hands. He lifted her up so she could wrap her legs around his waist, where she could feel his growing interest in the situation through his jeans.

After an eternity, Allison broke for air. "Are we going to stand here all night?" she gasped.

In response, Peter carried her over to the bed in the corner of the room. She'd known him long enough to expect him to toss her onto the mattress, so being gently laid down was a surprise. "I never thought you'd go through with this," he said as he settled his weight on her.

"I'll tell you something about me for free, Peter." She ran her hand through his hair. "If I say I'm going to do something, I do it."

"Say that again."

"If I say I'm—"

"Not that." Peter cupped her cheek. "My name."

Allison looked up at him. "Peter."

He smiled. "I do like the way that fits in your mouth."

Allison arched her eyebrows. "Why don't you take your pants off and see what else fits in my mouth?"

"Patience." Peter kissed her, deep and hungry. Allison felt the last of her tension evaporate as he ground his hips against her. If Peter wanted to preach patience, fine, but she wasn't going to let that stand in her way.

She pulled on his shirt, running her hands down his back. She had to be careful to not scratch him; his healing would be slowed at the alpha-induced marks, and that might give away her secrets. Instead, she sank into the sensation of warm skin like silk under her touch.

After a few minutes, when Peter lifted his head, Allison tugged on his shirt. "Off."

He let her pull the fabric over his head. "Are you always this goal-oriented?" he asked as he kissed a line down her throat.

"This isn't a difficult process to understand." She closed her eyes as Peter nipped with gentle teeth at her shoulder. "Clothes off, tab A into slot B."

"Just for that," Peter said, "I'm going to take the scenic route."

He got up, leaving her cold. "What does that mean?" Allison asked the ceiling.

Peter straddled her waist. "That means, you want me to go fast, so I'm going to go slow." He started to unbutton her shirt. "Very slow."

Allison exhaled. "Don't go so slow I fall asleep."

He pushed her shirt back, then ran his hands over her stomach. "I'm sure I'll find a way to keep you engaged."

His fingers dipped to undo the button of her jeans, and she had a momentary hope that he was going to do something interesting, but then he moved back up her body. He slid his hands under her back, unhooking her bra, and then her shirt and bra were flying off through the air. Peter moved back to lie on top of her, one hand cupping a breast while he kissed her throat, her chest, before kissing his way over to her other breast. Allison arched up into the contact, overwhelmed by the sensation. She had forgotten how competitive Peter was about everything.

"So," Peter said in between mouthing at her breast. "How much time do you have?"

"Peter, I swear to god, if you slow down any more…"

"Not what I'm talking about." He got to his knees and shifted down the bed. He was pulling off her jeans before she was able to sit up. "How many rounds are you willing to go with me?"

Allison kicked her feet free of the jeans. She wondered what she looked like in Peter's eyes; naked, disheveled, and probably flushed. "Last time I checked, most professional bouts only allow for a maximum of twelve rounds."

Peter smirked. "You have any plans to go professional, or do you still consider yourself an amateur?"

"Amateur." Allison's breathing sped up as Peter slid his hands down her thighs. "Although dealing with the sponsors is terrible."

"That's what I thought." Peter hooked his hands under her knees and pulled her towards him. "God, you're beautiful."

"No need for flattery."

"Oh, there's every need." Peter caressed the insides of her thighs, one hand moving between her legs as he moved down the bed. Allison fell back on the bed as he touched her, fingers gently opening her up, sliding into places that ached. "You are so wet."

"I'm sure there's a joke in there somewhere," Allison said, then stifled a moan as she felt Peter's tongue between her legs. " _Peter."_

"If you keep saying my name like that," he said in between kisses, "I might never let you leave."

"Less talking," Allison demanded. Her back arched as his fingers moved inside her. "More doing."

"Like this?" He pressed up at the same time as he did something impossible with his tongue. Allison grabbed at the sheets, crying out as the orgasm crashed over her, as Peter kept going.

On the edge of the pleasure turning into pain, Allison grabbed Peter's shoulder. He lifted his head. "And how was that?" he asked, his fingers still moving inside her body.

Allison pressed on his shoulder, and he stopped. "How the hell do you think it was?"

"I don't know." He slid his hand out of her, moving back up her body to cup her breast with wet fingers. "You tell me." He stared down at her with dark, hungry eyes.

"You want a performance review?" Allison pulled him down into a kiss. She could taste herself on his lips, inside his mouth, and she wanted him closer. "Five star, ten out of ten, would fuck again."

"I think I like you better when you're not able to articulate," Peter said as he nibbled at her throat.

Allison tried to catch her breath. "Is that a preface to me going down on you, or are you going to shut me up a more traditional way? Either way, you're going to have to take your pants off."

Peter propped himself up on one elbow. "Do you want to keep going?"

Allison frowned up at him. "Don't you?"

"Oh, I do." He ran a thumb over her cheek. "I just wanted to check."

Outside, lightning flashed again. This time, thunder crashed a mere second later, making Peter flinch and Allison close her eyes against the sound.

Then the power went out.

"Damn it," Peter said. "That's the second time this month."

"Have there been a lot of thunderstorms this summer?" Allison asked as Peter got up.

"The weather's been unsettled." Peter walked across the room in the darkness from the summer storm. "Not a lot of rain, but lighting. It's surprising there haven't been any forest fires."

Allison stretched out on the bed, watching Peter move in the dark. She felt languid and slow, ready for Peter to come back to her. It was a feeling she'd missed.

Peter carried a candle over to the table beside the bed. He flicked on a lighter. He stared at the flame, then his eyes strayed to Allison.

She sat up. She had spent decades handling Peter's morbid fascination with fire, and it was the last thing she wanted to bring between them, here and now. "We don't need it," she said gently. "I'm sure we can find each other in the dark."

He let the lighter go out, then put it aside. With her heightened senses, she could see his expression clear enough, something a normal human wouldn't have been able to do, and wished she couldn't. "Is it dark enough that you can pretend that you're fucking someone else?"

"I know exactly what I'm doing," Allison said. "And exactly who I'm doing it with."

He sat on the edge of the bed, not moving for a full minute. She didn't try to touch him. She'd set him on fire once, just after he ripped Kate's throat out at the Hale house that first year she was in Beacon Hills, and if he wanted to stop what they were doing, she wasn't going to push.

After that minute, he stood up. Allison was ready for him to tell her to get out, when he reached for the buttons on his jeans. Allison watched as he shucked out of his pants before climbing back into bed. "Do you know what you're getting yourself into?" he asked.

"Yes."

He cupped her face with both hands, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. "Are you sure?"

Allison pulled back to stare at him. "Is there something you want from me?"

"It's the day after a full moon, my control might not be perfect as you might think."

Allison took his hands in hers. "Here's the thing, Peter." She lay back, pulling Peter down on top of her. He went willingly. "I know that you hate not being in control. So do what you have to."

Peter kissed the space just behind her ear. "You don't know me as well as you think you do."

There was no point in arguing that. "Well, I'm here and I want to do this, if you do."

Peter exhaled against her neck. "Fine." A pause. "I might need a little boost. Would you…"

"Would I what?" Allison asked, already pushing him onto his back. "Check your oil?"

"Allison."

"Demonstrate the proper fingering?" She wrapped one hand around Peter's dick, enjoying the way his breath hitched. "Go snake-charming?"

"Please stop talking."

"Okay." She lowered her head to take the tip of him in her mouth. He was at half-mast after the interruption of the power outage, and Allison was able to take him in deep, using her hand to guide him.

"Oh _god,"_ Peter whispered. Allison squeezed the base of his shaft as she focused on sliding her mouth down without choking. Part of the attraction of sleeping with Peter was that he was a handful, literally and metaphorically. "Are you sure you don't want to go pro?"

Allison pulled off him with a pop. He whimpered. "Be very careful about how you insult me when I've got my teeth around your dick."

"Trust me, beautiful, that was not an insult." He reached for her cheek, then hesitated.

"You can touch my face," she said. "Just don't pull my hair."

She went back to it, licking down his dick to his balls. One of Peter's hands moved to cup the back of her head, a gentle touch as she ran her tongue over his skin, listening to him groan. She hummed her way back up, taking him back in her mouth. He was hard now, and Allison used her hand on his length while taking as much into her mouth as she could.

His hips arched up and Allison moved with it, relaxing to take him deeper. This time, when she went to draw back, Peter pulled at her until she was all the way off him. She looked at him, confused. "What?"

"Come here." He rolled her onto her back, settling in between her thighs. "I need to look at you."

"Okay." She touched his face. His eyes were dark with want.

"I could watch that mouth on my dick forever," he whispered, tracing his thumb over her lips.

"I can go back to it, if you want."

"No." He shifted his weight and reached between them. "Like you said, I have a more traditional way of shutting you up."

"Peter, I swear to god…" Allison's breath caught as Peter pushed inside her, pulling a moan from deep inside her as he just kept _going_.

Finally, when he was all the way in, he kissed her cheek. "Those sounds that you make," he breathed in her ear.

"Again," Allison managed to say. "Do that again."

He pulled out, making Allison whimper, then pushed back in. Allison let out a gasp that curled into a moan as he bottomed out.

"Beautiful," Peter said again.

"Would you please shut up and fuck me?" Allison gasped.

"You're so pushy." Peter scraped his teeth over her pulse. "Fine."

He moved his hips, pulling back, then pushing in, over and over. She clutched at his shoulders, holding on as he rocked into her, going faster and harder with every stroke. Outside, the thunder continued to rumble over Beacon Hills, but in the darkened apartment everything was Peter, his hands on her body, his weight holding her down, him moving between her legs, thick and hard and fast.

Time stretched in the dark, and Allison was lost to the moment. The pleasure was building inside her, more urgent this time. Allison closed her eyes and let the alpha rise, filling her body as Peter fucked her, carrying her higher and higher.

Peter growled, his hands on her thighs holding her as he pounded into her. She could feel the sharp pinprick of claws against her skin, but he didn't dig in, didn't hurt her. The sensation, along with an almost smug realization that she had been right about this Peter, was the last thing she needed to push her over the edge.

She cried out, her back arching as she came. He kept going, moving through a climax that seemed to go on forever. Just as she was about to collapse, Peter came with a shout, slamming home one last time. He tensed, stuttered, then went still. After a moment, he collapsed on top of her.

Allison draped one arm across Peter's back, breathing hard, her heart racing. She wasn't sure what had just happened, but sex with Peter had never been like _that_ before.

She wasn't sure they'd be able to top that, but she sure as hell intended to try.

After a long moment, Peter let out a sigh. "Okay."

"Okay, what?" she asked.

"Five star, ten out of ten," he breathed.

Allison rolled her eyes. "What about judging on the dismount?"

"Do you want me to get off of you?"

"No." Allison stroked his back. "Don't you dare."

They lay together for a long time. Allison had her head turned towards the window, watching the play of light against the clouds. Finally, Peter shifted, pulling out of her. The loss of contact was jarring.

"Come here." He turned onto his side, pulling her into the lee of his body. "I like you like this."

"Like what?" Allison asked, her eyes half-closed.

"Completely fucked out."

She cuddled against him. "That's not a thing."

"And still." Peter ran a hand down her side, stopping at her thigh. "Are you mad about this?"

"About what?" Allison looked. On her leg were a few tiny spots of blood from Peter's claws where he'd been holding her. "No, they're already healing."

"And isn't that interesting?"

Allison snapped awake. She sat up, one hand on Peter's chest. "Was that why you did it?" she demanded.

Peter held up both hands in surrender. "No."

Allison eased back. "Then why?"

Peter looked away. Allison slid back down, lying against his side. Finally he said, "It's been a long time since I've done this."

Allison put her hand on his stomach. Something in the way he said it, made her realize that he wasn't talking about months.

And that could only mean before the fire.

"If you were human, I could have badly hurt you."

"I am human," Allison said.

"Yes, but." He turned his head to look at her. "You're not just human, are you." It wasn't a question.

Allison stared back at him. "No. And you knew that perfectly well before we started."

"What if I'd hurt you?"

"I would have asked you to stop."

"Are you sure I would have?"

"Yes." Reluctantly, Allison sat up. "Because you are many things, Peter Hale, but you're not a rapist, and you're not a sadist."

"I have no idea what to say to that."

Allison ran her hand over her hair. It was tangled from the time she'd spent lying on her back. "Do you want me to psychoanalyze you?"

"Only if I get to return the favour."

Allison looked over her shoulder at Peter. "No."

"Great. Now what do we do?"

"I find my clothes and go home."

"You sure you don't want to stay for another round?"

Allison stood up. "I'm going to save that for another day. Where are my pants?"

Peter watched Allison step into her underwear. "So what do we do now?"

Allison pulled on her jeans. "What do you mean?"

"Are we going to do this again?"

"If you want to." Allison pulled her bra and shirt off a lampshade.

"Are you going to tell anyone about this?"

"I thought we'd been over this." Allison put on her bra. "Technically, my eighteenth birthday isn't for almost a month."

Peter winced. "Don't remind me."

"Don't give me that, you knew exactly what you were doing." Allison shrugged into her shirt, working on the buttons. "We'll just come up with a cover story about why we're spending time together."

"A cover story," Peter repeated. He sat up. "Exactly what kind of cover story are people going to buy?"

"I don't know." Allison tried to finger-comb the knots out of her hair. "What are you good at, besides menace and fornication?"

Peter stared at her. "I beg your pardon?"

"What are you good at?" Allison repeated.

"That wasn't the part I was asking about."

"It can't be something that sounds like a euphemism for sex," Allison mused. "I mean, if I told someone I was coming over here for clarinet lessons, they'd figure it out."

"Oh my god."

"Javelin practice?"

Peter lay back down.

"I could say you're tutoring me in Greek." Allison found her other sock under the couch. "Stretching my horizons when it comes to the classics?"

A groan from the bed.

"Cooking class?" She waited until Peter looked at her. "Sausage stuffing."

"What is wrong with you?"

"As of fifteen minutes ago, not a fucking thing." She sat on the edge of the bed to put on her socks. "Do you play chess?"

"I can," he said warily.

"Great, you're teaching me." Allison went to get her jacket. "Where's your phone?"

"Why?"

"I'm building a plausible backstory." She pulled out her phone. "What's your number?"

He told her. She saved it in her contacts, then opened a text message and wrote, _Thanks for that first lesson in chess. The first part was tough to pick up but I think I'll get better._ She hit send.

There was a ping from the coffee table. Allison looked at Peter. "Are you going to get that?"

Peter stayed where he was. "This was your idea."

Fine. Allison retrieved Peter's phone and her knife, tucking the latter into her back pocket. "Unlock."

"Why?"

"Because when you're building cover, both parties need to be operating on the same wavelength."

Peter snatched the phone from Allison's hand. "You do this sort of thing a lot?"

"What, seduce forty-year-old werewolves during power outages?"

"I'm not forty."

"Give me your phone."

"Tell me what to write."

"Fine." Allison considered. "How about you're a fast learner, it was a pleasure instructing you."

Peter typed. In a few seconds, a message appeared on her phone. _Not bad, but if you keep leading with your knight, you're always going to lose. Next time I'll show you pawn promotion._

"What is that supposed to mean?" Allison asked.

Peter slid over to her side. "If means, if you're really so hot to ride my dick, you're going to have to learn chess." He kissed her. "Now get out."

Allison bounced to her feet with a huff. "I need to use your bathroom."

"Don't touch anything."

In the bathroom, Allison glanced in the mirror. She coiled her hair up into a bun, tied it up with a spare hair elastic, then applied chapstick. All of the marks Peter had left on her neck were already fading. They'd be gone by the time she got to the car.

Lastly, Allison reached into her pocket to pull out her emergency pad. The downside of not using a condom was the messy reality that came after, and the last thing she needed was to leave any biological evidence in Stiles' jeep.

Peter was up and half-dressed when Allison returned. "The power's back on downtown," he said from the window.

Allison joined him. "The storm looks like it's passing."

"There's always another one on the horizon."

Allison kissed Peter's shoulder. "I'll see you around."

He didn't follow her to the door.

Outside, the air was cold and crisp and electric, with the rain only a faint spatter on the glistening pavement. Allison put her hands in her pockets on the walk to the jeep.

Once there, she got in and turned on the engine, waiting for the ancient air vents to blow the humidity off the windshield. While she waited, she looked at the message from Peter again. She had managed to avoid learning to play chess so far, mostly because she was too busy saving the galaxy. Also, both Bucky and Sam preferred to play cards during down-time, and Shuri favoured a Wakandan game with twelve-sided dice.

But damn it, now she had to learn chess.

She checked her other messages. There was one from Stiles, that she probably hadn't heard over all the thunder. _Scott's still here I mean I don't know what to do to make him go home. Are you ever coming back._

Allison let out a breath. If she hadn't wanted to see Scott before, it was even more out of the question with her smelling like sex and Peter. _I have to buy a book. Your jeep is fine._ She hit send, tossed the phone in the cupholder, and drove off.

The power was on in the rest of town. Allison drove to a large bookstore in the complex by the bridge, parked, and went inside. The glaring fluorescents overhead were harsh after all the time she'd spent in the dark, and the scents of fresh ink and the stale grounds from the coffee shop made Allison's stomach turn.

As she wandered the shelves, killing time, she wondered why her sense of smell was so sharp at seventeen. Maybe all that time in outer space really did dull the senses, like Carol always said. Allison had spent too much of the previous seven years in space, traveling between planets, breathing in recycled air that always smelled too much like metal and plasma exhaust. But now, back in Beacon Hills, everything smelled so intense.

The Stilinski house smelled like cheap laundry soap and cut grass and teenage boy, a mix of sweat and too much Axe, but there was also an underlying layer of wolf that permeated Stiles' room and clothes. Part of it was from Scott, but Allison suspected that Derek had taken to spending more time with Stiles over the summer than Stiles let on… or that Noah knew.

The sheriff's station was a mix of industrial cleaning products, paper, worn boots and despair. And no matter what Stiles said about having the floors redone after the massacre in the spring, Allison could smell blood whenever she stepped inside.

Peter's apartment had been a relief. Probably because he was a werewolf, and bad scents would bother him just as much as they did her. His place smelled of wolf and old books, silk and cotton and leather and a hint of dried cedar. And now, too, probably her.

Allison was so lost in her thoughts about Peter and wolves that it took her a moment to realize her nose wasn't playing tricks on her – there was a werewolf nearby.

She looked around. Erica Reyes was standing about ten feet away from her, staring at her with an incredibly confused expression on her face. Allison knew she was staring back, but Erica looked so damned young. The last time Allison had seen Erica was in Dubai at a conference on climate change, where Erica had been presenting the results of her latest research and Allison had been undercover, one of Shuri's backup bodyguards.

This Erica looked like she was playing dress-up.

 _Seventeen_ , Allison remembered. Erica had only just turned seventeen. Too young for any of this.

As Allison was dragged down memory lane, Erica approached her with cautious feet. "Derek said you were back in town," she said. Her voice sounded like she didn't know if she wanted to be angry or curious. "And you smell like Peter but you don't smell like you killed him."

"Peter is perfectly fine," Allison said.

Erica continued getting closer until she was in Allison's personal space. She breathed in, and Allison could see the moment the penny dropped, because Erica blushed and looked horribly embarrassed. Allison wanted to sigh. Teenagers.

"Did you and Peter…" Erica started, then stalled as she realized what she was about to ask.

"Peter's teaching me to play chess," Allison said. Erica frowned. "It doesn't matter. How was your summer?"

The embarrassment in Erica's face slid away, replaced with remembered anger. "Better once you left town."

Right. "I can imagine."

"Why did you have to come back?" Erica went on. Her anger was getting the better of her, even though her eyes were still clear of the wolf. She needed to calm down and Allison's silence wasn't doing anything to help.

"There are things I have to do," Allison said truthfully. "Look, can we talk? I can buy you a mocha."

Erica took a step back. "What are you going to say that's worth listening to?"

Excellent question. Erica had always been good at getting to the heart of any matter. "I can tell you more about the supernatural," Allison offered. Erica still looked suspicious. "I learned some new stuff over the summer. It might be helpful."

"Why not tell Derek?"

"Because Derek is convinced he knows everything, and that admitting he doesn't is a sign of weakness. Especially anything coming from me."

Erica considered this. "Do you blame him?"

"Nope."

"Oh." Erica shrugged. "I mean, I guess. To the mocha."

"Great." Allison gestured towards the store's café. Erica refused to move until Allison was also walking. "Are you here for a book?"

"No, I wanted to apply for a job." Erica tucked her hands into her pockets. "My mom said I can work part time during school if it's not more than ten hours a week." There was pride in her voice, that she could get a job, when she hadn't been able to before.

"Did you?"

"No, the manager said they're not going to do any hiring until closer to Christmas." Erica stopped by the pastry display. "Maybe I'll try somewhere else. Maybe a restaurant."

That last bit sounded like a test. Allison reached into her pocket to untangle one of her hundreds from the other bills. "That might be fun," she said. "Anywhere in mind?"

"There's a new steakhouse opening up in the Heights," Erica said. Her eyes were on Allison. "My dad's their insurance guy."

"That would be good," Allison said. "I hear people tip well at those places."

Years ago, future Allison was one of those big tippers, back in her brief party days before the Snap. She was pretty sure she'd funded several wait staff's college degrees with how much of Tony's money she dropped in swank restaurants and bars across southern California.

And now, in Beacon Hills, she was figuring out how far she could stretch a hundred dollars.

They reached the register. Erica ordered the biggest mocha they had, with extra whip. Allison asked for a black coffee, and paid. Once they were seated at a tiny table, where Allison could keep an eye on the main door as well as the fire exits, Erica said, "Why do you smell like Peter? Does Scott know?"

"No, and I would like it to stay that way."

"Do you really think that's going to happen?"

Allison sighed. "A girl can dream." She sipped the coffee. It tasted burnt. "Let me put it this way. What I'm doing with Peter is the least complicated part of my life."

"Wow."

"So. What do you want to know?"

Erica fidgeted. "Do you know if vampires are real?"

Allison frowned. "What is it with everyone and vampires?"

"Huh?"

"Never mind. No, vampires aren't real. Not like how you think."

"What do you mean?"

"So there are some things that drink blood, but that the combination of that with immortality and the physical symptoms, which are just a misunderstanding of porphyria, is a myth."

Erica blinked a few times. "Um."

Right. Allison had to remember she was talking with a teenager. "Okay. Do you know what porphyria is?"

Erica shook her head.

Allison settled in. This was going to take a while.

After the talk about vampires, Erica asked about the mothman and other cryptids, then about ghosts. Most of her apprehension settled, and she was even able to smile at some of what Allison said.

Allison was relieved beyond measure. Fixing things with Erica had been the one thing she was most worried about. Boyd tended to take his cues from Erica and Isaac, and while she still had a lot to do to make things right with him as well, he would be less likely to go for her throat in a rage.

But Erica was listening, talking, and while her body language said she was still wary of Allison, it wasn't distrust.

Teenagers, Allison thought again, this time with fondness. So to the point.

After a while, Allison asked Erica about what she was planning to do after high school.

"I don't know." Erica said as she finished the last dregs of her mocha. "My mom wants me to go to community college so I'll be close to home. I don't think she gets that I'm not going to get sick again."

"You should try for UCLA," Allison said. "They have an amazing atmospheric and ocean sciences program."

Erica pursed her lips. "Why do you think I'd care about that?"

"Because you're good at hands-on, and you're smart." Allison picked at a chip in the tabletop.

"My grades suck."

"You've got the next two years and the SATs. Lydia can tutor you in math if you want."

"Doesn't UCLA cost a lot of money?"

"There's scholarships." And, Allison decided, if that didn't happen, she was going to get Tony to fund a scholarship just to get Erica through school. "Come on. You're the only one of us who has any chance at beating Lydia to her PhD."

"Why are you saying all this stuff?" Erica demanded. "Like, two months ago you were… You were really terrible to me and Boyd."

"I know." Allison took a deep breath. Somewhere, on the periphery of her senses, was a scent that made her uneasy. "And I can apologize for that but the only thing that matters is what I do moving forward."

"Okay, yeah, but why me and UCLA?"

"Because you can make a difference in people's lives."

Erica reddened, looking at her hands. Allison didn't move. "I can't go. Not like this, right?"

She stretched out her hands, showing off very human nails, but Allison knew what she meant.

Allison smiled. "There's apparently a whole system about asking for permission to enter another city for school. That's how Derek and Laura landed in New York."

Where was that scent coming from? And what was it?

"Won't Derek be mad if I try to leave?"

"No, he won't be," Allison said firmly, and this she knew from past experience. "What kind of guy would he be if he tried to hold you back? That's not jazz."

Erica played with a coat button. "Do you think I could?" she asked after a minute.

"I think you can do anything you want," Allison said firmly. "And I—"

She stopped, all thoughts wiped from her mind as her brain finally clicked on where she'd last encountered that scent, too-sweet rotting apples with just a hint of gasoline.

Maurice Dupont.

She turned, scanning the bookstore. It took her a moment to track him down, but there he was, mostly hidden behind the magazine stand, watching her and Erica. "We have to go," Allison said, standing up. "Come on. Did you drive here?"

"I took the bus," Erica said, confused. She looked around. "What's wrong?"

"Did Derek tell you about the Hunters in town?"

"A little bit. Why?"

Anger, fear, and fury at herself for being so _criminally unobservant_ made the alpha stir inside Allison. "We have to leave," she said with a voice still human, but carrying the weight and power of command. Erica was moving before she was finished the words. "I'll take you home."

With a hand on Erica's back, Allison headed to the closest exit. Dupont wouldn't try anything on either of them in public, but once they were on the road… Or if he found out where Erica lived…

"Was that one of the Hunters?" Erica asked, hurrying to keep up with Allison across the parking lot. Overhead, the sky was dark, with the threat of more rain.

"Yes." Allison nearly pushed Erica at the jeep. "I don't think he knows about you, so the faster we get you out of here, the better."

Erica climbed in the jeep while Allison dashed around to the driver's side. She had the engine going and the car in gear before Erica had her door closed.

Allison was really not happy how quickly a black SUV pulled out after them.

Erica was staring at Allison. "If the Hunters didn't know about me, why were they at the bookstore?"

"Because I was there," Allison said. This _stupid_ blue jeep, drawing attention like a flare in the middle of the night. "Because Dupont has a grudge against Chris and I keep getting dragged in."

Erica fell quiet. Way too quiet. "Is this a trick?" she finally growled, and Allison didn't have to look over to see the amber eyes and too-sharp fangs changing her speech.

"No, it's not." Allison changed lanes and took a corner a little too fast. The SUV followed them. "Erica, there is no way I can get you to believe me, but I am not working with them. I am going to do everything to get you home—"

"No!" Erica exclaimed. "If you're not working with them, then prove it."

"How?"

"Get me to Derek."

Allison saw the red lights up ahead, and she pumped the brakes to slow the jeep enough to pull down a service alley. "I'm not leading them anywhere near the Bat Cave."

"The— Then what?"

"Call Derek." Allison's attention was mostly on the road, but she could still see the SUV behind them. "Tell him what's going on, ask him to come pick you up. We'll meet up, you can ditch, and that's your portion of the evening."

"Unless they come after me and Derek!"

"Call Derek!" Allison ordered. Erica pulled out her phone. "I'm not leaving you alone, and I'm not putting you in danger. I promise."

Erica bit her lip so deep she drew blood. The phone rang. Derek picked up after a few seconds. "Erica?"

"Derek," Erica said. "I'm with Allison and there's Hunters—"

"Derek," Allison interrupted. "Erica and I are in the jeep, being followed by Hunters. I think they're after me, but I can't risk leaving Erica somewhere they might go for her. Where can you meet us for a hand-off?"

"I thought you said—"

"Derek!" Allison barked. She didn't have time for what-ifs; they were in the middle of a situation. "We're by Henderson and Briar, going east."

"There's the mall down by the city center, it's always busy on Saturday night." In the background of the call, Allison could hear keys jangling, hurried footsteps. "Drop Erica off and she goes inside. I'll meet her there. If you're right, the Hunters will keep after you."

"What if she's not right?" Erica demanded.

"Then you'll be in a bright populated spot with more than enough witnesses to keep anyone from doing anything," Allison said. "I'll hit the entrance by the Cinnabon."

"Right." Derek hung up.

Erica huddled in her seat, smelling of fear and doubt. Allison tried to give her a reassuring smile, but the SUV was right on her tail. "You'll be fine," Allison said.

"What if you're not right?" Erica asked again.

"You mean if they go after you?" Erica nodded. "Then I abandon the jeep in the middle of the road, run in after you, and cause such a scene that someone calls the cops. The sheriff knows about Dupont, you'll be okay."

"And what if you are right? What if they're going after you?"

"I'll handle it," Allison said. "I don't know how, but I'll handle it." Erica still smelled afraid, so Allison took her hand off the gearshift to squeeze the girl's arm. "It's okay. I have a knife. After all, how many of them can there be? Three, four?"

Erica let out a whimper. "Why are they doing this?"

Allison took her hand back to shift to a higher gear, hoping to get to the light before it changed. "Same reason anyone does shit like this. It started out as fear and hate and it shifted into a play for power. Some of it's blood purity, some of it's pure hatred. Dupont and his like, they hate what they can't control, and they're afraid because they're weak."

"So how do we stop them?"

"You don't do anything," Allison said. "You're seventeen. They're human. The sheriff's looking into it now."

"But if they come after me…"

"Then stop them, and we'll figure out a claim for self-defence. Just no biting." At last, Allison saw the turn off into the mall parking lot. "Almost there."

The SUV was now two car lengths behind them. When Allison turned, so did they. There was some traffic, and going around the loop was frazzlingly slow.

"Why isn't your dad doing something?"

Allison tried to breathe out her adrenaline rush. "I'm fucked if I know."

She stopped in front of the mall entrance. The scent of cinnamon buns and sesame chicken wafted in the air. "Sorry," Erica said as she fumbled with the door handle. "But I hope they're not after me."

"Me too." Allison leaned over and planted a kiss on Erica's forehead. "Now go!"

Erica slipped out of the jeep and hurried across the pavement to the mall. Allison put the jeep in gear and drove, watching every mirror to see if anyone got out of the SUV. But they didn't, and when Allison turned back onto the road, the SUV was right behind her.

On one hand, good. They weren't after Erica.

On the other hand… they were after her.

Now that Erica was out of the picture, Allison could focus. She breathed deep, concentrating on her surroundings. If they tried to ram the jeep, she'd go for speed. At the very worst, one or both of them would get pulled over for speeding, introducing police into the equation.

If they kept following her? If they had known she was in Stiles' jeep, then they had to know where she was staying, knew where the Stilinski house was.

Why were they following her?

She knew she hadn't been followed when she arrived at Peter's. She'd parked far enough away from his place, and she hadn't seen an SUV like the one behind her. They must have picked her up after she left.

And she hadn't been looking behind her for a tail.

God, she was so angry at herself. She'd let herself believe that life at seventeen wasn't as dangerous as it was at forty-six. But then, she'd had Bucky as her partner, A-Force as her back-up, and advanced monitoring systems and AIs, full armour and a bristling complement of weapons.

Now, she had one tiny throwing knife, no back-up, and no armour.

All she had, was who she had become.

And who she had become was very, very angry.

"Fine," she said as she accelerated. The SUV on her tail did the same. "You want to do this?"

She rattled over the train tracks, hung a left, then sped down the mile-long Bonaventurea to get to the sheriff's station.

It was mid-shift, and most of the patrol cars were out on the road. Allison drove the jeep directly into an on-duty-only spot by the door, turned off the engine, and pulled out her knife.

The SUV pulled into the parking lot behind her and stopped. Its lights were on, which would have been nearly blinding in a normal human, but Allison was able to see around to the dark spaces in the rear view and side mirrors.

The SUV's doors didn't open. It just sat there, lights on, twenty feet behind her.

Time slowed to a crawl. Allison gripped her knife, waiting, to see what they would do. She didn't know who was in the vehicle, or what they intended, but unless they had a sniper rifle or a missile launcher, they'd have to get out of their vehicle to get to her.

And if they had a rifle or missile launcher, she was dead either way.

There was movement in the periphery of Allison's vision, from the front of the sheriff's station. Allison didn't look; the danger was behind her.

But the movement was coming closer. Allison spared a quick glance before going back to her surveillance of the mirrors.

A tap on the window, and Allison rolled it down. "What's going on?" Noah asked.

"I was at Barnes & Noble with Erica and I saw Maurice Dupont," Allison said. "We left and that car started following us. I dropped Erica at the mall and they followed me, so I came here."

"Right." Noah stayed where he was. "Are you sure it's the same one?"

"Licence plate 6TRJ244," Allison said.

Noah looked. "That's them."

At that point, Natasha joined Noah by the jeep. "Want me to roust them, boss?" Natasha asked in a mild tone.

"You sure that's a good idea?"

"It's been a while since I've had to hassle the common man," Natasha said, cracking her knuckles. "Watch this."

She had only taken a few steps towards the SUV when it suddenly reversed, pulled a three-point turn, and sped out onto the street.

Allison let out a shuddering breath. _Stand down, Alpha,_ Bucky would have said. "Did they leave anyone behind?" she asked.

"No," Natasha said as she walked back to the jeep, and she sounded disappointed. "Are you hurt?"

"No."

"What about Erica?" Noah asked.

"Derek was going to pick her up," Allison said. She went to reach for her phone, but there was a knife already in her palm. It took her a moment of staring at it to remember that she had been holding the knife in case it came to a fight.

She couldn't open her fingers.

"Let's go inside," Natasha suggested. She moved Noah out of the way to open Allison's door. "How about you give me that?"

"I…" Allison had to concentrate on moving her fingers. Her hand cramped, and she dropped the knife onto her lap.

"I'll just take this," Natasha said, picking it up. "Let me see."

Allison opened her hand. There was a bloody mark on her palm from holding the handle so tight. It was already starting to heal. "I'm fine."

"You will be." Natasha stepped back. "Come on, inside. We're starting to see too much of you around here."

"I can go live in the archives," Allison said as she got out. The ground was spongy under her feet, like being on the inter-galactic transports when the grav-generators were on the fritz. Noah's arm was under her hand, and she wasn't sure how it got there, but she wasn't going to let go. "I forgot the keys."

"I'll get them." Natasha went into the jeep behind them as Noah walked Allison into the station. Allison focused on one foot in front of the other, staying upright, not demanding Natasha give her back the knife, her only knife.

"You did the right thing, coming here," Noah said reassuringly. "That was smart."

"If I'd been smart, they'd never have gotten the drop on me," Allison said. They walked past the front desk into Noah's office. He directed her to the sofa by the wall instead of the chair across the desk. She sank down, distantly wondering why her hands were shaking.

Why was she falling apart?

Natasha came in, closing the door behind her. She tossed the jeep keys onto Noah's desk. "I found a tracker in the wheel-well," she said. "They didn't even try to hide it."

"They put a tracker on my son's car?" Noah demanded.

Allison pushed a strand of hair back from her face. If they'd had a tracker on her all afternoon, they might have noticed where she had spent a good potion of her time after leaving the station.

_Peter._

She dug into her pocket for her phone as Natasha said, "They must have seen that Allison and Stiles were spending time together."

"Now they're after my son, too?" Noah demanded.

Allison quickly texted Peter. _everything ok?_ Then she went to Erica's number. _it's allison are you ok?_

Peter's reply was quick. _Why_

 _Ask derek_ , Allison replied.

"We don't know what's going on," Natasha said. "We've tried the North American databases with the names, but without any other identifying information, no fingerprints or photographs for facial recognition, we don't have enough."

"The bookstore."

Noah and Natasha looked at Allison.

"The bookstore had surveillance cameras," Allison said. She stared at her phone, every moment without a reply from Erica eating away like acid in her stomach. "Dupont was inside. You can get him off that."

"I'll call them," Natasha said. "See if they'll cooperate without a warrant."

"Ask for Evan, he owes me a favour," Noah called after her. "And track that licence plate!" The door opened and closed on Natasha. Noah coughed. "Allison, permission to approach?"

"What?"

"Can I sit down?"

"Sure." Allison moved over to give Noah space. Still, nothing on her phone from Erica.

"Why didn't you call me when you spotted Dupont?"

Allison made herself blink. Her eyes burned. "I didn't think of it."

"Why not?"

Allison looked at Noah. "Because I solve my own problems, I have to," she said. "The first thing I had to do was to keep Erica safe."

She couldn't stand it any more. She texted Stiles, _are derek and erica ok?_ After all, Derek never ignored any of Stiles' texts, right?

"So you took her to Derek?"

"I took her to the mall," Allison corrected. "Open spaces, lots of people. They couldn't go after her and not get noticed, at the very least. Erica wanted Derek. If anyone can keep her safe, it's him."

"We haven't heard of any disturbances from the mall," Noah said. "It's quiet tonight."

"Day after the full moon," Allison had to say. "Everyone's sleeping it off."

"Right." Noah sat back. "Well, if you don't hear from anyone soon, I'm going to start making some welfare checks, okay?"

Allison's head snapped up. "No, you can't—"

"This is a police problem," Noah went on. "You're being followed. Someone put a tracker on Stiles' jeep. All of which makes this very much my business."

Allison's phone buzzed. It was Stiles. _Derek's ok he's mad at you again. Erica's ok too but she's not mad at you._

 _How do you know?_ Allison replied.

_Apparently the pack has a group text. Scott's on it. Derek is taking Erica home._

Allison sank back against the cushions, finally able to breathe again. "Stiles says Erica and Derek are okay."

"Good." Noah was watching her, but she didn't care. "Are you okay?"

Allison pulled her legs up to her chest. "No."

"Yeah, I guess that was a stupid question."

"I just thought…" Allison hugged her legs, wishing she could get warm. "I thought I'd have time to be able to think things out, make plans." She stared across the office at the bulletin board. "I know I said this morning that I wasn't born to be safe, but sometimes I think it might be a nice change, you know?"

"I do." Noah was silent for a long moment. "Is Stiles in danger?"

Allison's stomach dropped. She supposed this was it, what she had been low-key expecting since that first night in the sheriff's house. "I can't say no." She put her legs down. "I'll go back to the house and get my stuff."

"What are you talking about?"

Allison stared at Noah. "You're not going to tell me to leave?"

"Why would I do that?"

"Because if I stay, Stiles might be in danger, and I can't let that happen."

"Allison, no!" Noah stood up. "The house is safe and I sure as hell know you won't be if you're out on the street!"

"But Stiles—"

"Is my kid." Noah sat down in the visitor's chair. "But you're also a kid. You're seventeen, and you need protecting too. Wasn't that what you said this morning? I can't stand back if I know someone's going to get hurt." He rubbed his hand over his face. "And I've seen too damned much in the world to think a teenage girl being stalked around town isn't going to end badly."

Allison looked down at her hands. She rubbed her palm where the knife hilt had cut the skin earlier. Already, the only trace anything had happened was the faint smear of dried blood on her skin.

"Look, we'll head home," Noah said. "I'll get someone to…"

The door opened, and Natasha poked her head in. "Can I have a word?"

Noah stood up. "Be right back."

They went out into the hallway, but left the door open, so Allison could hear them as clear as day. "I talked to your friend Evan, he was chatty," Natasha said. "He sent over the footage and we could pick up a few people quite easily."

"Wait, more than one who might have been following Allison?"

"More than one who were definitely following her," Natasha replied. Allison's blood ran cold. "The photo quality isn't clear, but it's a place to start with facial recognition."

"Great," Noah said. "Can you get some of your pals to help with that?"

"They're already on it."

Allison stood up. She didn't know how to explain that she was able to hear them, but now that she knew there had been multiple Hunters in the bookstore, and she _hadn't seen them_ , she needed to know who they were.

Noah and Natasha abruptly stopped talking when Allison appeared in the doorway. She looked between them. "Yes?" Natasha said.

"Can I see them?"

"See what?"

"The people who were following me?"

She waited for one of them to ask how she had heard, how she knew, but Natasha just nodded. "Come on."

Allison followed Natasha to her desk in the bullpen. On the computer, Natasha pulled up a series of black-and-white stills. "Tell me who you know."

"That one's Dupont," Allison said at the second one. "I don't know the other two."

But she looked hard, just the same. She might not have seen them before, but she certainly wouldn't miss them again.

She wasn't going to let Maurice Dupont or any of his prejudiced violence-jockeys hurt anyone she cared about.

She might have a mission to save the universe, but she was also going to keep everyone in Beacon Hills safe if it killed her.

She just hoped that it wouldn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not entirely certain where Brodie came from, but he serves a purpose in demonstrating that werewolves aren’t the only supernatural creatures who call Beacon Hills home.
> 
> starting the next chapter with a bang – a Tony Stark-shaped bang.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony Stark's quiet evening at home is rudely interrupted by someone hacking into Jarvis's systems, and that's just the start of a very long, very confusing night. (AKA Allison spoils the plot _of Iron Man 3_ for Tony.)

### Tony Stark

Tony slapped his hand around on the bench for the socket wrench. "Where did you put it, you useless Canadarm knock-off?" he said, voice carrying over the Led Zeppelin. "Do I have to do everything myself?"

He rolled back from the guts of the Mark XI suit, scanning the workshop for Dummy, who was supposed to be helping.

"Hey!" Tony waved a hand. "Do I need to start employing child labour in here? Snap snap."

Dummy beeped and whirred back over to Tony's side, holding an empty coffee mug in his claw.

"Yeah, I know," Tony said. He took the mug and put it on the workbench, then scooped up the machined pins into it. "And who am I kidding. Pepper would never let me hire child labour. She never lets me have any fun."

Dummy turned his head to watch as Tony rooted around the bench for the wrench. Overhead, the song faded, and Gallow's Pole started up.

"What friends," Tony muttered to the suit chassis. "I don't need friends. I'll bribe the hangman myself."

The air was pressing a little close. Tony wrapped his fingers around the metal bracketing, concentrating on the pressure against the ball of his thumb. He was in Malibu. It was Saturday night. Pepper was upstairs, fast asleep, still operating on Eastern time.

New York was far away, and flying a nuclear missile into an alien wormhole was months behind him. As were the rest of the Avengers, scattered to the winds. Thor was gone, Barton and Romanoff wrapped up into the bosom of SHIELD.

Steve Rogers was still on his cross-country tour of enforced cheer. Jarvis had a social media feed pulling up the snaps from Cap's greatest hits, stopping at country fairs and barbeque joints to jaw with the locals. Sure, not that Steve was being as monumentally idiotic as to tag himself. Jarvis just had amazing facial recognition programming.

Bruce Banner was the only one who Tony could put a finger on at any moment, and that was because he was taking up space in Stark Tower in New York, bumming free rent and lab space.

Whatever. Tony had everything he needed here. Pepper, his robots, the slowly growing Iron Legion, and Jarvis.

He didn't need anything else.

With a sudden pop, the music vanished. Tony looked up, heart hammering. Was he going into sensory failure? Was his brain shutting down?

"Sir," Jarvis said into the silent room, and Tony slumped on the stool, shuddering with relief. Just a busy-body AI. "Sir, I have to report that I have been… hacked?"

He sounded so uncertain that Tony frowned at the ceiling cameras. "Pull up tracings," he said, stepping away from the suit. The room's displays jumped to life, showing Jarvis's inner workings in a cascade of overlapping light. "What are they after? Did they hit any vital organs?"

"None of my systems appear to have been infiltrated," Jarvis said. He threw up diagnostics against the east wall. "Systems are locked against outside intrusions. I am not detecting any code injections, or viruses."

"Show me how they got in," Tony ordered.

Jarvis pulled up a visualization. "The entry did not register as an attack, because the hacker got in through an existing opening."

Tony tsked. "Jarvis, you're supposed to patch any holes in your socks."

"This hole," Jarvis said a little testily, "Is more akin to a puncture already stitched into a shirt." He zoomed in on the visualization. On it, a tiny needle with a thread attached slipped its way into the matrix, scooting carefully along the existing code lines. It was the most graceful piece of coding Tony had ever seen.

"How did you even find that?" Tony asked, reaching out to touch the lights. "What gave it away?"

"I received a ping-back on a request for telephone records that I did not make." Jarvis sent another screen up against the south wall. On it, a tab was cross-referencing phone numbers at speed. Even as Tony watched, two numbers plucked themselves out of the waterfall of digits. They blinked three times, then they moved to their own part of the tab and the cascade began afresh under them.

"Who is doing this?" Tony breathed. "Anyone who can write this code and run it on your servers could be doing this on their own. You did find them, right?"

"Of course, sir." On the west wall, Jarvis pulled up a global map. "I believe the individual put a level of trust that their incursion would not be detected, rather than expend energy on concealing their trail." A dot of light appeared over Los Angeles, bounced to New York, once to Amsterdam, back to Ottawa, then jumped across the continent to land in northern California.

"Forest ranger?" Tony asked as the map expanded, and the dot indicated a tiny hamlet quaintly named Beacon Hills.

"Close." The address appeared. "The house is owned by the local sheriff."

Tony clicked his tongue. "Someone's being naughty on the taxpayer dime."

"I am in the process of accessing the computer," Jarvis said. "And I believe I know why my services were press-ganged. Hacking into every telephone company database in North America is somewhat beyond the computing power of a 2008 Macbook."

Tony peered back at the hack visualization. The needle had crept its way to a corner and was sewing a little loop in the wiring. "I guess every hacker has to start somewhere," he said. "Come on, Jarvis, don't leave me hanging. Can you get eyes on our visitor? Somehow I can't believe this is your average run-of-the-mill basement dweller."

"I have." On Tony's right side, a display screen blinked into existence along the north wall. Tony took one last look at the code, turned, and felt his knees give out from under him.

It was Clara.

Clara Vasquez, the love of Tony's life at twenty; Clara, who had been going to marry him, who was pregnant with their daughter; Clara who had been ripped to shreds in a ravine when she was eight months pregnant; Clara, who was _dead,_ and there she was on Jarvis's screen in full view of the computer's webcam, frowning as she typed on the keyboard in the middle of some generic kitchen.

"Sir!"

Something hit Tony's shoulder. Dummy had rolled over to nudge Tony's arm with his claw. "What," Tony said, lightheaded. He sucked in a deep breath, then another. "Jarvis, is this a sick joke?"

"Sir, do I need to call Ms. Potts?"

"No!" Tony staggered to his feet, pulling through the dizziness. He walked closer to the north wall, taking a closer look at… at…

Who _was_ he looking at?

She looked like Clara, but of course she couldn't be. Once the first shock backed off a bit, Tony could see past Clara's ghost. This girl, and she was a girl, was so much like Clara. Her jaw was a bit more square than Clara's had been, and her eyes were darker.

Dark like Tony's eyes.

His hands were shaking. So much like Clara and a little bit like him, and she was a _teenager_.

Clara had been ripped to shreds in a ravine by a mountain lion, the coroner said, and the baby was gone from Clara's womb, Clara and Tony's baby daughter _gone_.

But Clara had been a werewolf. Clara was a werewolf, who was in line to take over the second largest werewolf pack in the western United States. Clara was a werewolf who had taken on three feral omegas on her own at fifteen. And Tony had actually _believed_ that a mountain lion had gotten her?

Eighteen years of memories and certainties collapsed under Tony, as he stared at this dark-eyed girl from Beacon Hills who was systematically and methodically hacking into his unhackable computer system.

"Sir, I believe I know who this is," Jarvis said quietly.

"Yeah, me too," Tony said.

Beside the webcam footage, a driver's licence photo appeared. "She just slipped inside the California DMV," Jarvis said. "To add a class M1 motorcycle licence to her record."

Tony stared hungrily at the photo. It was the girl, this girl, taken just under two years ago. In the photo she looked far younger than the girl on the screen did, just sixteen.

Tony glanced down. The girl's name was Allison Argent, and her birthday…

Tony sat down again. Her birthdate was listed as the day after Clara died.

"Sir…"

"I'm all right," Tony said. "No. I'm not all right. This is not all right."

This could be his daughter.

Or.

Or this could be a trick, and the voice in his mind was Obadiah's, like he'd always tried to speak doubt into a twenty-year-old Tony's ear about Clara.

Tony pressed his hands over his eyes. Obadiah was dead. Clara was dead. Through some goddamned trick of fate, Tony was alive.

And so was this girl.

Allison.

"Sir, I can pull up sound monitoring if you would like."

"Would I?" Tony asked, suddenly feeling every minute of his thirty-eight years.

"Would you?"

"Why not?"

"I can think of several reasons," Jarvis said. The audio feed cut in, and Tony could hear the sound of typing, the murmur of distant voices.

The typing stopped after three seconds, and the girl stared motionlessly at a corner of the screen.

Then her eyes flicked to the webcam. "I know you're watching me," she said.

She sounded nothing like Clara. Clara had been bright and bubbly, always laughing, and Allison's voice was deeper, serious, rough around the edges.

Tony took another look at her. At first glimpse, he had missed the dark circles under her eyes, the chalky pallor of her skin. Her long dark hair hung loose over her shoulders, like it had dried from wet, and she wore a faded t-shirt several sizes too large for her.

And there was something in her eyes, something that Tony had missed at first because he saw the same thing every day when he looked in the mirror.

Allison was far too young to be staring at him with such haunted eyes.

"So here's the deal," Allison went on, breaking Tony out of his trance. "You haven't cut off my access yet, which either means that you don't want to, or far more likely, you don't know how I got in."

She smiled, and it was an expression that came from neither Tony nor Clara. It was sharp, almost satisfied.

"So either talk to me or go running off to your security team to rip them a new one." Allison resumed her typing.

"Sir, what would you have me do?" Jarvis asked.

"Um." Tony wet his lips. "Talk to her. Get her talking. See if she talks. Keep me out of this."

"At this stage, I believe that would be for the best." The sound moved from Tony's side to the screen. "Hello."

"Hello." Allison paused. "Sorry, this code's a fucking pain in the ass to write from scratch."

"You are not implementing code modules?" Jarvis asked.

"What time to I have to be writing code modules?" Allison asked. She pulled her hair over her shoulder, and went back to work. "Anyway. Anything I can do for you, Stark minion?"

"Please." Jarvis was appalled. "I am no minion."

"Are you Stark's security detail?"

"After a fashion."

"Then I hope I'm not going to get you into any trouble." Allison typed in one last line, then hit enter. Around Tony, the screens flared to life, characters cascading in a swirling vortex.

"What are you doing?" Jarvis demanded.

"Nothing to your core systems," Allison said. She leaned forward to stare at the screen. "It's been far too long since I had any eyes in the cloud. I need to figure out where I am."

Tony's heart hammered in his chest. This girl was writing code on the fly, hacking into his state-of-the-art systems as easily as opening a jar of jam, and she was just a _teenager_.

Only a few people in the world could have pulled that off. Tony was one of them. The others…

The others were not as friendly.

Tony's stomach cramped. This girl—Allison, if she really was his daughter and Clara's daughter, had been taken by someone. Someone who had chopped his infant daughter out of her dead mother's body and disguised it as an animal attack.

What might they have raised her to do?

"Jarvis, are you recording all this?"

"Of course," Jarvis said in Tony's ear. "Shall I keep her talking?"

"Yes." Tony's eyes were burning. "Find out more about her, I just need…"

He didn't know what he needed. But he needed _more_.

On the screen, Allison hummed a few words in a language Tony didn't know, making the occasional soft clicking sound. "I do not believe I speak that language," Jarvis said to her.

"You should expand your linguistic studies to include Africa," Allison said. "The dogs of war are up to something."

"May I inquire as to what?"

"No." Allison sat back. "It's a good rule of thumb, never give away state secrets to anonymous security lackies over the web cam."

"I am not an anonymous security lacky," Jarvis replied.

"Then who are you?"

"My name is Jarvis."

Allison's head snapped up and she stared at the camera for so long that Tony wondered if the system had frozen. "Jarvis," she said, her voice suddenly softer.

And then she smiled, big and wide and real and Tony's heart ached. That was Clara's smile, the one she gave him when she was happy and safe and now it was getting a little hard for Tony to remember that he was supposed to be wary, that he was supposed to be trying to decipher if this was a trick.

"It's very nice to meet you, Jarvis," Allison said. She sounded _happy_ and Tony didn't understand anything.

"You as well, Ms. Argent."

And just like that, the happiness vanished. "I would prefer if you called me Allison," the girl said, voice cold, eyes dark.

"Of course," Jarvis said. "May I say Miss Allison?"

"Swing and a miss," Allison said. "Just Allison, _s'il vous plait."_

"Do you speak French?" Jarvis asked.

"Yes." Allison returned to her typing. Off to Tony's right, a swirl of Cyrillic characters spun in a hurricane. Allison frowned. "I'm sure it made spending the summer in France much easier. What the hell."

"Is there anything in particular in which you're interested?" Jarvis asked.

"Just chatter," Allison said. She swiped at the mousepad, and the hurricane dissipated into a thousand spatters of rain across the vortex. It was needlessly dramatic and Tony loved it. "Nothing worth following."

"As you say," Jarvis murmured. "Allison, may I inquire as to what you are doing in my systems? And more to the point, how did you get in?"

"I have a friend," Allison said, "Told me about way to slip inside your systems to piggyback onto some of the other databases that you have access to."

Tony snorted. "A friend, huh."

"I, too, distrust the validity of her statement," Jarvis said in Tony's ear.

"So when I had a problem, I thought to myself, I'm going to see if that Stark Industries hack works. And here we are."

"Access like that would usually sell for a great deal of money," Jarvis said mildly. Tony held his breath to see how Allison would react.

She just raised her eyebrows. "I could buy _countries_ with how much money I could get for selling access to your system," she said. "And then I'd become exactly what I hate the most."

"What is that?" Jarvis asked.

"The bad guy." Allison rested her elbows on the table, her shoulders sagging with exhaustion, and this was something Tony had never seen in Clara.

Clara had been twenty-one when she died, and Allison was only seventeen. She shouldn't look like that.

"Who raised her?" Tony blurted out. "What did they do to her?"

"I can retrieve that information," Jarvis said to Tony.

On the screen, Allison pulled herself back up. "Sorry," she said. "It's been a long day."

"Indeed," Jarvis said to her. "May I ask, why do you not see yourself in the role as a villain?"

"That's just it," Allison said. She clicked around the information vortex, almost idly. "It's far too easy to see myself becoming the bad guy. There's always a reason to do terrible things. There's always a way to justify it to yourself." She snagged a story about diamond smuggling in Zagreb. "Everyone has the hero and the villain inside themselves. It's what you choose to do that matters."

"And what do you choose to do?" Jarvis asked.

Allison spun the story away. "I try to do the right thing." A smile was playing at the corner of her mouth. "I try to ask myself one question." The smile grew. "What would Captain America do?"

"For fuck's sake," Tony exclaimed.

"As to your other question," Allison went on, and her amusement was wiped away. "I'm running up against a situation where a number of my father's business associates are in town and in the very best case scenario, they intend to cause me nothing but bloody torment. I'm operating in the black on this one, and I need some sort of upper hand."

"What does she mean, bloody torment?" Tony asked.

"Are you in danger, Allison?" Jarvis asked her.

"I'm always in danger," Allison said. She pulled around the telephone sorting tab, looking at the results. "Just right now, things are a little bit more complicated than usual."

She selected the top phone number, which pulled up the name on the account, along with a cross-referenced driver's licence photograph. Tony hadn't even realized she was running the check.

"The worst part isn't what happens to me." She clicked down the list, discarding a few entries. "It's that my friends are in danger. Just because of me." She stopped on one name.

Christopher Argent.

"They're just kids," Allison said wearily. "Teenagers, and they should be worrying about what to wear on the first day of our junior year, not that some stupid hunters are going to be chasing them around town on a Saturday night."

"Hunters," Tony said. His stomach felt like it was in freefall. Clara had told him about Hunters, humans who took it upon themselves to hunt supernatural creatures. Most had a code, Clara had said. Most only went after dangerous creatures.

But Allison had pulled up a list of people she said were after her, hunters who were after her, and on that list was a man who shared her last name.

And if Allison was who Tony thought she might be, then someone had to have taken her after they killed Clara.

Someone who knew how to kill a werewolf.

"Jarvis, I need that background profile _now_."

"Here it is, sir."

A cascade of files flew up before Tony. He punched them all open, pictures and names, files, coroner's reports, police reports, black and white covering up so much blood.

"I just need some way to keep my friends safe," Allison said. "Maybe, if I can track these assholes' cell phones, I can figure out a pattern, find where they're crashing. Something."

"May I make an offer?" Jarvis said as Tony scanned through the police report of Victoria Argent's suicide, of Kate Argent's murder, of the string of arson and murder Kate Argent had left scattered across Beacon Hills. "I can create an application for your phone, that would alert you if one or more of the individuals you selected here nears your location."

Allison stopped typing. The blinding relief that crossed her face made Tony's stomach sink even lower. "Could you?" she asked, some of the tension leaving her. "Oh, that would be wonderful. I know I could build it myself, but this thing," and she held up a cheap phone, "barely lets me text, let alone anything else." Then she frowned. "Wait, I don't have any data."

"You will need none," Jarvis said reassuringly. Tony went back to the report on Victoria Argent's suicide, only a handful of months before. "The monitoring will happen on my servers, with nothing tracing back to you. If they near your location, a message will automatically be sent to you."

Allison smiled at the webcam, resting her head on one hand. "Jarvis, has anyone ever told you that you're an angel?"

"I prefer to think of myself as a gentleman," Jarvis said. "I would hope that anyone would act so, when a young woman is in need of assistance."

"Your hope in humanity is misplaced, but I appreciate the sentiment."

Tony collapsed all the files in front of him. "I think I'm going to puke."

"Dummy, please fetch the bucket," said Jarvis with a remarkable lack of interest. To Allison, he said, "May I be so bold as to press a point?"

"If you can do anything to keep me alive past the end of this month, Jarvis, you can press anything."

Tony's breath hitched. She hadn't said that in a flippant way, or like she was somehow joking.

She said it like she was completely serious.

"What trouble are you in?" Tony said to the screens.

"It is regarding Christopher Argent," Jarvis said to Allison.

She blinked at the webcam. "What about him?"

"He is your father?"

A shadow flickered through Allison's eyes. "What about him?" she asked again.

"He was on your list of cell phones to monitor."

Allison rubbed her eyes. "You know how when you're a kid, and you think that the adults in your life know everything?"

"I am familiar with the concept," Jarvis said evasively.

"And then you grow up and realize that just because they were your parents, doesn't mean that they were right?"

"What are you trying to say?"

Allison breathed out, exhaustion pulling at her again. "If you'd asked me last year this time, I'd have said that Chris would have done anything in the world to keep me safe. But now…" She rubbed her eyes again. "I don't know if he'd do anything to hurt me, but I also don't not know that."

Tony pushed his hands through his hair. "What does that mean?" he asked the screens.

"Is there anyone from whom you can ask for help?" Jarvis asked.

Allison sat back in her chair. "I'm staying with the sheriff. Chris threw me out of the house for unseemly behavior," and these last two words were accompanied by finger quotes, "And after last night, Noah's got a complaint open against some of the dickwipes following me around town. Not that it's going to do any good unless we can find any outstanding warrants on them."

Tony frowned. At least Allison was no longer staying with Argent… but what the hell could constitute unseemly behaviour? At Allison's age, Tony was getting up to such epic shenanigans that his father had threatened more than once to disinherit him and give all the family money to the zoo.

"What sort of behaviour?" Jarvis asked.

If Tony had been asked the question, he would have smirked and provided a soundbite for the tabloids. Allison just stared at the camera, eyes open wide and hollow. "I have… friends," she said, careful wariness in every word. "Who aren't your typical NorCal white upper-middle-class prepsters. It had been.. suggested to me that I might want to take more care with whom I fraternize." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I told Chris exactly what I thought of that. I was then asked to remove myself from the premises."

"Sometimes parents are overly invested in their child's social circles," Jarvis suggested.

"Yeah, well, I have some serious concerns about his social circle too," Allison snapped. She sat forward. "Anyway. Is there anything I can do to repay you for the alert system you're setting up for me?"

"Yes!" Tony yelped. "Jarvis, keep her talking, I don't know, just don't let her go!"

"You can tell me more about yourself," Jarvis said to Allison. "You said that you are entering your junior year? At your age, aren't you supposed to be going into your senior year of high school?"

Allison shrugged. "We moved around a lot when I was a kid. I missed so much school, I think the teachers just figured I was too stupid to learn anything and stopped bothering."

"Your coding abilities would indicate otherwise," Jarvis said. "There are very few people who would have been able to get into my systems, even with directions and a specified entry point."

"Coding's just pattern recognition," Allison said dismissively.

"Hey!" Tony objected.

"If you get to the heart of it, everything's pattern recognition." Allison pulled one knee up to her chest, in the boneless slouching way only teenagers had. "Math, biology, physics, chemistry. Even human behaviour. Nothing's really all that complicated."

"Is this nihilism, or existentialism?" Jarvis asked.

"There is a commonly accepted third option, and one could argue that my entire life has been an exercise in absurdism," Allison shot back.

"Are you a student of philosophy?"

Allison's eyebrows went up. "There's a time and a place for philosophy. But there was never any place for that in how I was raised."

Tony's mouth was dry.

"And how was that?" Jarvis asked.

"Like I said, my father's a hunter. Same as his father before him, the entire Argent line back centuries." Allison was staring straight at the camera. "That's what they wanted me to be. Only, they tend to hunt for trophies. That's not my thing."

"What do you hunt for?"

Allison smiled then, a sharp smile that Tony had seen on the face of Victor Vasquez, Los Angeles werewolf alpha and Clara's father. "I hunt to survive. And I eat what I kill."

"Okay," Tony exclaimed to the room. "This is not okay. I am not okay with this!"

Something swooped out of the vortex then, a headline about a suicide in some backwoods Tennessee town. At the sight of it, Allison sat straight in her chair, everything about the last few minutes of conversation vanishing like smoke. "No," she breathed. "No, not yet."

"Not yet?" Tony echoed. "Jarvis, screw this, put me on the screen."

"Sir, I think that might be ill-advised," Jarvis said.

At the same time, Allison was typing in a flurry, pulling up every news story on this one inconsequential suicide in the middle of nowhere, where some kid freshly back from the wars had blown himself up in the street, taking a crowd of innocents with him.

Only.

Tony zoomed in on one of the explosion photographs that had popped up on Reddit. "Jarvis, did they recover the body?"

With Allison whispering to herself in the background, Jarvis said, "No. It appears that Chad Davis's body was completely incinerated in the explosion, along with those of the other victims."

Tony whistled. "How hot does something have to burn to incinerate that many human bodies that quickly?"

"Temperatures nearing three thousand degrees, sir."

"What the hell." Tony looked at the news story again. "How does an ex-Army grunt get his hands on explosives like that?"

On the main screen, Allison sat back. She pressed her hands together in front of her face, then looked at the camera. "Jarvis, would you be able to get a message to Tony Stark?"

Tony jerked around. Jarvis said, "That can be arranged. What is the message?"

"I wish I knew how to do this right." Allison sat with her shoulders back, chin up, completely on alert. "Okay, this is going to sound weird."

"Most things regarding Mr. Stark are," Jarvis said.

Allison ignored the banter. "So in the late nineties, maybe at New Year's Eve? Tony met someone named Maya Hansen."

Tony took a step back, cold shock running through his body. What on earth did Maya Hansen have to do with anything? And how did Allison know about her?

"She was working on something that could heal damaged tissue, there may have been an explosion, I didn't get the details."

Tony stared at the screen. If he had been confused before, that was nothing compared to how he was feeling now. How could anyone know about what happened on New Year's Eve in 1999? Who had told Allison?

And to what end?

"Fast forward to recently, and Hansen's been working with one of God's true villains, Aldrich Killian, and Advanced Idea Mechanics. Killian created the Extremis virus, which can manipulate someone's DNA to give them regenerative powers and super strength. And then there's the fire thing."

"What is she talking about?" Tony asked Jarvis.

"I propose we listen," Jarvis said testily.

"Anyway, Killian's got these test subjects, most he's getting after they get dropped from the military after limb loss. If Extremis is successful, you grow your limbs back. If it's not, you incinerate from the inside out." Allison took a breath. "Chad Davis was an accident, but it was the first reminder to Killian that he needs an excuse for his failed experiments, and so he's in the process of creating a terrorist front on U.S. soil to give him cover."

"Yeah, no, still not getting it," Tony said.

"That's where Iron Man has to come in. If someone doesn't stop Killian before he starts sending his human candles into public, people are going to die. A lot of people are going to die."

"Okay, this feels like a trap," Tony said, backing up until he ran into a table. Something was wrong in his torso, like someone was digging into his guts with broken glass. Everything about this was wrong. A girl who looked like his dead fiancée, who might be his daughter, stolen away by werewolf hunters and now trying to entice him into some sort of terrorist trap?

"Why would Mr. Stark care to get involved?" Jarvis asked Allison.

She stopped, staring at the camera incredulously. "Because he's Iron Man," she said, and it was the youngest her voice had sounded all night. "Because people are going to die and he can stop that!"

"Mr. Stark is a private individual who—"

"No." The word itself was enough to make Tony flinch. "Mr. Stark made himself into a superhero, that was his call, but that doesn't mean he gets to pick and choose whose lives are important."

"There are other superheroes in the world."

"Great, then tell Tony to find Steve Rogers, suit the man up, and go fight AIM together."

"Your allegations would be bolstered if you could hand over any evidence as to what you're saying."

Allison put her hands on the table. She was getting angry now, and Jesus Christ, this cold fury was Victor Vasquez all through. "Mr. Stark doesn't like having things handed to him, haven't you noticed that?"

"What the fuck?" Tony shouted at the screen, the pain in his guts moving to his kidneys. "You don't know me, stop acting like you know me!"

"If Mr. 'I privatized world peace' needs evidence, he can find it himself. He's got the world's largest supercomputer and access to every database in existence. He has god knows how many Iron Man suits, and more money than anyone could ever spend. I, on the other hand, am seventeen, homeless, with a weapons inventory of three knives, an axe, and a belt that might double as a garotte if I tried really hard." She sat back. "If Tony's too busy pissing off Congress to do anything about Kilian and Extremis, fine. I'll find someone who can."

"What do you want?" Tony yelled at the screen. "Who's making you do this?" Because this couldn't be real. It wasn't possible that this was real.

This had to be a trick.

Tony didn't know what he was going to do if it wasn't a trick.

Allison pushed her chair back from the table. She was breathing hard. "You know what, Jarvis, if Tony won't stop Killian because it's the right thing to do, tell him to talk to Pepper Potts."

Tony flung out his hands. "What does Pepper have to do with this?"

All of Allison's anger faded. Her shoulders slumped. "Killian has this thing for Pepper, he's known her for years," Allison said. "It's more than a little creepy and if Killian's plans go off-track, she might be at risk. Is that enough motivation for Mr. Stark?"

"One might consider this a threat," Jarvis said. "From you."

Allison shook her head wearily. "I'm not threatening anyone," she said. "I'm just passing along intel, and I know that there's nothing I can do to save anyone. How's that for nihilism?"

"And where did you get this intel?"

Allison slowly pulled her chair back to the table. "Fortune-teller."

"Bullshit," Tony called.

"Does it matter?" Allison asked. "Tell Tony about this stuff and he can do his own research. If I'm wrong, which I'm not, he's out an afternoon of billionaire leisure and you know that you can't trust anything I say."

"And if you are right," Jarvis countered. "Then you are in possession of information that might be very dangerous."

Allison leaned closer to the camera. "Jarvis, I'm not a bad guy."

"You yourself implied that such monikers can be subjective."

"If trying to save the lives of hundreds of people by stopping one megalomaniac with a fire fetish makes me a villain, then I might reconsider my no-bad-guy stance."

She was going to say something else, but stopped, looking up over the laptop. "Hey, who are you talking to?" came a new voice.

Allison touched something on the keyboard, and the screens suddenly switched to a webpage on the botanical uses of belladonna. Tony twitched. "Video chatting with a friend from France," Allison said.

A new person appeared on screen, a teenage boy. "Oh, they're gone," he said, disappointed. "Was this, like, a friend? Or a _friend?"_

"Stiles, not now," Allison said.

The teenager perched on the table beside the laptop. "I'm pretty sure that Deputy Rushman's sick of me talking about comic books. Can you be done so I can get back on my computer?"

Allison pursed her lips as she sat back, arms crossed over her chest. "Can't she just leave?"

"That's not how protective detail works," floated in a new voice, one that was far too familiar to Tony. "I'm on duty until Noah gets home to tuck you two in."

Then Natasha fucking Romanoff appeared, wearing a beige deputy's uniform and looking very out of place as she glanced over Allison's shoulder at the laptop screen. Allison looked directly at the camera and arched an eyebrow.

"What are you looking at?" Natasha asked, bending closer to the screen.

"Jarvis," Tony said sharply. "I'm calling it. This is officially fucked up."

"I concur," Jarvis said. "Agent Romanoff's presence does have some disturbing implications."

"Belladonna," Allison was saying. "The ancient Romans used it to poison the tips of their arrows."

"Isn't there a Belladonna Road in town?" Stiles said, as Natasha stood up.

"Yes." Allison unobtrusively edged away from where Natasha's hand rested on the back of the chair. "That's old town Beacon Hills, the town's first crossroads." She pulled her hair over her shoulder. "Bad things happen around there."

"Bad things happen all over town."

"I know." Allison looked up at Stiles. Tony had no idea how to decipher the expression on her face. Fondness. And such sadness. "But I don't want you to get hurt."

"That's a good goal for you both," Natasha said, and oh, right, Tony was going to focus on her for a bit. "You should get to bed. It's nearly one."

"When's Dad getting home?" Stiles asked.

"Soon. He's trying to get in touch with someone in the FBI to prioritize the search for Maurice Dupont and his cronies," Natasha said.

"Good luck with that," Allison said. "Look, I know it's late, but there's something else I have to do before Stiles gets his computer back."

No one moved.

"Without an audience?"

Stiles hopped off the table. "Just don't email Peter on my computer," the boy said with a shudder. "I might have to set it on fire."

Tony didn't understand the dark glare Allison threw at Stiles.

The boy seemed to realize what was going on, and he made a face. "Sorry," he said. "No Peter Hale on fire jokes."

"Right," Allison said. "Go. Shoo. Leave me alone."

Stiles left, and after a moment, Natasha also walked out of the camera range. "I'll see you on Monday," she said.

"Monday's a holiday," Allison called after her. "I'm not working."

"Didn't Noah tell you? The sheriff's department is having a Labour Day barbeque," Natasha's voice floated back. "You're the only intern, so you're in charge of the kids' games."

Allison narrowed her eyes. "Synchronized screaming is a fun kids' game," she muttered. She sat, waiting in silence, while Tony desperately tried to process all of what he had seen and heard that evening.

Okay.

Okay.

(Not okay.)

What did he know?

In reverse: Natasha Romanoff was in Beacon Hills, in literally the same room as Allison Argent. She was apparently acting on protective detail… but was she protecting Allison? Or protecting someone else from Allison?

Tony's head hurt.

So. Tony could see one of two things accounting for Natasha's presence. The first was that there was some major SHIELD operation in Beacon Hills and that Natasha got caught up in her undercover role to be on duty with the one girl in town who just happened to look like Clara Vasquez and who was born the day after Clara died.

The other and far more likely option was that Natasha was in Beacon Hills _because_ of Allison, because Allison was somehow important to SHIELD. And while Allison's coding abilities were top-notch and her knowledge of Tony's background disturbing, Tony couldn't think that she would have gotten on SHIELD's radar to the point they would send Natasha after her if there wasn't something bigger going on.

 _Big_ like Allison being the daughter Tony had spent eighteen years thinking was dead.

Or _big_ like Allison was a burgeoning super-villain in her own right and SHIELD was deciding what to do with her.

Tony walked over to the work bench and sat down. He felt… old.

Maybe Allison was his daughter. Maybe she wasn't.

Maybe she was a bad guy, trying to lure Tony out into the open with tantalizing tales of villainy and the possibility of saving lives. Maybe she was just a kid who had a little too much knowledge and nowhere near enough sense.

"Jarvis, what am I going to do?"

The AI cleared his binary throat. "I do not know about you, sir, but I am going to finish the security program for Allison's phone and deliver it to her."

"You're already finished that, don't lie."

"Yes, but Allison does not need to know about my efficiency."

"What about me?"

"I do believe you have two options." As Jarvis spoke, Tony stared at the screen showing Allison. She was scrolling down the herbology page, her head cocked as if listening to something elsewhere in the house. "You can follow up on this thread that we have found tonight. Find out who Allison Argent is, what she knows."

"Or?"

"Or you do as the young lady suggests, and do a deep dive into Aldrich Killian, Maya Hansen, and whatever ill deeds they may be about."

Tony picked up a tiny screwdriver. "What do you think I should do?"

Jarvis sighed. "As much as I think you should pursue my former suggestion, the risk of not immediately following up on the Extremis risk might end in the loss of human life, if Allison is accurate in her suppositions."

"She might be trying to trick me into something."

"And if she is?" Jarvis's voice hardened, which wasn't something Tony knew it could do. "As she says, at worst, you may be out an afternoon of research. Is not that effort worth a few hours of our time?"

Before Tony could respond, on the screens, Allison relaxed. "Okay, she's on the phone now," Allison said in a quiet voice.

"Why do you have a protective detail?" Jarvis asked.

Allison rolled her eyes. "The sheriff and Deputy Rushman seem to think that when teenagers are followed through the streets of town by anonymous black SUVs, it's cause for concern."

 _Deputy Rushman_ , Tony thought. _Real cute_. He tapped the screwdriver against his thumb. "I mean, I can see their point," he said.

"Do you not think such an occurrence is a cause for concern?" Jarvis asked Allison.

"I do." She leaned sideways to pick something up from under the table. "But I take care of myself." She straightened up. In her hand was a hatchet with an extremely sharp-looking edge.

"Oh god," Tony exclaimed.

"What is that?" Jarvis asked.

Allison looked at the hatchet, then back at the webcam. "Premeditated self-defence." She put the hatchet on the table beside the laptop. "So, Jarvis, what's next?"

"If you will give me your phone number, I will enable the tracking program."

"Fine." Allison typed a number into the computer. "I'm relying on you to be a gentleman, Jarvis, in not sending the FBI after me for cyber crimes."

"Has there been a crime committed tonight?" Jarvis wondered. "If you will go back to the virtual desktop, you will see the tracking program enabled."

Jarvis opened the program for Allison and Tony to see. A city map showed one tiny blue dot, and a handful of orange dots in a clump across town. A single orange dot sat in yet another corner of the map.

Allison touched the screen. "Chris is on his own tonight," she murmured. "I really hope he doesn't have anything to do with this."

"I have set the tracker to alert you if one of these phones comes within one hundred yards of yours," Jarvis said. "If you wish me to expand the distance, please let me know."

Allison moved the hatchet slightly to the side. "Thanks." She blinked at the camera. "Why are you really doing this?"

"Because you are something quite unique in the world," Jarvis said.

Allison frowned. "What?"

"You are interesting," Jarvis went on. "And I look forward to finding out what surprises you have for me next."

"Jarvis, stop flirting," Tony demanded.

Meanwhile, Allison's frown had deepened. "Does that mean you're going to tell Tony about Aldrich Killian?"

"As you say, we have access to resources that you do not."

Allison closed her eyes, breathing out in a long sigh. "Thank you." She opened her eyes. It must have been a trick of the light, because Tony could have sworn there was a trace of red on her irises. It was gone in an instant. "Thank you."

"You are welcome," Jarvis said. "Please feel free to connect to my servers at any time. I will be locking down access, of course, but you can always ask for anything you need."

Allison smiled, that heartbreakingly familiar smile. Tony's breath hitched. She looked so much like Clara. How could she not be Clara's daughter? "All I need is to save the world, one life at a time."

"A good goal."

Allison reached for the laptop. "I'll talk to you again soon, Jarvis."

"Good night, Allison."

She tapped the keypad, and the screens went dark.

Tony put his hands over his face. He didn't know what to do. Part of him wanted to get into one of the Iron Man suits and fly to Beacon Hills and see Allison Argent in person, find Natasha and shake her until she explained what the hell was going on, do _something_.

"Sir."

Tony let his hands fall. "What?"

"How shall I proceed?"

Tony stood up. "I need two things. Three, if you include slamming back a bottle of Jack."

"So, two things," Jarvis said.

"Give me a timeline of everything you can find on the Argents, going back twenty years," Tony said. "Especially everything that Kate Argent did. She was the aunt, right?"

"Christopher Argent's sister."

"She was a piece of work. How many people were in that house she burned down?"

"Ten. Including children."

Tony rubbed his eyes. "You think she's the reason Allison's so determined not to be a bad guy?"

"I think that maybe a guiding factor."

"Better to learn that at seventeen than thirty-five," Tony said. He shook off the ghost of Obadiah Stane. "Okay, number two. Find out what Maya Hansen has been up to over the last twelve years. Start with her funding, it's always about funding for scientists. Then Aldrich Killian, AIM, anything to do with Extremis, all of it."

"I am already on the search," Jarvis said with satisfaction.

"And number three."

"It is a bit late to start drinking for the evening, sir."

"Not that." Tony walked over to the desk in the corner, the one he never used. From the bottom drawer, he pulled out the small shoe-box he hadn't seen in almost eighteen years, and opened it to view the remains of his life with Clara.

He moved aside a postcard, the set of keys to Clara's apartment, one of her hair-ties. He picked up the photograph of him and Clara at the beach, when they were both young and happy and so innocent of what was going to come at them.

He put the photograph back in the box, then opened a small jeweller's bag. He poured the rings out onto his palm, the two unused wedding bands and Clara's engagement ring. The wedding rings and the bag went back into the box, then Tony held up the engagement ring.

Clara had been wearing this ring when she died. Her mother, Inez, had been the one to hand it back to Tony. She had barely said anything to him, and at the time Tony had been drowning in so much grief he had hardly noticed.

Now, eighteen years later, Tony looked at the ring with clear eyes.

Had Inez known that Clara was murdered? Had she suspected that someone took the baby? After Clara died, Tony had only seen her family once more, on the day of the funeral. Had they known what happened to Clara? Had they done something about it?

They couldn't possibly know about Allison, Tony decided. There wasn't a chance in hell that Victor Vasquez would have let his granddaughter be raised by werewolf hunters. He'd have burned down half of southern California first.

"Jarvis," Tony said. "Play back what Allison said about the Argents hunting for sport, will you?"

"Yes, sir."

The audio came from all speakers at once, a disquieting echo. _"Like I said, my father's a hunter,"_ Allison said. _"Same as his father before him, the entire Argent line back centuries. That's what they wanted me to be. Only, they tend to hunt for trophies. That's not my thing."_

 _"What do you hunt for?"_ Jarvis's voice echoed.

 _"I hunt to survive,"_ Allison said. _"And I eat what I kill."_

"She's a little young to be a cannibalistic serial killer, right?"

"I believe that she was speaking metaphorically."

"Right." Tony bit his lip. "Of course." He shook his head. "Okay, point three. This stays between us."

"Sir…"

"I mean it."

"You are not planning on informing Ms. Potts?"

"No," Tony snapped. "Because Pepper will want to do the right thing."

"What does that mean?"

"You know. Going to see Allison. Getting a DNA test. Telling people."

"And you do not?"

"Not yet."

"Then when?"

Tony put Clara's engagement ring back into the shoe box. "After we figure out if Allison is right about Maya Hansen. And after I figure out how she knew about that."

"May I remind you that Allison may be in danger?"

"She's got the Black Widow staring over her shoulder." Tony put the lid back on the box. "What else can I do?"

Jarvis's silence was judgmental.

"I just need a few days," Tony said. He put the box back in the drawer, then kicked it closed.

Just for a few days, he told himself. He needed a few days, to think things through.

If Allison was a bad guy, if this was all a trick, a trap, then Tony wasn't going to fall for it. He'd lost Clara and the baby once, and he'd spent years trying to claw his way out from under all the grief. He wasn't going to set himself up for that again.

So. He'd do what he always did. He'd save the world, and hang the consequences.

Because Allison was right. He was Iron Man.

And after he'd saved the world again, he'd figure out what the hell he was going to do about Allison Argent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interesting science fact: two blue-eyed parents can have a brown-eyed child (it's not common but it's possible) although most of the high school science books didn't go into the detail. Check it out [here](https://genetics.thetech.org/how-blue-eyed-parents-can-have-brown-eyed-children) \- thanks to lilykep!
> 
> I can't find a date when the first Mandarin attacks happened in the MCU and I don't have a copy of Iron Man 3 to re-watch so anyway, *handwave*


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allison's repressed trauma makes itself known. The Stilinski house has a few early morning visitors, namely Erica and Scott, and then Allison and Noah have a very uncomfortable conversation. There's a pack meeting at which Allison and Derek try to out-alpha the other, Chris Argent makes an unwanted appearance, and then, finally, it's the sheriff's department Labour Day family picnic. Will school never begin?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So when it comes to content warnings: traumatic nightmares, a character experiencing a PTSD flashback, description of experiencing a past physical assault, a character cuts her own arm to prove a point.

* * *

Allison turned around at the cabin, Morgan's favourite water bottle in her hand. "Morgan?" she called for her sister. "Time to go to the park."

Morgan didn't reply.

"Morgan?" Allison said again. She got out of bed. "Morgan, where are you?"

She opened the bedroom door and walked down the hall, wondering why the house was so quiet. Morgan was never quiet.

"Morgan!"

On the main floor, she went into the kitchen. Morgan wasn't under the table, or in the refrigerator. Starting to get frantic, Allison went into the living room.

"Morgan, where are you? Morgan?"

Allison pulled the cushions off the couch, looked behind the television. She couldn't find her sister.

"Allison?"

Allison turned around. "Stiles, I can't find Morgan, and I have to find Morgan."

She brushed past him. Maybe Morgan was hiding in the washing machine.

A hand caught Allison's wrist. "Who's Morgan?" Stiles asked, and that was when Allison woke up, in the middle of the hall in the Stilinski house in 2012 and it all crashed back in on her.

Morgan was gone. Worse than that, Morgan was never going to be born, and that ripped through Allison like a machete to the ribs. She collapsed onto her knees. Morgan was worse than dead, because Morgan was never going to exist.

Allison was never going to have a sister, and it was all her fault.

She covered her face with her hands. Her throat hurt and someone nearby was screaming, but all Allison could do was double over from the pain thrashing against her.

Something touched her back, then arms went around her and held her and it was Stiles, Allison knew it was Stiles, knew his smell, knew his heartbeat, knew his voice even though she couldn't make out his words.

Morgan was gone.

It took Allison a long time to realize that she was the one sobbing, that Stiles was holding onto her and telling her that it was going to be okay. And still she couldn't stop crying.

After a while, all the pain and grief in Allison settled down. It felt like internal bleeding, blood pooling thick and heavy inside her guts.

Morgan was gone.

Her breath caught, hitched, and she was able to choke down the sobs. After another moment, she pushed back at Stiles, and he let her go.

Allison dragged herself over to the wall, shaking. When she could press her shoulder up against the flat surface, she pulled both legs up to her chest, trying to breathe against the pain, trying to get past the grief.

She needed to focus. She needed to pull herself together. She didn't have time for grief. She had to save the universe.

"Allison."

Allison lifted her head. Stiles was kneeling on the hallway carpet. Behind him, Noah sat on the stairs, his elbows on his knees, looking incredibly tired.

"Allison, are you…" Stiles trailed off. "Who's Morgan?"

A fresh wave of pain whipped against Allison's heart, hearing her sister's name in someone else's mouth. Allison dug her fingers into her legs and tried to breathe past the nausea. "No one," she said. Her eyes burned as new tears slid down her cheeks.

"But…"

"Stiles," Noah said. "Why don't you go get Allison some water?"

Stiles looked between Allison and his dad, then hauled himself to his feet without a word. She could hear him rattling around the kitchen, opening a cupboard, turning on the tap. Allison tried to catch her breath, but her ribs felt bruised and the pain kept her from breathing too deep.

Noah watched her in silence.

After a minute, Stiles returned with a glass of water. He approached Allison warily. "Can I sit down?" he asked.

Allison nodded.

He sat cross-legged on the carpet, just within touching distance. "Do you want this?"

"I…" The word made her throat hurt. She tried again. "Yeah."

Stiles handed her the glass. It took her two tries to bring it to her mouth, and when she took her first swallow, the pain made her wince.

"You, uh, you were screaming," Stiles said.

"Oh." Allison took another sip. "Sorry."

Stiles' face did something complicated. "Why are you sorry?"

Allison looked beyond Stiles to Noah. "I woke you up."

"It's fine," Noah said.

"No, it's not." Allison put the glass down beside her foot. Talking to Jarvis the night before, Tony Stark's AI who had died at the hands of Ultron before Allison got to meet him, must have stirred up the all-too-recent ghosts in Allison's head. "It's really not."

"Come on, it's almost seven," Stiles said with forced cheer. "Who needs more than five hours of sleep, anyway?"

Allison wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her borrowed t-shirt. "I can't keep doing this."

"Doing what?" Noah asked quietly.

"Making everything worse."

"You're not making everything worse."

Allison pressed her cheek against her knee. "Everything I try backfires."

"Like what?"

Allison turned her head to look at Noah. "What do you mean, like what?"

"What have you tried that's backfired?" Noah asked.

Allison tried to think. "If I hadn't gone for a run the first night we got back to town, Chris wouldn't have thrown me out."

"How's that?"

But now Allison was thinking. She could remember bits and pieces of having lived through this period the first time, and vaguely knowing that there were other Hunters in town, but she either hadn't gotten on their radar at first, or else Chris had managed to shield her from their attention.

And that was what had changed everything from the first time around – that run. Leaving the apartment, going up on the hill, and getting into a chase with Peter; that had changed _everything_.

But would those small ripples be enough to swing the fate of the universe?

"Allison?"

Allison sat up. "What?"

"You're not messing things up," Noah said.

"It feels like I am."

"Why do you think that?"

"I keep waking everyone up." Allison took a deep breath. Her throat hurt. Everything hurt. "I keep making things worse with Derek. I don't know what I'm going to do once school starts."

"You're not messing up," Noah said. "There's a lot that you've been doing at the station that's helping."

Allison eyed him. "Really?"

"Yes, really. That report you put together has already helped us recovers some of the stolen goods. Someone is going to get her grandfather's war medals back."

"Does that really matter?"

"It matters to her."

"Oh."

"And you're not messing up around here." Noah tapped his knuckles together. "Trying to cope with something can be really hard, and it can take time."

Allison let her head rest against the wall. "I'm not coping with anything." Then, because that was a little too near the truth, she amended, "There's nothing wrong."

"What about that thing?" Stiles said awkwardly. "That guy… you…" He faltered under Allison's sudden glare. "Was that Morgan?"

Allison pressed her fingers against the carpet. "Stiles, don't ask me about Morgan."

"But you were looking for him this morning," Stiles said. "It's like you were sleepwalking or something."

"Stiles." She waited until he subsided. "I'll answer any question you have, on anything. Except about Morgan."

"But—"

"Stiles," Noah said. He shook his head. "You heard Allison."

Stiles rubbed his hand over his hair. "I just want to help."

"Well, you can help getting breakfast," Noah said. He stood up. "You're on pancake duty. I'm going to get the coffee going." He went into the kitchen.

Stiles looked at Allison. "Now what do we do?"

Allison unfolded herself. "I guess we go get coffee."

"Same." Stiles hauled himself to his feet, then held out a hand. Normally, Allison wouldn't have needed the help, but today was not a normal day. She took his hand, and pulled herself up. "So much coffee."

"Aren't you supposed to not drink a lot of caffeine with the Adderall?"

"The what now?"

Allison slipped her hand through the crook in Stile's arm. "That's what I thought."

* * *

Allison spent most of the next hour at the table, watching Stiles buzz around the kitchen while Noah nursed an industrial sized mug of coffee. Her throat hurt and her chest hurt, but there was nothing Allison could do about that. Alpha healing did nothing to soften the riptide of grief.

They were halfway through breakfast when the doorbell rang. "It's quarter to eight," Stiles said through a mouthful of pancakes. "Who's that?"

"I'll go see." Noah stood up from the table and headed down the hall. Stiles and Allison looked at each other as the door creaked open. "Yes?"

"Hi, Sheriff," Erica's voice floated into the house. "Is Allison here?"

"It's a bit early for visitors," Noah said, even as Allison was bouncing to her feet.

"No, I'm here," Allison called, moving towards the door. Was Erica hurt? Was she being followed?

Erica looked around Noah to Allison. She didn't look hurt, or even angry, which was a minor miracle in itself. "Are you okay?" Erica asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Allison practically elbowed Noah aside. "Are _you_ okay? Why are you here?" As she spoke, Allison reached out for Erica, an impulse driven by more than a decade of being her alpha. Erica's arm was solid under Allison's hand, reassuringly so.

"I wanted to talk to you," Erica said, letting Allison draw her into the house. "About last night."

"Of course." Allison looked around, to where Stiles was peeking out from the kitchen. "Stiles, any pancakes for Erica?"

"How about pants first?" Noah suggested. Oh, right, Stiles was still in his pajamas. Come to think of it, so was Allison.

"Pants!" Stiles yelped, and vanished up the stairs. "Hi, Erica!" he called after himself.

"Hi Stiles," Erica said. She looked Allison over. "Why are you wearing Stiles' basketball shorts?"

"I am currently between wardrobes," Allison told her. She pushed Erica into the empty chair at the table. "Do you want some coffee? Milk?"

"Milk, please," Erica looked around the kitchen, then at Noah, who was just sitting back down. "I know it's early, sheriff."

Noah waved his coffee mug. "It's apparently never too early around here," he said.

Allison got Erica a glass of milk, then fished down a plate and got some utensils. "Stiles made pancakes," she said. "They're really good. How did you get here?"

"My mom drove me over." Erica tentatively took two pancakes from the stack in the middle of the table. "I can get my learners permit in a month."

Allison smiled at the happiness in Erica's voice. "That's great," she said. "That's almost six months without a seizure, right?"

Erica nodded.

Stiles clattered back into the kitchen, thankfully wearing jeans. "So, Erica!" He dropped into his chair. "Why are you here and why won't Derek let me into the group chat?"

"I wanted to ask Allison what happened last night," Erica said. "And ask him yourself."

"After I dropped you off at the mall, I drove to the sheriff's station," Allison said. "The SUV followed me there."

"We're searching for the vehicle," Noah added. Erica looked at him with hesitation. "Can you tell me what happened last night?"

Erica glanced at Stiles, then at Allison, then back to Noah.

"Tell him everything," Allison prodded. "Apparently teenage girls being stalked around town is a police matter."

The expression on Noah's face was almost worth the previous night's complications.

"I was at the bookstore," Erica said. "I saw Allison and I didn't know if I wanted to talk to her because of some… stuff, earlier in the year." She took a sip of milk. "But we had coffee and talked. And then there was this guy who kept staring at Allison and she saw him and she said we had to leave."

"Can you describe him?"

"He was tall," Erica said. "And he had brown hair. He was staring at Allison like a creep."

"Was this him?" Noah pulled out his phone, and showed Erica a photo. From this angle, Allison could see that it was one of the other Hunters who had been following her that night.

She frowned. What was Noah doing?

Erica shook her head. Noah swiped right. "How about this one?"

"That's him," Erica said. "I don't know if he followed us out of the bookstore."

"But someone did?"

"When we got in the jeep, there was a car that followed us." Erica looked down at her plate, then put her hands in her lap. What Noah couldn't see, but Allison could, was that Erica's hands were growing into claws. She'd always had that fear response, and it made Allison furious.

On instinct, Allison took Erica's hand. "It's okay," she said, squeezing gently. Erica turned her head, careful to keep her face averted so Noah couldn't see her glowing amber eyes. "We're okay now. I'm not going to let them get anywhere near you."

Erica took a breath and her eyes faded back to normal. Her fingers tightened around Allison's hand, claws pricking against Allison's skin, but she didn't draw blood.

"What happened next?" Noah asked.

"Allison told me she was going to take me home, but I… I didn't want them to know where I lived. So I called a friend of mine."

"Derek," Noah said.

Erica whipped her head up. "You know about that?"

"Allison told me. It's good," Noah said. "It's good to have friends you can rely on."

Erica nodded. "So Allison dropped me off at the mall and I went inside and the car followed the jeep. I met Derek and he took me home." She wrapped her other hand, now claw-free, around Allison's wrist, almost as if she was seeking reassurance.

"Did you tell your parents what happened?" Noah asked.

Erica shook her head.

"Why not?"

"It didn't seem like a big deal," Erica mumbled, and the lie tasted like bitter hazelnuts on Allison's tongue.

"It is a big deal," Noah said. "Your safety is important, Erica. If anything like this happens again, you let me know, okay?"

Erica turned to Allison. "I don't know…"

"Do it," Allison said. "Erica. Keeping you guys safe is the only thing that matters."

Hope and suspicion warred in Erica's eyes, and Allison hated her past self for having hurt Erica so much. "Promise?"

"I promise."

"Derek's really mad at you," Erica said. "He thinks it's your fault."

"He's probably not wrong," Allison said.

"Yes, he is," Stiles interjected. "And I'm going to tell him that the next time I see him."

Noah stood up. "I'm just glad you kids are okay," he said. "Stiles, thanks for breakfast. I've got some stuff I have to do. Erica, are you sticking around for a while?"

"Yeah, if that's okay," Erica said.

Noah smiled at her, then glanced at Stiles and Allison before heading out of the room. His footsteps sounded up the stairs and down the hall.

With his father safely out of human hearing distance, Stiles let out his breath in a whoosh. Erica frowned. "Why are we telling the sheriff things now?" she asked.

"Human law for humans," Stiles said. He settled back in his chair. "Wasn't that the deal?"

Allison kicked at Stiles under the table. "I made a bargain with Noah," she explained to Erica. "I tell him all the things that he can arrest people for, and he tells me about the weird stuff."

"Huh." Erica slipped her hands out of Allison's. "Why?" She went back to her pancakes.

"So I can know what to throw over to Derek and what I can deal with myself."

Erica chewed. "How are you going to deal with things?" The question was only slightly tinged with doubt. "You're human."

"Yup."

"So, you're still hunting?"

Allison shrugged. "I protect people who need protecting," she said. "Full stop."

"What about your dad?"

"If Chris is the threat, then I'll do what I have to do."

Erica swallowed. "That's pretty cold."

"He doesn't get a free pass anymore." Allison stood up. "He never should have. I never should have, either."

"What are you going to do now?" Erica asked. "There's a pack meeting at four. Are you going to be there?"

Allison picked up a plate. For years, she'd been the alpha, and now knowing that she no longer had a place in Derek's pack hurt more than she could have imagined. "Why would I go to a pack meeting?"

"It's about you."

Allison paused from where she was clearing the table. "Why?"

"I don't know." Erica looked at her phone. "Derek just said, four o'clock, pack meeting, the ice rink. Need to talk about what to do about Allison."

"What does that asshole think he's doing?" Stiles muttered, getting to his feet and heading to the stairs.

"Where are you going?" Allison called after him.

"To text Derek!"

"Who's going to clean up?"

"Hey, I made breakfast!"

"Jerk," Allison said.

"Can I have the rest of the pancakes?" Erica asked hopefully.

"Go ahead."

Allison started washing dishes while Erica polished off the rest of the food. "Are you going to go to school like that?" Erica asked after a while.

"Like what?"

"Wearing all Stiles' clothes?"

"It's not like I have a lot of options," Allison said. She rinsed a plate. "Lydia was going to come over today and make me go shopping, but I'm not exactly swimming in extra funds."

"You can borrow some of my clothes," Erica said, which was surprising enough that Allison turned around. "We're about the same size."

Allison looked at her. "Yesterday you were going to claw my throat out in the car," she said. "What changed?"

Erica bit her lip. "You kissed me on the forehead."

"What?"

"You kissed me on the forehead," and now Erica was turning pink. "And you made sure I was safe, and I just thought…" She looked down at her hands. "Maybe I could help you out a bit."

Oh crap. Allison had accidentally gone full alpha on Erica the previous night, and the beta was responding to that. She put the plate down, turned off the tap, and dried her hands on a dishtowel. "Erica…"

She was going to tell Erica that she didn't need to do anything for Allison, that it was all fine, but…

But maybe it wasn't that at all.

Allison sat down. "That would be really great," she said instead. She touched Erica's arm. "Thank you."

Erica smiled tentatively. "I can bring the stuff over tomorrow."

"Sounds good. I'm stuck at the sheriff's department picnic tomorrow until about five, but maybe after that?"

Erica's smile grew. "Okay. Can Boyd come?"

Allison hesitated. "I don't know if he'd want to see me."

Erica tilted her head. "Just apologize to him like you apologized to me."

"Well, that's a place to start." Allison picked up Erica's plate. "I mean it, when I said I'll keep you safe."

"I know you're telling the truth, but…" Erica stood up and carried her glass to the sink. "You're human. That might not be enough."

"It can be." Allison went back to the dishes. "Sometimes, if people underestimate you, they'll never even imagine how much damage you can do."

Erica grabbed a dish towel. "So, the element of surprise?"

"You can call it that."

"What do you call it?"

Allison paused, her hands in the sink. "I call it doing what I need to, to keep everyone safe."

"Oh." Erica rested her hip against the counter as Allison resumed washing the dishes. "Does that really include me?"

Allison stared down into the soapy water. She thought back to all those years when Erica had been part of her pack, had been part of _who she was_. "Yes." She looked at Erica. "Every day."

Erica went red. "Okay." She balled up the dish towel in her hands. "That's good." She was smiling a little to herself, so Allison figured that everything was going to be okay.

Stiles stormed back into the room, cell phone in hand. "Why is Derek such an asshole?" he demanded.

"He still won't let you into the group chat?" Allison asked.

"No!" Stiles slapped his phone onto the table.

"Did he say anything else about the meeting?" Erica asked, turning to dry the plates Allison had set in the rack.

"Just that everyone needs to be careful while we try to figure out what the Hunters in town are really after." Stiles sat down.

"Likely, me," Allison said. "Next question?"

"How do you know that?" Stiles pressed.

Allison doubted _because they were last time I lived this_ would necessarily fly with Stiles. Or anyone, for that matter. "I seem to be the only one who keeps seeing them."

"But Dad said they put a tracker on my jeep," Stiles protested. "That's more me than you."

"Why would they do that?" Erica asked, reaching for a glass.

"Because Stiles has been driving me around town since Thursday." Allison washed the last fork, then pulled the stopper out of the sink.

"Or they're trying to find Derek and they're following me to get to him."

"This is all really creepy," Erica said. "Isn't there anything your dad can do to make them leave town?"

It took Allison a moment to realize that Erica was talking to her, and another to figure out that she meant Chris Argent. "Probably not," Allison said. She dried her hands. "It's not like there's any Hunter hierarchy. The Argent name used to be good enough to command respect, but these days it's a little tarnished."

"Tarnished," Stiles repeated. "I see what you did there."

Allison put a hand on her hip. She could hear footsteps nearing the kitchen; Noah on the return from whatever he was up to. "Well, when you've got Kate, Victoria and Gerard dangling from the family tree, there's an understandable lack of trust that anyone in the family is living up to the code."

Erica frowned. "What did your mom do?" she asked.

Allison tried to swallow down a wash of anger. She knew what Erica meant, but the idea of claiming Victoria Argent as her mother, knowing what Victoria had done to her real mother, was like swallowing battery acid.

Stiles, however, had no such qualms. "You mean besides try to kill Scott?"

Erica drew in a sharp breath as Noah stopped in the kitchen doorway. "Who tried to kill Scott?" he demanded.

"Uh, no one," Stiles stammered.

Noah did not appear appeased. "Is Scott in danger?" he asked, casting a baleful eye over the three teenagers.

"Not unless he starts failing all his classes again," Stiles said, which earned him a head-slap from his father.

"Why are you sitting? Erica's our guest, why is she doing the dishes?"

Stiles got up. "I was just going to help." He grabbed the towel from Erica and headed for the dish rack.

Noah turned to Allison. "Who tried to kill Scott?" he asked again.

The answer was _practically everyone in town_ , but Allison didn't have time to untangle that particular skein with Noah. "You'll have to ask him."

Noah crossed his arms over his chest. "Whatever happened to you telling me about crimes?"

Fine. Allison faced Noah straight on. "This isn't that kind of problem."

"Then, what, it's the sort of thing that Talia Hale would have solved?"

Beside Stiles, Erica went still.

"As a matter of fact, it is." Allison crossed her arms over her chest in an echo of Noah's stance. "Trust me when I say that anyone who tries to hurt Scott isn't going to get a chance to try it again."

Erica edged closer to Stiles, who was being oddly quiet, given the subject matter.

"What exactly are you planning on doing, Allison?" Noah demanded.

Allison flashed him a smile. "Why, ask them not to, of course," she said, with as much innocence as she could force into her voice. "And if they insist, turning them over to the police. Why, what did you think I meant?"

The doorbell rang. No one moved. "Allison, this isn't funny," Noah said.

Allison let the fakeness fall off her face. "I am well aware of that," she said. All this talk of harm towards Scott, theoretical or otherwise, was stirring the alpha inside her. "Our deal stands. Anything that falls under the law, I bring to you. If it's not, I'll deal with it."

"That wasn't the deal," Noah objected. "You said if I heard about anything weird, to tell you and you'd tell someone who could deal with it."

"Was that what I said?"

The doorbell rang again. "As a matter of fact, it was."

"Is anyone going to get that?" Erica asked.

Noah let out a short huff. "We are not done talking about this," he said to Allison as he headed down the hall.

"Probably not," Allison agreed. She shifted her jaw as she stared after Noah's retreating back.

"What are you doing?" Stiles hissed. "Are you trying to get arrested?"

"I haven't done anything," Allison said, which was probably true. "What do you want me to do, Stiles? Lie to law enforcement?"

Stiles made an extravagant hand gesture. "Yes!"

Allison turned to Erica, about to say something reassuring to the bewildered girl, when she heard Noah say at the front door, "Oh, hi Scott."

_Shit._

Stiles and Allison stared at each other, while Erica looked between them. "Hi, Mr. Stilinski," came Scott's voice, and oh god, he sounded so young. "Is Allison here?"

"She is," Noah replied.

"Can I talk to her?"

"Why don't you come in, and I'll go see if she's available?"

Allison pushed her hair back over her shoulders. "Is it too late to move to Burundi?"

"Okay." Stiles licked his lips. "Um, just don't…" he mimed claws. "And you'll be fine!"

Erica frowned at Stiles. "What's going on?" she asked. "Why don't you want to see Scott?"

Allison took a deep breath. "It's fine," she said. "I'm fine. This is fine."

A heavy tread, and Noah entered the kitchen. "Allison," he said with exaggerated formality. "You have a visitor."

Allison straightened her spine, painfully aware that she was wearing a pair of Stiles' shorts, one of his faded t-shirts and no bra under it. "Thank you."

"Such a bad idea," Stiles muttered as Allison headed into the living room. She could hear him and Erica scuttle after her.

Whatever Allison had been planning to say dried up in her throat when she saw Scott. He looked so young, so… Scott.

"Allison!" he yelped. He bounced towards her, tall and strong and okay _no_ , she was not going to have a panic attack over someone being in her personal space when that someone was Scott, she would not allow it. "Are you okay? I had to go home last night but Stiles said you were in trouble and Derek was texting everyone and are you okay?"

He reached for her, trying to take hold of her arms, but Allison ducked away, circling back around the living room, never letting Scott out of her sight. "I'm fine," she said, her heart pounding in her throat. _This isn't about Scott,_ she told herself firmly. _Don't freak out about Scott_. "Everything's fine now."

And oh god, now Scott was following her, trying to get close. "Stiles told me that your dad threw you out?"

"Dude," Stiles said from somewhere to Allison's left. "How about we all sit down?"

"Good idea," said Noah, but Allison couldn't look away from Scott because he kept coming towards her.

Her legs hit the coffee table and she had to stop but Scott didn't, he just kept coming and he was grabbing her arm and she tried to spin away but he kept holding on and his fingers tangled in a lock of her hair hanging down loose and he pulled and the sudden movement yanked her head to the side and she was back in the woods and there was blood in her mouth and her bones were broken and she was going to die she was going to die

Scott was suddenly gone, Erica hauling him backwards. Allison staggered, blood in her mouth and she needed to get away, she needed a knife, she needed Bucky. There were voices and a roaring in her ears and her vision was greying out and it was all too loud and she needed to get away.

She had to get a knife, then she'd be safe. But there was a roaring in her ears and her vision was greying out and she needed to get away.

She blinked. She had a knife in her hand. The roaring in her ears was fading, and there was a voice, saying her name.

Her hand tightened around the knife handle. It was a kitchen knife. Someone was saying her name.

There was a knife in her hand. She was standing. Someone was saying her name. She was… she was…

"Allison."

She was in the kitchen. She was in the Stilinski kitchen. She was holding a knife in her hand. Noah was saying her name.

She wasn't in the woods. She wasn't bleeding, wasn't broken.

She wasn't going to die.

"Allison."

She took a deep breath, then another. "I'm here."

"Talk to me," Noah said.

"Flashback," she panted. She took a step toward the sink. Remembered pain flared along her left side, the agony of broken bones and damaged flesh. But it was just a memory.

With her free hand, she turned on the cold water, then thrust her arm under the flow. The change in temperature helped her focus.

She was in the Stilinski kitchen. It was 2012. She wasn't in the woods in France in 2023 and she wasn't about to die.

"Allison, talk to me," Noah said again. He was on the other side of the kitchen, alone. From the living room beyond him, there were voices and the occasional werewolf snarl, but Noah was alone.

"I'm here," Allison repeated.

"Do you know where you are?"

Allison moved so the water was running over her hand. "Your house."

"Do you know what day it is?"

Allison looked around. "Saturday?"

A shadow passed over Noah's face. "It's Sunday. Can you tell me what just happened?"

Allison took another deep breath. "This isn't about Scott," she said. "Scott has nothing to do with this."

"Okay." Noah held out his hands, open, unthreatening. "Can you put the knife down?"

"Not yet." Allison splashed some water on her face. It didn't help. "I'm not going to hurt anyone."

"I'm not worried about that," Noah said. "I'm worried about you."

"Don't be." Allison turned off the water with a shaking hand. "I've done this before." She leaned against the counter. Her knees were shaking too. "I can't let go, not yet."

"Okay, then," Noah said. "Do you want Scott to leave?"

Allison breathed in. "No, I just don't want him to touch me." She tried to release her death-grip on the knife. Her hand didn't respond.

"That's reasonable."

"Is it?"

"Most people having flashbacks don't want anyone to touch them."

"Do you know a lot of people who have flashbacks?"

"Hazard of the job," Noah said. "We get called out sometimes when someone's having problems. Saw it in some of the guys in my unit when I was in the Army, too. PTSD can be difficult to deal with."

"I don't have PTSD," Allison said automatically, a hold-over from countless arguments with Sam and Kamala.

Noah scratched his ear. "Allison…"

"No," Allison snapped. "Because for it to be PTSD, it has to be over."

And it wasn't, not really. She still had to save the universe from the Snap. The particular day she was flashing back to was years behind her, and she had killed the monster who—

But she hadn't. She'd killed him in 2023 but it was 2012 and he was still alive.

Her vision went grey again but she didn't completely black out, clinging instead to what she could feel, what was real, what was _now_. The edge of the counter was sharp under her fingers, the knife handle warm. The linoleum under her feet was cool, the fridge was humming loud and electric and the air was full of the smell of coffee and dish soap and pancakes, of Stiles and Noah and Erica and just ever so faintly, Scott.

Allison made herself look down at her hands. One hand was empty and the other held a knife, but her bones weren't broken, her skin wasn't ripped open. What she was going through, was the memory of something that hadn't happened yet, and now never would.

She would never go after that monster to prove herself worthy of being a Stark after Tony's death. She'd never go through that physical torment, never barely manage to kill the monster after he broke her bones, ripped her skin, as he dragged her by the hair to the river to drown her.

She'd never return to Beacon Hills to recuperate from the attack, never build up the friendship with Derek, and then, ultimately, never be out with Derek on the far side of the mountain when the rival wolf pack descended on them and ripped him apart.

Derek was alive. She was alive. And that monster might still be alive, but she wasn't just human any longer. She was Alpha, a superhero who'd spent years fighting along side Captain America, Captain Marvel, and A-Force, saving the galaxy.

And now that she was back in 2012, that meant if she came across that child-murdering son-of-a-bitch in this timeline, she was going to rip his head off before he got a chance to touch her.

Very, very carefully, Allison put down the knife.

Noah let out a breath that sounded like a bomb in the nearly silent house. "Okay," he said. "I'm just going to get that out of your way."

Allison moved a few steps, backing up against the fridge. Her hand ached with the muscle strain.

Noah took the knife and put it in the sink. "Do you want to go back in the living room?"

Allison didn't know how she could fuck things up any worse than she already had, but sure, why not give it a try. She took a few tentative steps across the kitchen, wondering why the ground felt wobbly. The floor under her feet changed from linoleum to carpet, and she was in the living room.

When she saw the scene before her, she wanted to sigh. Scott was on the couch, pinned beneath Stiles. Erica was perched on Stiles' lap. "What are you doing?" Allison asked wearily.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," Stiles said. Erica glowered. Under the puppy pile, Scott was staring at her with such sad eyes that Allison felt bad.

"Allison, what happened?" Scott asked. "I didn't mean to… to…"

"To grab her when she was freaking out?" Erica snapped.

"How about we all sit down," Noah suggested. Allison made it over to the arm chair and collapsed, her limbs aching from the tensions she'd already been through that day. "Does anyone have anything they want to say?"

Scott opened his mouth, but Stiles clapped a hand over it.

Allison pulled her legs up to her chest. "Erica, you can get down," she said. Very reluctantly, Erica got off Stiles' lap and sat down beside Scott. "Stiles."

With a roll of the eyes, Stiles shifted to Scott's other side, leaving the teenager unburdened.

Allison was very aware that Noah was still standing, watching the scene, but she was just so fucking tired and in too much pain at the memory of what she'd endured, and who she'd lost, to really care all that much. "So," she said deliberately. "My summer sucked."

Noah looked at the ceiling.

"The fall's looking up, if I can avoid the people stalking me and keep from completely falling apart in public," she went on. "How are you doing?"

Erica turned to glare at Scott. "Apologize."

"Allison," Scott began. He looked so damned _young_. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to freak you out, I really didn't, I was just so worried—"

"It wasn't you," Allison interrupted, because she wasn't sure how much more she could take of the guilt pouring off Scott. He was seventeen and she was a hell of a lot older than that, and she needed to be the actual fucking adult in the room. "Scott. Listen to me. What just happened, had nothing to do with you."

"He grabbed you," Erica said angrily.

"And he won't do it again," Stiles put in.

"I won't, I promise," Scott added. "I didn't know… I didn't think…"

"You couldn't smell how scared she was?" Erica growled.

Stiles' eyes flew to his father, but Noah didn't react like he'd heard Erica at all.

Which was another tick-mark in the _Noah Stilinski knows about werewolves_ column, but Allison would have to slice through that string another day.

"I didn't—"

"Scott," Allison said, putting as much alpha into the word as she could without changing the actual timbre of her voice. All three teenagers shut up and looked at her. "It's okay. We're okay. Got it?"

Scott nodded.

"And as long as no one grabs me without me expecting it, I'm okay." She pulled her hair over her shoulder. Really, she should just chop it all off, with how much trouble it was causing her. "See? Easy."

"It's not always that easy," Noah said.

She turned her eyes on him. "What?"

"Dealing with the stuff you're dealing with."

Anger flared in her chest. "You think you have any idea what I'm dealing with?"

Noah held her gaze. "I don't know what happened to you, but I've seen enough of what you're going through to know that it's not just going to go away."

Well, that at least was the truth. "I'm not going to hurt anyone."

"What about yourself?"

"I won't," Allison said, and Scott and Erica both knew it was a lie but at least she had plausible deniability with Noah for a while. "Besides, I heal real quick, remember?"

Stiles twitched.

"Can I talk to Scott alone for a few minutes?" Allison looked around. "Stiles, can you drive Erica home?"

"Yeah, I guess," Stiles said.

Erica was focusing on Allison. "Can I still come over tomorrow?" she asked.

"Yes, any time after five."

"Fine, then." She turned to Scott and pinched his arm. "See you at the ice rink." She got up and walked over to Allison, then hesitated. "Um."

Allison stood and held out her arms, and Erica moved into the hug. She was so warm, so soon after Friday's full moon, and she was practically vibrating with tension. "It's okay," Allison whispered against her hair. "Everything's okay."

"You smelled so scared," Erica whispered back. "I've never smelled anyone so scared."

"Flashbacks are really awful." Allison closed her eyes and pulled the alpha up, hugging Erica with all the weight and power of the Hale pack. Erica squeezed her so tight that her ribs creaked. "Let Stiles take you home, and be safe, okay?"

Erica nodded against her shoulder, then reluctantly pulled back.

"I'll see you later," Allison promised. She looked at Stiles. "Can you call Lydia and let her know that I'm not going to be able to meet up with her today?"

"Sure," Stiles said, already holding his jeep keys. "Why not?"

Allison just looked at him.

"Okay." He turned to Erica. "Ready to scram?"

"Sure."

"Bye Scott," Stiles said, and Scott just glowered at him. Damn it. This was what Allison had been worried about.

Allison glanced at Noah. "Can Scott and I get a few minutes?"

"Sure." He pushed off the wall. "I'll be in my office." He transferred his gaze to Scott. "Just down the hall."

Stiles and Erica left, Noah left, finally leaving Allison and Scott as alone as they were going to get. Allison sighed, and walked over to sit on the coffee table, a few feet away from Scott on the couch. "Hey."

"Hey." He rubbed one hand over his knee. "Allison, what happened to you?"

"A lot," Allison said. This was the conversation she'd been the most worried about, trying to lie to Scott without actually lying. "And I don't want to talk about it."

"Allison—"

"It's in the past, okay?" She folded her hands together. She itched to hold a knife, something sharp, anything she could use as a weapon, but she also didn't want Scott to think she was afraid of him.

Teenagers were so much _work_.

"I want to focus on the future," Allison went on. "Look, junior year is going to be a big one."

That wasn't even the half of it. Last time Allison had lived this year, they'd had to deal with the Alpha pack and the Nogitsune, while Allison herself had to figure out how to be Tony Stark's daughter, even as the reveal of Hydra shattered SHIELD and blasted world governments apart.

Just thinking about it made Allison tired. But she had so much she had to do to protect her people in Beacon Hills.

First, however, she had to deal with Scott McCall.

"And I think, to do that, I need to focus on myself for a little while," Allison finished.

Scott's face crumpled. "Oh," he said. "I… yeah." Allison watched as he visibly pulled himself together. "You focus on you. That's good."

"It is." Allison kept watching him. "And you should focus on you. School, and pack."

"It's not my pack," Scott said, almost a reflex, and Allison wanted to smack him. He'd done that for years, until the Snap dusted him and the others. After they'd gotten him back, Scott finally dropped the protests.

"Derek's not your alpha, but you can still be part of the pack," Allison told him. "You'll be stronger together, all of you."

Scott scrubbed his hands through his hair. "Can we not talk about the pack?"

"That's going to be a little hard, seeing as how Derek's decided to make me his business," Allison replied. "Are you going to the ice rink later?"

"I was planning on it. I thought Stiles…" Scott looked away. Allison didn't need alpha powers to smell the anger on him.

"Don't blame Stiles for anything," she said. "I asked him to give me a little time to figure out my life before he told you. The full moon was on Friday, I was worried about that."

"But he should have told me!"

"I asked him not to."

Scott sat back, his anger bleeding off into irritation and frustration. "He's my best friend, he's not supposed to keep stuff from me."

"I asked Stiles for a favour," Allison said, letting a little of her own irritation out. "It's not like he didn't tell you about a new video game or something."

"I know." Scott put his head in his hands. Allison prayed for patience. "I know." He sat up. "Okay, what's going on with the Hunters in town?"

"God and the devil alone know," Allison said. She stood up to pace across the room. "They were here when we got back on Wednesday, and all I know is that first thing, one of them shows up in the apartment and practically hauls Chris out."

She closed her mouth then, because the rest of this story featured heavily in the Peter Hale department, and Allison never, never wanted to have the conversation with Scott.

"Anyway, after Chris threw me out, I spotted one of them last night when I was having coffee with Erica and then we were followed in an SUV. I dropped Erica off so Derek could pick her up. The SUV followed me, so you guys are probably safe."

"But you're not?" Scott stood up and made like he was going to approach her.

She stopped him with a raised hand. "I don't know what's going on, but Noah and the sheriff's department know about it."

"Know about what?"

"That I'm being followed."

"But not about… about Hunters, right?"

 _Don't bank on that_ , Allison thought. "If Noah can get them arrested, then no one will find out anything."

"But are you going to be okay?"

The answer to that was a resounding _no_ , but Allison could answer the spirit of Scott's question. "I'm doing everything I can to make sure they won't be able to lay hands on me."

Scott stared at her. "That's not reassuring."

"Tell me about it."

"Allison…"

"Everything is under control," Allison cut him off. "I'm staying with Stiles and Noah, and I'm going back to school on Tuesday, and that's just what's going to happen. We'll deal with the rest of it as it comes."

"I wish we didn't have to."

"Yeah, well, it's Beacon Hills. There's always something else coming at us."

"Yeah." Scott put his hands in his pockets. "I should go."

"Okay." Allison stood back so Scott could have a clear path to the door. "I'll tell Stiles you went home."

"Thanks." There was a moment where Allison actually thought Scott might try to approach her again, but he just gave an awkward wave and left the room. A few moments later, the front door opened and closed.

Allison exhaled. That had been worse than she expected, but at least Scott seemed… Okay? Resigned? She fully anticipated the next few weeks of school to be a torment, but at least there would be other people she could put between them to distract Scott.

Maybe he might be able to focus on his schoolwork.

Allison groaned. Oh god, she was going to have to go back to high school. She'd had literal nightmares about this.

"Everything okay?" Noah had come out of his office into the living room.

"Yeah, just…" Allison waved her hand. "Everything."

"About that." Allison's stomach dropped as she turned to look at Noah. "Can we talk?"

Allison let all her concerns about Scott and school fall away. "About what?" she asked, on full alert.

"About what you said earlier about dealing with stuff that falls outside the law."

She supposed she had set herself up for this conversation. "All right. On one condition."

Noah looked at her warily. "What's that?"

"I'm going to have a shower and get dressed first, because I am not talking about this while I look like a reject from the Golden State Warriors."

Noah nodded. "Fair enough."

"If you will excuse me." Allison edged around the living room, skirting Noah to get to the stairs. Once up in her bedroom, she checked her phone. Several texts from Lydia had come in over the last few minutes, demanding to know why Allison was cancelling their plans. As Allison read them, one more text came in.

_Fine I will hang out with Stiles and Erica ugh this is not going to be fun so you owe me two shopping dates._

Allison frowned. What on earth? She snapped out a quick text to Stiles, _what's going on?_

His response was instant. _Dad told me to not come home for a bit he wanted to talk to you. Me and Erica are going to see Lydia for a research binge. Good luck._

Allison dropped the phone on her bed. So Noah wanted them to have some time to talk without Stiles around?

Great. Then they'd talk.

Annoyed, Allison went to take a shower. She kept her hair out of the water, so the experience was brief. Back in the bedroom, she dressed in one of her own shirts and her jeans, then sat down to braid her hair.

Still angry and in pain from her terrible morning, Allison deliberately parted her hair down the middle, split the front of each side into two small plaits, then pulled it all back into one long braid that spilled down her back. It was how she wore her hair when she and Bucky had gone off to save the world, and it made her feel just a fraction more in control. Then she tucked the small throwing daggers into her back pockets, which for her was practically walking into a fight unarmed, and went downstairs to deal with the long arm of the law.

Noah was in the living room, in the armchair she herself had so recently occupied. Allison wondered how she should approach him. When she'd commanded A-Force, she had faced down world leaders as equals. Sure, she might look seventeen now, but that didn't mean she was going to change who she was.

So she sat on the couch, feet on the floor, spine straight, and waited.

Noah fiddled with his coffee cup. "I can't have any vigilantes in my town," he began.

"I have nothing but respect for how you run your department," Allison responded. Noah eyed her. "We moved around a lot. I've seen a lot of towns and cities with rotten cops. The people in the department here seem like they're trying to do their best."

Noah blinked. "I'm not sure how to take that."

Allison raised an eyebrow. "Your turnover is high, and a lot of the deputies are new, especially given everything with the massacre last spring. That's good, partly, because they haven't had a chance to set up rivalries. But at the same time, they also don't have a great connection to the community they are supposed to be protecting."

"I wasn't aware I'd asked for a departmental critique."

"Do you want me to answer your questions or not?"

Noah sat back. "Go ahead."

"So," Allison proceeded. "Obviously there are gaps in the legal net you can cast over this town, but that will tighten up with time, as long as nothing gets too weird."

"Is that likely?"

"It's Beacon Hills, it always gets weird."

Noah sighed.

"My point is, you have the coverage and the legal backing to stop criminals and investigate crimes."

"Yes, we do. Full stop."

"Not everything that's wrong about Beacon Hills falls under state or federal law."

"Are you talking about, what, moral crimes?"

"Not even a little."

"Then what?" Noah asked.

"Not all bad guys can be stopped with laws, or bullets."

Noah was growing increasingly incredulous. "What are you talking about?"

"Look at what happened in New York," Allison went on. "Space aliens? They had to call in the superheroes to stop that disaster."

"Beacon Hills doesn't need superheroes," Noah retorted. "And it doesn't need vigilantes."

"Are you absolutely certain of that?"

"Yes."

"Fine." Allison put her hands on her knees. "If this town doesn't need a vigilante, then it won't have one."

"Allison—"

"If there's no crime that your department can't stop," Allison kept on, "Then there is absolutely nothing that you need to worry about."

Noah stood up and walked to the bay window, looking outside.

"I don't know what things were like when Talia Hale was still alive," Allison said. "I don't know if things were as unsettled as they have been recently. But this town is _strange_ , Noah, and you know that as well as I do. I've seen that bulletin board Brodie keeps in the archives, of the weird ones that no one can explain."

"Every town has weird ones," Noah said, but he did not sound convinced.

"Not like Beacon Hills. The sightings of the lady in white along the old highway? Glowing lights in the trees? That thing people see in the lake in the middle of winter?"

"There's always an explanation for those. Kids, most likely."

"What, kids like Stiles?" Allison waved that away. "You think anyone would be able to keep secrets in high school?"

Noah turned to her. "Do I think that teenagers would keep secrets?" he asked. "Allison, have you _met_ Stiles?"

"I have met Stiles," Allison shot back. "And yeah, he might pull a trick of floating lights if he could, but crashing cars? Slashing people in the woods? Whatever the hell drowned all those people on the lake two winters ago? Can you see him hurting anyone?"

"No." Noah returned to the armchair. "No, I can't see Stiles hurting anyone."

"If you can't stop what's causing that, maybe this town needs someone who can."

"And that someone has to be you."

"I am uniquely qualified."

"To do what?" Noah demanded. "You're seventeen!"

"I know people," Allison said. "I have connections, I can find the right people to solve the problems that you can't."

"You have high school."

"I have to protect people."

"Like Scott and Erica."

"Like everyone." Allison leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "Everyone in town, Noah. Everyone you're sworn to protect, too."

"Allison." Noah put his hands together. "Tell me why it has to be you."

"Because it does."

"That is not a reason."

Allison looked at her hands. Noah knew she healed quickly, and that she was strong. She had hoped that would be enough.

But considering how things were going… she supposed a demonstration was in order.

"Can I show you why?" she asked, pushing up her sleeve.

Noah sat back. "Allison—"

"You don't have to do anything." She reached into her back pocket for a dagger. "Just watch."

"Allison, stop," Noah said as he jumped to his feet. "Don't—"

"It's okay." Allison dug the tip of the knife into her forearm, a quick slash that parted skin and spilled blood.

"What did you do?" Noah demanded, grabbing a box of tissues from the coffee table as he hurried over to Allison.

"It's fine," Allison said as Noah dropped onto the couch beside her. "Hold this."

She gave him the knife, then grabbed a handful of tissues to wipe up the blood before it could drip scarlet onto the carpet. Noah held her wrist as she dragged the tissues over the cut.

"It's almost healed," Allison said, and wiped at it again. The bleeding had slowed, and the skin was knitting itself together. "See?"

Noah stared at her arm.

"So that's why it has to be me," Allison said. "I heal fast. I'm strong. I can take on things that are stronger and faster than a regular person. I can protect people in ways that your deputies can't."

Noah pressed his thumb beside the healing cut, watching as the edges of the wound flared. Allison bit back the discomfort. "This isn't a trick," he said, looking up at her.

"It's not a trick," she agreed. She waited until the cut closed, before wiping at her arm with a clean tissue. In a few minutes, not even a scar would remain. "Bruises take longer to heal because the blood in the area has to circulate out. A clean cut like this, even down to the bone, I can come back from quickly."

Noah looked at the knife in his hand. After a moment, he handed it back to Allison. "How is this possible?"

"Like I said," Allison said. "It's been a long summer, and I've been through a lot. It's hard to explain, and I don't even understand it all myself. But I'm not…" She struggled to find a way to give voice to the worries she had so long held about herself. "I'm not evil. I try to do good. I try to help people."

"Oh my god," Noah said. He put his head into his hands. "Are you a… a werewolf?"

"No." Allison balled up the bloodied tissues and put them on the table. "I'm not a werewolf. I'm not really sure what I am. But I know that if people are in trouble, in danger, I have to do something to help."

Noah put his hand over his mouth. He kept staring at the drying blood smear on Allison's skin.

She wasn't sure what was going on. Did he think that somehow, he'd imagined it? "I can show you again," Allison said, moving the knife towards her arm.

"No!" Noah put his hand out, very nearly grabbing her knife hand before he stopped himself. "No. Allison, no. You don't have to hurt yourself again. I get it."

"It doesn't hurt that much," Allison said, but she put the knife down.

"You said…" Noah took a deep breath. "You said that you can heal fast, even if you're cut down to the bone."

"I can."

"How do you know that?"

Allison plucked a clean tissue out of the box and wet it with some saliva. "How do you think I know that?" She mopped up the rest of the blood.

"God." Noah stood up and paced across the room again. "Did your father do any of this to you?"

Allison's head snapped up. "What? No!" she exclaimed. "Are you kidding? Chris doesn't know about any of this!"

"How can he not?" Noah demanded. "Allison, since the first night you got here, you haven't been able to sleep, you're skittish around anyone who's not Stiles, and you look at people like…" He faltered.

Allison clenched her fists. "Like what?"

"Like you're expecting them to attack you," Noah said, suddenly weary. "You do it at the station, you do it here. The only person other than Stiles I haven't seen you do that with is Erica."

"Erica's different," Allison said automatically. Her guts hurt. Was this really how Noah saw her?

"I've known people who act the same way as you," Noah went on. "And I know a little about what happened to them, and most of that is really, really terrible. So I don't know how you can say that your dad doesn't know something's wrong."

Well, Allison had gotten herself into this mess, and she was going to have to lie her way out. She really didn't need Noah and Chris comparing stories.

Allison held her arm up. "Chris can't know about this, any of it, because if he does? I'm dead."

Noah's face twisted, but Allison kept going.

"I don't know how much you know about anything, or why you asked me if I was a werewolf earlier, but Victoria killing herself? That's what happens to an Argent when they start doing this."

"What?"

Allison put her arm down. "How much do you know?"

"About what?"

"Werewolves. The supernatural. This town. Any of it."

Noah scraped his hand over his face. It took him a few moments to say, "Werewolves. Some other stuff."

"Have you met any, or are you just working off book knowledge?"

Noah sat on the couch. "I met a werewolf. In Sacramento."

Allison tried to remember who was running the Sacramento pack in 2012, then gave up. Her pack had never gotten along with the Sacramento werewolves. "Does Deputy Rushman have anything to do with this?"

Noah met her eyes. "Possibly."

"Great. Did she tell you about Hunters?"

Another pause. "Yes."

"Did she tell you about Argent Hunters?"

"No." And oh, interesting. That was a blatant lie. "But it's not a far jump to look at what happens around this town, and what happened around town around the time of the Hale fire, and what your aunt Kate was up to."

A shiver of revulsion ran down Allison's spine at being assigned kinship with Kate Argent. "Let's skip the issue of the Hale family for now, okay?" Allison suggested. Noah nodded. "Hunters have a code. Part of that code is, when you're going to become the monster you hunt, you kill yourself before it happens."

"Jesus Christ," Noah said. "Then, Victoria…"

"Followed the code."

Noah exhaled. Around them, the house was silent.

"But here's the thing." Allison rubbed her thumb over her wrist. "I may be different, physically, but I know… I'm not a monster, Noah. I'm not."

"Of course you're not," Noah said. "You're just a kid, how could anyone think you're a monster?"

"It's not about the power, it's how you use it," Allison said, because she desperately needed him to understand this before he started wondering who else in Beacon Hills might be a werewolf. "Same with holding a gun, or a knife. Just because the weapon is your own body, you still make choices." She pulled one leg up to her chest. "So I have been extremely careful to make sure Chris doesn't know what's going on. Because the Hunter code? If I don't kill myself, guess who's supposed to finish the job?"

"He wouldn't."

"He probably wouldn't," Allison amended. "I am almost one hundred percent sure he wouldn't kill me." She paused. "But he's not the only Hunter in town right now.

"Dupont."

"And the others with him," Allison said. "There's a bunch of men in town who have worked for Chris, for the Argents, for years. I've known them most of my life. I'm pretty sure that they'd take their lead from Chris, no matter what that means. But Dupont's men, if they find out what I can do, what I am? I am dead."

"So we'll—"

"What?" Allison demanded. "Arrest them for what?"

"We'll find a way to keep you safe."

"You will." Allison touched Noah's watchband. "I trust you, I really do. But you can't tell anyone about me." She hesitated. "You can't tell Natasha."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't know what she's up to, and I'm pretty sure that you don't either, not really." Allison withdrew her hand. "I trust you. I don't know if I can trust Natasha in a way that will keep me alive. Noah, please."

Noah looked at her. "Why is all this happening to you?"

Allison moved one shoulder. "Just lucky, I guess."

"God." Noah sat back. "So what are we going to do?"

"Neither one of us is going to tell Deputy Rushman a damned thing," Allison said. "And you're going to have to find a way to tell Stiles that you know about supernatural shit in Beacon Hills."

"He knows about this?"

Allison raised her eyebrows. "Can you think of an explanation of his behaviour where he doesn't?"

"Well, he is a teenage boy."

"Point taken." Allison rubbed her eyes. "Can we stop talking about this? Do you need help with anything? It's Sunday. Any chores? Laundry? Anything I can do that's not sitting and wallowing in my misery?"

"One more thing," Noah said. Allison held in a groan. "Back up to the start of this conversation. No vigilantism."

Allison traced an _X_ over her heart. "I promise that I will only act to protect people against the supernatural, okay?"

"Allison."

"Or if anyone human tries to kill me first."

Noah shook his head. "We'll talk about that later."

"What? Self-defence is a valid legal plea."

"Let's make sure that you're not put in a situation where that's necessary, okay?"

"Yes, please."

"Good." Noah stood up. "I need a change of pace. I was going to send Stiles up on the roof to clean the gutters, but who knows when he's going to get back. How do you feel about ladders?"

Allison smiled. "Love 'em."

"All right. Let's go see what we can make out there, okay?" He hesitated. "And maybe you can tell me a little more about what you know is weird in this town."

Allison bounced to her feet. "See, now this is how you leverage the strengths of your house-guest."

"Oh yeah," Noah muttered. "This is going to end well."

* * *

At five minutes past four, Stiles pulled the jeep into the ice rink parking lot. "Stop looking at me like that," he said as he tried to escape from his seatbelt.

Allison got out of the jeep. She thought about slamming the door, but with the condition of the hinges, the door might just fall off entirely. "I'm not the one who got caught up in a research orgy," and she gave that the sarcastic finger quotes it deserved. "With Erica and Lydia."

"We were working on stuff!" Stiles protested. He managed to get out of the jeep, with his keys this time, and followed Allison towards the rink. "When you put Erica's tenacity together with Lydia's brains, you know what you get?"

"No, and I also don't know why they needed you if they're so great together."

"I was their guy Friday," Stiles said, and oh yuck, Allison could tell how much he enjoyed that. "Fetched. Carried."

"And now we're late to the pack meeting."

"It wasn't my fault that Boyd came to get Erica and I had to go back to the house to get you!"

"Shut up." They went through the rink's main doors. It was a chaotic bustle, with the Sunday afternoon kid's skate merging up with the half-price free-for-all that pulled in a sizable chunk of the Beacon Hills population. "Where the hell is everyone?"

"Come on." Stiles led the way into the rink itself, down around the boards. The shouts of over-excited children and teenagers echoed in the arena. Allison gritted her teeth and followed Stiles.

Stiles ducked into the Zamboni room and hung a left. Now, with a concrete wall between them and the ice rink, Allison could hear the murmur of familiar voices.

"…don't understand!" Scott was saying in protest. "If you just listen—"

"What's to listen to?" Derek shot back. "I have responsibilities, Scott, and not to someone who's tried to kill half the people in this room!"

Stiles faltered, but Allison just held her head up, took Stiles' arm to push him in front of her as a human shield, and strode into the maintenance room the pack was using for their meeting.

At their entrance, Derek bared his teeth, Scott whipped around in astonishment, and Erica perked up. The reaction from Boyd, Isaac and Jackson was somewhat muted.

The one thing Allison had not been expecting was Peter's presence, lounging against a workbench like he wasn't afraid of getting gear oil on his cashmere sweater.

 _Focus, Stark_ , Allison told herself firmly. She shoved Stiles in ahead of her. "Five out of eight," Allison corrected Derek. "And unless you plan to return the favour immediately, can we discuss this like the outdated gendered construct of masculinity demands?"

"Allison, what are you doing here?" Scott asked. He took a step towards her, then stopped. "I thought…"

"That you knew where you weren't wanted," Derek finished. He grabbed the front of Stiles' hoodie and yanked him out of the way. Allison stood with her hands at her sides, ready to pull the hunting knife out of her waistband if Derek did anything stupid. "This is pack business."

"About me," Allison said. "Look, decide what you want, just let me know what that means so I can react accordingly."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"You want to throw me under the bus? Fine. Just tell me so I don't drag anyone else with me."

"We're not doing that!" Erica exclaimed. She shook off Isaac's hand. "Derek, I have been telling you, Allison got me out safe, and the Hunters weren't after me!"

"That you know of," Boyd said. "This could all be a trick."

"That's one hell of a long con," Allison said. "But okay. I've already hit rock bottom, so let's dig. I could have pretended to get kicked out of my house, punched myself in the face so I could infiltrate the sheriff's residence, set the entire Beacon Hills sheriff's department on alert for these nut-jobs, then get my ass chased all over town on a Saturday night just for kicks, all for, what? To find out who's a werewolf? Chris already knows that. What else could there be?"

"Erica could have been in danger!" Boyd said, standing up. He was big, taller than Scott, but facing him down didn't give Allison any of the sense of panic she'd gotten off Scott that morning. At least with Boyd, the anger he was feeling was honest and direct.

"You're right," Allison said. "And I told her, and I will tell all of you, I'm not going to let any of you get hurt, especially by Hunters. Not anymore," she added when Boyd opened his mouth for a further protest.

"Why not?" Peter asked, the question rolling into the conversation like a smoke bomb. "What's in it for you?"

Allison turned. "If everyone's safe, that means I get to stop trying to play poker with tarot cards," she said. "Everyone safe means everyone is safe, and no one's in danger."

"But why?" Peter pushed off the workbench. "Like you said, you've tried to kill at least five people in this room. What is it that made you turn over…" He let his gaze slip down to her cleavage, then back up to her eyes. "A new leaf?"

Allison exhaled. "I'm trying to make amends," she said, and it was hard to not let the alpha out in her words. "In a fashion not-so dissimilar to your own rehabilitation efforts."

Peter studied her. Allison held the gaze, even though it was a little difficult, considering that the previous day at this time, she'd been naked in his bed with his dick in her mouth.

Then Peter turned to Derek. "As much as it causes me physical pain to say this," he announced, "She's right. Are we done?"

"No, we're not done!" Derek protested.

Allison narrowed her eyes. "This is causing you physical pain?" she repeated, stepping closer to Peter. "Because you know what? It could."

Peter looked at her sideways. "Didn't anyone ever tell you that it's not wise to bite charity's hand?"

"Oh, I wouldn't be worried about charity's _hand_ ," Allison shot back.

Peter turned on her, and oh thank god, finally something about this day was going to turn into a fight, but then Derek was between the two of them and he shoved Peter back. "Knock it off," Derek snarled.

Jackson leaned into the conversation. "What do you mean, she's right?"

Peter pushed Derek's hand off his arm. "If Hunters will do this to one of their own, what do you think will happen when they're finished with her?" Erica visibly flinched. "Do you think they'll just dust off their hands and head out to the next town?" Peter looked around the room, then back to Derek. "Or do you think they might try to finish the job Kate started?"

"No one's going to get hurt!" Scott protested. Peter and Derek were still glaring at each other. "Allison, we'll protect you."

"Count me out," Isaac said. Erica hit him. "What?"

"No one needs to protect me," Allison said. "Look, the sheriff knows about this, he's trying to find something to pick up Dupont and his gang on."

"Yeah," Stiles put in. "Human law for humans, right?"

"You think that's going to stop Hunters?" Derek asked, finally breaking eye contact with Peter. "Don't you have some sort of secrecy pact?

"I don't care," Allison said. "I don't owe them anything. They came into my town and started this. I want them gone and everyone safe. If the sheriff's department is the best way to do that, then that's what I'll do."

"And if it's not?" Derek asked. "If the police can't do a damned thing?"

"Then I'll deal with them myself."

The expression on Derek's face was impossible to decipher. "You. You're human."

Peter scoffed softly, but only Allison and Derek seemed to pick up on it. "Yes," Allison said. "I am."

"So," Jackson said into the resulting tension. "What do we do now?"

"I'm leaving," Peter announced.

"But we haven't decided on anything," Erica said.

"Yes, we have." Allison looked over the pack. "I'll send you the pictures of the Hunters that the sheriff got from the bookstore last night. If you see any of those men, let me know. Or call the sheriff. Otherwise, if anything looks weird, get yourself somewhere safe and call me."

"No," Derek objected. Peter rolled his eyes and returned to the bench. Boyd and Isaac exchanged a glance. Jackson put his head in his hands. "You get yourself somewhere safe and call _me_. I'm the alpha in this pack."

Allison had to force down a growl. It was one thing to know in her head that Derek was still the alpha in the Hale pack at this point in time, but everyone in this room was _hers_. "Fine," she said, moving over to face Derek. He pulled himself up to his full height, making her look up at him.

Whatever. Allison had been looking up at angry men for most of her life. It had long since stopped bothering her.

"If anyone doesn't feel right, they get somewhere safe and call whoever they want," she went on. Derek glared at her. "Because that's what's important, right?"

"Right," Derek growled, a trace of red in his eyes.

"Great!" Stiles said brightly. "Safety first!"

"Stiles—" Derek started, turning around. The phone in Allison's pocket vibrated in a weird pattern. It was doubly strange, because she hadn't set the phone on vibrate.

Allison tuned out Derek berating Stiles as she pulled out her phone. On the screen was a text message. _Christopher Argent (555-235-1945), 97 yards south-southwest of your location._

"What is it?" Peter asked, suddenly a lot closer than he had been a moment before.

Allison looked up at him. Her immediate reaction had been a flash of surprise and fear, and it made her angry. With all the control she had mastered over years of surviving intense and often dangerous confrontations, she shoved all that fear and uncertainty into a box, leaving behind only a readiness to do whatever was necessary. "Chris is nearby," she said. "I'm going to go find out why. You all should probably leave."

"Uh, no?" Stiles protested.

Her phone buzzed again. _Christopher Argent (555-235-1945), 85 yards south-southwest of your location. Do you require assistance?_

 _Is he alone?_ Allison texted back rapidly. "Stiles, go," she said. "That goes for the rest of you." Her gaze flicked to Peter. He was studying her. "None of you need to be here."

"I do," Boyd said. "I'm working."

Another buzz. _No, all other phones monitored are 12 miles away, near the Boxer Canyon trailhead._

Allison let out a breath. Okay. Chris was the only one she had to worry about. "I'll take care of Chris," she said. "Everyone else, bail."

"How are you going to get home?" Stiles asked. Jackson and Isaac were already heading towards the back door.

"The bus," Allison said. She shoved her phone in her pocket. "As they say, _hakkaa päälle_."

With that, Allison turned on her heel and retraced her steps out into the arena.

The ice was packed, with many more people sitting in the stands. It was easy for Allison to spot Chris, who was standing on the far side of the rink, scanning the ice through the glass.

It was the first time Allison had seen him since the apartment. She wasn't sure if he had always looked this tired, at this point in the timeline. Part of her wanted to just leave him be, to walk out of the rink, maybe catch a bus all the way to Malibu.

But no. As much as she would eventually need to get to Tony and the Avengers to start the ball rolling on stopping the Snap, she had obligations in Beacon Hills. And that meant she needed to deal with Chris Argent.

Allison walked around the rink. Chris spotted her after a minute, and something in his face changed. Was it concern? Anger? Allison couldn't tell.

Chris started in her direction. Allison kept her breathing regular. Every sense was on alert. She heard every scream, every scrap of conversation, the underlying hum of the ice chiller. The concession stand let off the scent of hot dogs, popcorn, hot chocolate for a summer afternoon inside. The metallic scrape of skate blades over the ice permeated the air around her.

Allison hoped that Chris wouldn't do anything in front of all these witnesses.

When they were about ten feet apart, Allison stopped. So did Chris. "Are you okay?" Chris asked.

Really? Allison crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm doing great," she said. "You? Here for some skating lessons?"

"Allison, I don't have a lot of time," Chris said. "I need to talk to you."

"Then talk."

Chris frowned. "What is wrong with you?"

"I'm being stalked around town by several of your business associates, and you ask me what's wrong?"

Chris rubbed the five o'clock shadow on his chin. "Allison, you have to understand—"

"Can you get them to leave?" Allison interrupted. "Tell them to go harass some other town."

"You know I can't do that."

Allison bit her lip, thrown a little by how Chris was looking at her. His phrasing had been a little odd. Allison should _know_ that he couldn't do that? How was she supposed to know that?

Suddenly, the gaping hole in her memory where the summer before junior year should have been was a lot more ominous.

"Why can't you do that?" Allison pressed. A flicker of movement behind Chris pulled at her attention. She glanced over Chris's shoulder to see goddamned _Clint Barton_ taking a seat in the stands, a bag of popcorn in his hand.

Allison was getting heartily sick of having so many Avengers on her tail.

"You know why," Chris said, further ruining Allison's mood. "Look, Allison, I know it's been a rough few days, but come home. We can fix things."

Allison stared at him. "You want me to go home with you," she repeated. "Why?"

"Because you're my daughter."

Allison let out a breath. Every part of her wanted to object, to scream that no, she wasn't Chris Argent's daughter, she wasn't anything to him except another victim of the Argent vendetta against the supernatural.

But doing so would be signing her own death warrant. Allison swallowed her disgust. "Noah said I can stay with him and Stiles as long as I need to."

"Allison, please," Chris said. "Let's go home, we can talk about this."

Allison waited as a couple of kids raced past them, then she stepped in closer so no one would overhear. "The last time I was in your house, you hit me in the face." Chris flinched. "An hour before that, you were taking potshots at me in the woods."

"I told you, I didn't know that was you."

"At first." Allison uncrossed her arms. "You said you didn't know it was me at first."

Chris looked away.

"I'm staying with Noah and Stiles," Allison went on. "And I'm going back to school on Tuesday, and I'm going to keep doing what I need to do."

"Which is what?"

"Protect my friends," Allison said. "I guess it depends on you, what I'm protecting them from."

Chris opened his mouth, then looked over Allison's shoulder. His expression darkened. "Does that include protecting him?"

Allison turned, putting her back against the ice rink boards. Derek was standing about twenty feet away, hands in his pockets, slouching with no apparent intent as he watched Chris and Allison.

"Yes," Allison said before she turned back to Chris. "Even him."

"After what he did to your mother?"

"Yes," Allison said again. "You know what happened as well as I do. Derek was trying to save Scott's life. He nearly died too."

"You've forgiven him, just like that?"

Allison squared her shoulders. "I don't need to justify my choices to you, or anyone else," she said. "I also don't owe you any explanations."

"Yes, you do," Chris said, and he was starting to lose his temper. "You're an Argent, Allison, and you have responsibilities."

"I'm not going with you," Allison said. "And we're done talking."

There was a moment when Allison wondered if Chris was going to grab her arm, try to haul her along with him. Then he looked over her shoulder again. "Derek," he ground out.

"Chris," Derek said at Allison's side, using his _I want to rip your guts out but I'll be happy just to imagine it_ voice. "You're back in town. How nice."

"I'm talking to Allison."

"Yeah, I heard."

"Chris was just leaving," Allison said.

Chris's eyes went back to her. "So this is the side you're choosing."

"If by 'side', you mean sticking with the ones who will let me live my life, then yes," Allison said. "This isn't a power play. I just want to go back to high school and get on with my life."

"You know it's not that simple."

Allison knew. Oh god, did she know. "Goodbye, Chris."

Chris stared at her for a long moment, then he turned and walked away. Allison tracked his movements until he was out the main doors and gone. Then she turned to Derek. "Thanks for the backup, but I had it under control."

"I'm not here as backup," Derek said. He went over to sit in the stands. With a glance up at Clint Barton, still munching on popcorn in the distance, Allison went to join Derek. She left a few feet between them. "Boyd has to work until six-thirty. I'm staying to make sure he's okay."

"That's good." Allison pulled out her phone. "Did Stiles leave?"

"Yeah, he practically hauled Scott out by his tail." Derek seemed faintly amused. "Jackson took Isaac and Erica."

"And Peter left?"

Derek's amusement faded. "Yes, Peter left." He looked at Allison. "What the hell is going on with the two of you?"

"Nothing." Allison started a text to Jarvis. _Program worked great you're a genius. Can you expand the range to 200 yards? 100 feels a little too tight._

"He practically kicks you off a walkway earlier in the week, and now you two are flirting?"

Allison blinked up at Derek. "You call what happened in there flirting?"

"The way you two are doing it, yeah."

Allison shook her head. "It's none of your business, Derek."

"It will be if someone puts a bullet in my last remaining blood relative for messing around with a teenager."

"No one's going to shoot Peter." Her phone vibrated. _Done. Please stay safe and notify me if you need any help._

"Glad to hear it."

"Besides," Allison went on as she texted back, _Thanks, Jarvis, but I'm ok. You have a good Sunday dinner._ "My birthday's in three weeks."

Derek raised an eyebrow at her, radiating displeasure. She met the glare. "Tell me you're joking."

Allison put her hands in her jacket pockets. "I'm joking." They both knew she was lying.

"Why?" Derek demanded. "Why Peter?"

"I don't know," Allison said. "He's got a big dick and a lot of time on his hands."

The revulsion that flickered over Derek's face was actually amusing. "Really?"

"It's true."

"But that's not the reason. What is?"

Allison watched the people skating in a circle on the ice, moving in happy patterns.

She was sure she'd had a reason, once, lost to the sands of time. After the Snap, a lot of people did a lot of things to cope. Allison and Peter had taken to falling into bed when they weren't sniping at each other. It wasn't comfortable and it wasn't healthy, but it kept them going.

Then the UnSnap happened and Allison lost her father and got Scott back, and months later when Derek died and Allison became the alpha, the fact that Peter didn't reject her was one of the only ways she kept going.

They had been together on and off for years, and while the relationship had always remained operationally dysfunctional, neither had been willing to give it up.

But that was all in a future that would never happen.

So what _was_ she doing with Peter?

There was a reason, skittering around at the back of her mind, one that she'd never talked about with her Peter. Peter and Derek weren't the only ones who had lost their entire family to the Argents. When Victoria Argent murdered Clara Vasquez and cut Allison out of the werewolf's body, she'd done more than kill one woman. She'd ended Allison's chance for a real family, to know her true heritage and to grow up surrounded by people like her.

She had also inadvertently turned Tony Stark on the path to accelerating the world's arms race. Allison knew that it wasn't Tony who pulled the trigger on all those weapons he had engineered. But he had made them more efficient, more lethal.

Tony had done a lot of good as Iron Man, but there were still a lot of bombs in the world, waiting to go off, carrying the name _Stark_.

All because Victoria Argent lost a child, eighteen years before.

Allison rested her chin on one hand. "Peter makes sense to me," she said at last.

"Does the part where he threatens your life on a regular basis make sense to you?"

"He and I have an understanding about that," Allison said. She glanced around at a flash of movement. Clint Barton was in the process of walking out of the ice rink. Weird. Allison wondered if he was going off duty or something. "I didn't say I thought Peter was nice. But I understand him." She watched the swirl of motion on the ice change as a few of the kids playing snap-the-whip fell down. "And I think he wants to understand me."

"I can't keep him from hurting you."

"I'm not asking you to."

Derek frowned at his hands. "You know what he's done. Laura, and all those people." He cleared his throat. "Kate."

"I know."

"And Lydia."

"I know."

"Is this some sort of weird thing where you think if you're nice enough you can make him into a better person?"

Allison sighed. "The only person who can make Peter do anything, is Peter. I'm just along for the ride." Derek shuddered, and Allison smiled. "That way, too."

"I don't want to hear about it," Derek said. "Ever."

"Deal." She looked at the time on her phone. "I should go find the bus stop."

"I could drive you home," Derek said. "If you can wait until Boyd gets off work."

"Oh. Yeah, that would be nice."

"Good. Text Stiles, he's probably freaking out."

"Probably." Allison tapped out a message on her phone. "On the subject of Stiles…"

Derek looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "What about him?"

Allison considered. "You should add him to the group chat."

"That fucking group chat," Derek muttered. "No. It's pack only."

"And Stiles isn't pack?"

"No."

"If you say so." Allison went back to watching the skaters.

After a minute's silence, Derek pulled out his phone and angrily poked at the screen. Allison hid her smile. A few minutes later, her own phone lit up with a message from Stiles. _Derek added me to the group chat bc you said so!!! Stay safe c u soon im making lasagnaueue how do you spell that where is autocorrect._

"I'm not adding you to the group chat," Derek said, stashing his phone away.

"Why would you?"

Derek stood up. "Do you want some popcorn?"

"Sure."

Without another word, Derek stomped off to the concession stand. Allison kept her eyes on the rink, wondering when she had last gone ice skating. Then she had to bend over to rest her forehead on her knees, because it had been at Morgan's fifteenth birthday party, of course it had been, and everyone had been there, all Morgan's friends, and Peter Parker and Harley and Pepper and Rhodey, and Morgan had been so _happy_.

Allison managed to stop crying by the time Derek returned with the popcorn. He sat beside her, looking uncomfortable. "What's wrong?"

 _I don't have a sister anymore_. "Everything."

"Yeah." Derek held out the popcorn bag. "I know how that goes."

* * *

Sunday night passed with very little additional difficulty. Boyd finished work, Derek drove them both past the sheriff's house in one very uncomfortable ten-minute ride, then Allison went inside as Derek and Boyd sped off. She briefly told Stiles most of what had happened with Chris, leaving out the disquieting gaps in her knowledge. Noah came home, they ate, then Allison went upstairs with some vague idea of reading, but ended up passing out in her clothes as soon as she lay down.

She woke at three in the morning to a silent house. She thought about going out for a run, but considering how well that had gone over on Saturday morning, maybe she would skip that for now.

In the end, Allison went downstairs. Noah had left his office door open, so she poked around in there for a while. The desk held a few police files, but nothing relevant to Allison's situation.

She sat down at his computer. It was older than Stiles' laptop, but it had an internet connection and no real security measures on it. Getting online through secure channels took a little while, but then Allison was free to get to work.

The incident with Chris the previous day had been a good reminder that the clock was ticking. While she was hopeful that she could avoid dying before she completed her mission to stop the Snap, nothing was a guarantee.

So, she needed a back-up plan; or, more realistically, a dead-man's switch. If she died, she needed someone to be able to pick up the mantle to stop Thanos.

Ideally, that person would be Captain Marvel, but all Allison knew about Carol Danvers' whereabouts in this timeframe was _off-world_. Nick Fury could reach her, but Allison could not go to him about this until after the Hydra-SHIELD problem was solved.

Setting up the switch was easy. She slipped inside the Stark servers again, using a different entry point. If she didn't call for any external data, then it was unlikely Jarvis would find her. She created a small pocket, unattached to any core functions, and created a text file to be sent to Tony if she didn't log in for more than a month.

Then she started typing.

She had written countless mission reports over the years, and had read even more. She knew the story of the Snap inside and out, knew where all the Infinity Stones were, and where they had been through history.

She also knew where all the big players were in this game. Not that anyone except Carol could get to Gamora and Thanos, not yet. Except maybe Thor, but he was close to getting tangled up with the Aether and the Dark Elves.

And she had no way of getting in touch with any of them.

This was all so goddamned frustrating.

But she didn't exactly have a lot of options.

So in the quiet dark of the Stilinski house, she typed steadily, pouring out her memories of the last twenty-seven years into a tiny text file inside Jarvis's vast servers.

Allison didn't realize how much time had passed until she heard footsteps on the stairs. "Allison?" Noah called quietly.

Oops. "I'm in here," Allison replied. She saved the file, disconnected the secure connection, and hastily pulled up a webpage on _fun kids games at picnics_. Noah appeared in the doorway, rubbing his eyes. "Sorry, I couldn't sleep any more."

"It's all right." Noah came into the room. "How are you doing, after yesterday?"

"All right." Allison idly scrolled down the page. "Doing some prep work before the picnic this afternoon."

"Yeah." Noah settled onto the spare chair by the wall. "I just hope that doesn't turn into a total disaster."

"What do you mean?"

He rested his elbows on his knees. "It's the first time we've had a department social since the… since last spring."

Allison frowned at him. "Are you doing anything special as a memorial?"

"No, just the same as always. Food. Ice cream. Some games for the kids."

"And everyone's okay with this?"

"Mostly everyone."

Allison opened a new search window and started looking up _group therapy for children_. "And the ones who aren't?"

"They opted for the afternoon shift."

"It's hard, losing people you work with," Allison said. "Especially when it's to violence." She swallowed down the memory of the blank greyness that she'd lived with after they lost Carol. "People deal in different ways."

"Yeah." Noah sat back. "Can I ask you a question?"

Allison sighed. "What?"

"It's about going back to school."

"Tomorrow. What about it?"

"Stiles was saying that you don't have any school supplies."

"What do I need besides a pen?"

"Given the length of the supply list Stiles got, a lot."

Of course. Allison thought about the cash hoard up in her room. She had been hoping to use most of the remaining funds to get a second-hand motorcycle once her new licence came in the mail, but that was going to be a tight pinch. "What, like a binder and some paper?"

"And a lot more." Noah hesitated. "Would you like to go with me and Stiles to get some supplies before the picnic this afternoon?"

"Sure," Allison said. "I think I can squeeze that. I get paid next Friday, right?"

"That's not what I meant," Noah said.

Allison looked at him. "What did you mean?"

"Would you let me buy your school supplies this—"

"No."

"Allison—"

"No," she said again. "I'm already eating your food, and I'm not going to take anything else from you."

"That's not what this is," Noah said.

"No." Allison put her hands on the desk. The irony of it all burned in her stomach. Chris Argent was worth millions, Tony Stark billions, and Allison had just over four thousand dollars to last her until this entire debacle sorted itself out, be it a week or months. "I don't want your charity."

Noah watched her for a few moments. "Then how about the fact that it's an election year?"

That was so out of left field that Allison frowned. "What?"

"It's an election year," Noah repeated. "How do you think it's going to look to the voters if people think I won't provide for everyone under my roof?"

Allison gaped at Noah. "That is the most underhanded thing I have heard in my life," she breathed. "Are you serious?"

"Completely."

"Wow." Allison crossed her arms over her chest. "Sheriff Stilinski, I am _impressed."_

"Does that mean you'll let me pay for your school supplies?"

"No," Allison said, "But how about a loan? I'll pay you back at some point, and the optics are the same."

"If that's how you want to do it." Noah stood up. "How about we go after breakfast?"

"Sure."

"I'm going to go make coffee," Noah said. "You want any?"

"I'll be there in a few minutes."

Once he was gone, Allison quickly hacked into the Beacon Hills High School database to find the junior year supply list. She didn't have a good gauge on how much things cost back in 2012, compared to future money, but some of the items on the list made her raise her eyebrows. A hundred-dollar graphing calculator? School-only running shoes?

Allison wondered how Isaac was going to handle that. Come to think of it, where was the boy living these days? Was he still couch-surfing with Erica and Boyd? She wondered if she could convince Jackson to let Isaac move into one of the spare rooms in the Whittemore house.

While she was in the system, Allison checked out the class roster. Most of the pack were in the same classes, the main difference being the language classes. Allison made a note of her first day's schedule, then logged off. The scent of coffee was drifting down the hall, and she was suddenly very thirsty.

* * *

The trip to Target was both embarrassing and hilarious. Noah made Stiles put two of everything on the supply list into the cart, which grated on Allison's pride. Watching Stiles try to convince his father that he needed a new pair of noise-cancelling headphones was a popcorn-worthy moment, especially when Noah ended the conversation by declaring that he was the one who needed something to stifle the noise.

The only thing Allison snuck into the cart was a small box of crayons for the picnic. She'd never had kids, but she'd pitched in to take care of the many children that her pack had had over the years. Most kids could be diverted by crayons, even when they had access to computers.

Hopefully it would distract the children at the picnic from whatever the adults got up to.

The final total from the shopping trip made Allison wince, and even Stiles looked a bit taken aback. But Noah just put it all on his credit card, and they headed home to drop off the bags.

Just before they left the house, Noah stopped Allison and Stiles. "We're going to be around a lot of law enforcement officers today."

Allison and Stiles exchanged a glance. "Uh, yeah?" Stiles said. "That's the point of the sheriff's department picnic, right?"

"And," Noah went on, ignoring his son. "It's important that no one break any laws."

"I'm not going to break any laws," Stiles protested. "Allison, are you?"

Allison had an inkling of where this was going. "I don't plan on it."

Noah looked at her. "So you're not carrying any concealed weapons on you right now?"

Allison exhaled. Damn it. "Does concealed carry count if we're not outside?"

"Hand them over."

Allison pulled the hunting knife and its sheath out from the back of her waistband. "You know I could strap this to my leg and it would be legal," she said as she put it on the hall table.

"Anything else?"

Allison removed the throwing knives from her back pockets and put them next to the hunting knife.

"Anything in your boots?"

"Surprisingly, no."

"Thank you." Noah reached into his pocket and pulled out a folding knife. "Here."

"What's this?" Allison took the weapon. The handle was worn, but the blade opened easily, and held an incredibly sharp edge.

"It belonged to a friend of mine," Noah said. "You can carry that around town and not get arrested. And you can take it into the office, instead of those." He indicated the throwing knives.

Allison closed the blade. "Shouldn't you be saying that a teenage girl shouldn't have to carry a knife in this town?"

"A teenage girl shouldn't have to carry a knife in this town," Noah agreed. "Are we leaving?"

"Where's my knife?" Stiles jumped in. "And what friend? Why doesn't he need his knife anymore?"

Allison could see from Noah's expression that the answer to those last two questions was not something he wanted to talk about, so she slung her arm around Stiles' neck. "Come on, I'm driving."

"Are you kidding?" Stiles complained as he let himself be dragged out of the house. "Dad never lets anyone drive his car."

Noah followed them outside.

The drive to the park was quick. There were already a few people there, setting up. Noah sent Stiles off to assist with the tables, then he drifted over to where a couple of off-duty deputies were hanging out around the grill.

Left to her own devices, Allison set out the crayons and some loose-leaf paper she'd grabbed from the school supplies bag at a picnic table. Idly, she started folding origami animals to kill time. It wasn't totally unpleasant, to sit outside on a late summer afternoon.

Part of her brain itched with how exposed she was, without body armour or any backup, but if she wasn't safe while surrounded by half the police in the county, then there was nothing she could do. She finished folding a paper tiger and set it on the table beside a little paper shark.

More people were now arriving. A few deputies she knew showed up with various partners and children. A girl of maybe twelve stood awkwardly beside her mother, refusing to budge. One of the men was trying to herd two seven-year-old boys in the direction of the sports balls set out on the grass. "Don't you want to play soccer?" he asked.

"No," said one boy, and oozed bonelessly out from under his father's hand to head over to Allison's table. His brother followed him. Both boys plopped themselves down on the bench, with the first child pulling a Harry Potter book from under his shirt.

"Hello," Allison said. "Do you want to colour?"

"No," said the boy with the book. The other boy nodded wordlessly, grabbing at the crayons. Neither child made eye contact with Allison.

"Okay. I'm going to fold more animals."

Book boy ignored her, settling into his pages. Crayon boy started drawing precise lines on the paper.

Allison went back to her folding.

"What are you doing?"

Allison looked up to see the girl, who by this time had been joined by another girl of about the same age, standing by the table. "Folding origami animals," Allison said. "Do you want to try?"

"I don't know," said the first girl.

"Yes," said the second girl.

Allison moved over. "Take a seat. I'm Allison."

The girls introduced themselves as Emma and Dominique, and they were soon folding paper cranes with enthusiasm. Dominique told Allison that the boy with the book was Trevor, while his brother was Travis.

Stiles dragged himself over just as Allison was showing the girls how to fold origami butterflies. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Crafts," Allison said without looking up. "What do you want?"

"Inspiration."

"Sit and fold."

"I can't fold." Stiles dropped onto the bench beside Allison. "Tragic lacrosse accident."

Travis silently passed Stiles a piece of paper and a blue crayon.

"Thanks, Trav." Stiles set to work.

"You're welcome."

Emma shook her head at Allison's raised eyebrow. "Travis only talks to Stiles. He thinks Stiles is _cool."_

"Stiles is cool," Allison replied. Stiles' elbow nudged her in the ribs. "All the girls in high school think so." She elbowed Stiles back. "The boys, too."

Stiles' cheeks were red. "Stop it."

"Nope."

Trevor thrust his book across the table at Allison. "What's that word?" he demanded.

Allison took the book. "Innumerable."

"What's it mean?"

"It means too many to count."

"Travis could count them," Trevor said, and took his book back.

Travis grinned down at his paper.

More people arrived. Allison spotted Natasha's red hair glinting in the sunshine, and behind her was a sandy-haired man who Allison had seen all too recently. "Great."

Stiles followed her gaze. "Who's that with Deputy Rushman?"

"Our new gym teacher."

"What happened to Finstock?"

"How do I know?"

"Allison," Emma said. "I think I did it wrong."

As Allison bent over to address the wobbly paper cat, another few cars unloaded. Noah went over to greet them, shaking hands and slapping backs. "Who's that?" Allison asked Stiles as Emma went back to her folding.

Stiles squinted. "Oh, that's Deputy Ibbara. He's been on vacation."

"Are all those kids his?" Allison asked as the man hauled child after child from the minivan.

"There's only five of them."

"Allison!" Noah called. He beckoned her over.

"Fine," Allison muttered. "While I'm gone, Travis is in charge."

Travis waved his crayon in triumph.

Noah met her halfway across the grass. "How would you feel about taking care of the kids for a while?" he asked.

Allison clicked her tongue. "I was unaware I had volunteered for babysitting duty."

Noah turned slightly away from the crowd of people. "A lot of these folks watched you take down a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound man having a psychotic episode on the weekend without breaking a sweat," he reminded her. "Showing your gentle side might help quell some of the rumours I've been hearing."

Damn it. Allison wished that she could tell Noah to shove it, that Stiles could be on baby duty, but Noah had a point. Not a good point, but a point.

"Of course," she said with an irritated smile. "I would love to demonstrate my feminine nurturing side to my predominantly male co-workers."

"Just don't drop anyone." Noah turned back to the crowd. "Come meet Ibarra."

Allison followed Noah over to where Deputy Christian Ibarra and his wife were trying to arrange the family gaggle. Allison was introduced as the new station intern, said hello to Christian and Maria, and their five children, ages eleven, eight, four, two, and four months.

The eldest two ran off to play with the soccer balls. The four-year-old held up a stuffed wolf toy. "I love wolves," he announced to the world at large.

"We went to a wolf sanctuary in Colorado while we were away," Maria said as she wrapped the infant in a sling. "Damian won't stop talking about them."

At her mother's leg, the toddler sniffled and clutched. "And who's this?" Allison said.

"Gabriela, and she's got a cold."

Well, Noah had told Allison to be nurturing. She knelt down. "Do you want to come sit with the big kids?" she asked the toddler, projecting alpha warmth as she held out her arms.

"Oh, she doesn't like strangers…" Maria's voice trailed off as the dark-haired child toddled over to Allison and climbed her like a tree. "She doesn't usually warm up to people."

"I have a way with kids." Allison stood up, holding Gabriela's light weight easily. The little girl snuffled against Allison's neck. "Damian, do you want to come and colour with everyone else?"

"Yeah." Damian held out his hand, and with a smile at Maria, Allison led him over to the table.

Stiles shuffled the kids around so the little boy could squish between him and Allison, who was careful to balance Gabriela on her lap so the girl was secure. "I wanna draw a wolf," Damian said.

Travis handed him some paper and a crayon. "Thank you, Travis." Allison patted Gabriela's back. The toddler grizzled unhappily. "What's everyone's favourite animal?"

"Snake," said Trevor from the depths of _Chamber of Secrets_. "Travis likes cats."

"Horses," Emma said.

Dominique considered. "I like all animals," she said. "Today, I think I like dogs best."

"What about you, Stiles?"

Stiles grinned at her. "I'm partial to wolves, myself. You?"

Allison raised an eyebrow. "They do seem to be my type."

Stiles choked on a cough.

"Wolves!" Damian shouted, then he threw his little head back and sent up a vague approximation of a wolf's howl. Across the playing field, his eight-year-old brother stopped and howled back.

"Do you want to know how to do a real wolf's howl?" Allison asked. Damian stared at her, open mouthed. "Like this."

She drew in a deep breath, then let out a muted version of an alpha howl. It was one of the only things she'd inherited from her mother's werewolf side, the ability to howl like a wolf. It was only when she had grown up, however, that she had learned to use it to communicate with her pack, and with Bucky in the field. At full strength, she could make herself be heard across mountain ranges, like any of the werewolves. But here, she kept it as quiet as she could.

Damian cackled and howled again, his brother running across the field to join them. The girls were looking embarrassed as Trevor joined in.

Then, as the human voices died down, across the park came another pair of howls. Allison looked to see a golden retriever and a husky, out for a walk, lifting their noses to the sky as they sang out.

"Doggy!" Gabriela said, pointing.

"That's right, two dogs," Allison said. She caught the way Stiles was staring at her. "What?"

"Nothing," Stiles said. "Have you been practicing that?"

"A little," Allison said. She leaned over Damian's head to say in Stiles' ear, "Peter's been helping with my technique."

Stiles convulsed.

"Can we do that again?" Damian asked hopefully.

"Not right now." Allison lifted Gabriela up. "Who wants to go on a nature walk before lunch?"

Everyone except for Trevor tagged along after Allison. Stiles was hauled away after a few steps by Deputy Strong to help with more set-up, but his place was taken by the two eldest Ibarra children, Alicia and Tomas. Alicia seemed shy around the other girls, and Allison thanked her lucky stars that she hadn't been thrown back in time to that age.

"Where are you headed?" Natasha called out as the gaggle moved slowly across the field.

Allison, carrying Gabriela on one arm, holding Damian's hand in her free one, with the others in close proximity, gave a shrug. "Over by the meadow."

"Have fun," Clint said, raising his soda can. Allison shot him a glare, then continued to herd the children in front of her.

They looked at plants and the occasional snail that crossed their path. Allison knew enough about botany to fill the air with mostly accurate information, keeping the younger children entertained, but the older girls were starting to look bored.

"Isn't there anything else to do?" Dominique finally asked.

"Isn't there?" Allison looked up from where the little ones were examining a worm. "There's lots of grass around, go make flower crowns or something."

Emma, Dominique and Alicia exchanged glances. "What's a flower crown?" Emma asked.

"Youth," Allison muttered. "All right, craft time."

She hauled the young ones away from the worm over to a patch of long grass. She handed Gabriela over to Alicia, then pulled the knife out of her back pocket.

"Grass," she said, grabbing several stalks of the long grass and slicing through the stems near the ground. She snapped the knife closed. "Hold the ends, and braid." She deftly plaited the grass together into a long rope. "Make a circle." She looped the ends of the grass braid in on themselves. "Add flowers, and voila." She handed the grass crown to Dominique and retrieved the toddler from Alicia. "Go entertain yourself."

Emma hesitated. "Can I have a knife?" she asked hopefully.

"Not until you get your knife licence," Allison said, patting Gabriela's back as the toddler rubbed her snotty nose on Allison's shirt.

"That's not a thing," Emma protested.

"You never know."

Damian tugged on Allison's jeans. "There's a squirrel!"

Allison left the three girls to their crowns, and took the rest of the kids over to observe the grey squirrel appreciatively.

The scents of cooking hot dogs and hamburgers drifted over the park, making Allison ravenous. She answered all the children's questions about nature and the sky and school and music and books and animals, all the while wondering if anyone would notice if she ate five hamburgers in one sitting.

Finally, Stiles jogged towards her. "Dad says we're going to start eating in a few minutes," he said. "You want to haul it on in?"

Allison rocked Gabriela on her hip. "Come on, kids, time for hot dogs." Tomas and Damian cheered, and set off at a run towards the tables. Travis reached for Allison's hand. "Food sound good?" she asked the boy. He squeezed her palm.

"You doing okay?" Stiles asked.

"Yup." Allison glanced over her shoulder to where the three girls were still engrossed in making their flower crowns. "I don't know how Talia did it."

"Uh, what?"

Allison looked at Stiles. "Four kids in the house at once," she said. "Six, if you count Peter's twins. It must have been three alarm chaos all the time."

Stiles just blinked at her.

Allison frowned. "You know Derek had three sisters, right?"

"I… I guess. Did Peter tell you about his kids?"

"Are you kidding me?" Allison shifted Gabriela up as the girl started to gnaw on her finger. "I will be ninety-seven and Peter will never once have mentioned anything at all to do with—"

The wind's change of direction swept over Allison, and brought with it a scent so alarming that she almost dropped the baby.

A strange werewolf, and close.

"Here," Allison said, shoving Gabriela into Stiles' arms. "Travis, go with Stiles."

"What…"

"Stranger," Allison said, knowing the alpha was rising, knowing her eyes were red, but there was a strange werewolf nearby, and three little girls unprotected across the field. _"Go."_

She turned around, already moving, on alert and scanning the trees. The girls were far enough away from the woods that she could make it to their side in case of an attack, but they were still too far away.

She pulled out the knife, wishing bitterly that she hadn't disarmed in front of Noah earlier. A folding knife had its weak spots, especially when it came to a physical fight.

There. Allison caught a spot of movement in the trees. A man, a stranger, and the girls were between him and Allison.

Allison let every fear and worry bleed out of her into the earth under her feet, until all she felt was pure, cold anger. How _dare_ a strange werewolf venture onto her territory without her permission? This was Hale pack land, everyone knew that.

Among the girls, Alicia had gone up on her heels. She had seen the man in the trees.

Fuck it. Allison broke out into a jog. "Hey, everyone," she said in a light voice. "Time for lunch."

"We're not done yet," Dominique protested.

"You can finish after you eat, all right?" Allison got everyone to their feet. By now, Emma and Dominique had also spotted the man. "Don't worry about anything," Allison said, alpha power in her voice. "Go back to the group. It's okay. Go together."

She waited until the three girls were walking back to the picnic area before she turned to fully face the man in the trees.

He looked at her. "Nice day for a picnic," he finally said. "Got any extra food for someone a bit down on his luck?"

"Beacon Hills is Hale pack territory," Allison said without preamble. The man's expression changed. "You're here without permission."

"You their emissary?" the man asked.

"No. I'm their bouncer."

His expression changed to a sneer. "You? You're human. I'm not talking to you. I heard an alpha howl, where are they?"

Allison breathed out, power coiling in her limbs. "There's just me," she said. "You have two options right now. You either go ask permission of the Hale alpha to stay, or you get the hell out of my town."

The man moved down out of the trees, closer to Allison with every step. She really hoped she didn't have to eviscerate him in front of the entire Beacon Hills sheriff's department. "Everyone knows the Hale pack is weak. They're nothing but a bunch of teenagers."

Allison tilted her head to the side, moving her hands behind her back and opening the knife as she did so. "You should go back to all those people who fed you those lies, and tell them that Beacon Hills is protected. If anyone wants to come to town, they need to ask permission."

"Am I supposed to feel threatened by one little girl?"

Allison smiled at the man then, cold and sharp. She'd faced down tyrants and psychopaths with that smile, and she was a little gratified to see the werewolf go pale. "I suggest you leave town," she said. "Head north. Eugene up in Oregon is pretty lax about omegas on their territory."

The werewolf wet his lips. "You think I'm going to listen to you?"

He was blustering now. Allison knew the type. He was backed into a corner and he needed an excuse to save face with himself. Life as an omega wasn't easy. Fine. She'd give him a way out. "Maybe not, but this picnic behind me is full of cops, and I caught you watching three of their daughters."

"Bitch," the man growled, but he was already backing up. "All right, I'm leaving," he said. "But you better get your alpha on the horn down to San Diego, the alpha there's been telling everyone that Beacon Hills is open for business." He turned, and practically high-tailed it to the road.

"Thanks for the tip," Allison called after him. She watched, hardly blinking as he climbed into a beat-up truck and sped away.

"Allison."

"Noah." Allison kept watch until the truck signalled in the direction of the interstate, and was out of sight. Only then did she turn around. Noah had his hands on his hips, with a few other deputies ranged across the field behind him. The picnic had a tension hovering over it.

"The girls said he was watching them."

Allison closed the knife. "He told me he was down on his luck and wanted some free food."

"And you pulled the knife because?"

"Because I didn't entirely believe him. I told him to leave town."

"Did you get his licence plate?" Noah asked.

"Yes." She told him what it was.

"Come on, let's go call it in."

Allison slipped the knife into her pocket. "You really should just let him leave town. I don't think he was going to hurt the girls."

"That's why I'm going to call it in, to make sure he does." Noah was pulling out his cell phone. With his other hand, he waved a _stand down_ that most of the deputies obeyed. "You shouldn't have gone over there by yourself."

"This is the sort of thing I can handle," Allison pointed out. "And I was closest."

"I know." He tapped at his phone's screen.

"The girls were over there because of me."

"The girls were over there because it's a park, and they're children," Noah corrected. He turned to the phone. "Stilinski. I need everyone on duty to keep an eye out for an older-model brown Ford pickup." He gave the plate number. "Just make sure it's heading out of town."

By this time, they were close enough to the picnic that some of the kids were calling for Allison. "Can you come sit with us?" Emma asked, her arm linked with Dominique's. A few feet away, Alicia was standing beside her father, hugging his waist.

"I would love to," Allison said. "Let's all sit together, all right?"

That was how Allison ended up eating a hamburger off a paper plate balanced on her knee, cross-legged on the grass surrounded by the children of the Beacon Hills sheriff's department. Stiles was at her side, texting Derek updates about the omega werewolf whenever Allison could whisper them to him. Gradually, the children relaxed, and Allison distracted them by telling stories about Thor that she'd heard from the man himself over many years.

All the while, Allison was aware that from across the picnic, Natasha was watching her very, very closely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Noah in this chapter:  
> *feral child wakes up screaming yet again*: What the fuck  
> *feral child has PTSD flashback that involves grabbing a knife and practically climbing on top of the kitchen counters to get away from her ex-boyfriend*: What the _fuck_  
>  *feral child says she's going to be a vigilante and then stabs self in arm to prove a point*: _What the fuck_
> 
> Hakkaa päälle: battlecry of Finnish cavalrymen, meaning 'cut them down'
> 
> Allison's braid tutorials: <https://youtu.be/puzgpBoesss?t=424>


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the first day of school. Allison has to negotiate rebuilding the relationship with her pack, deal with the fallout of her previously terrible academic showing, and then there's the thing at lunch with the banana. Gym class features a visit from Deputy Natasha Rushman, and Allison is seriously at the end of her patience. We end the chapter with the first stirrings of supernatural trouble heading south on the way to Beacon Hills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning (and none of these are gone into in much detail): brief reference to non-consensual sexual activity, past child abuse, mention of animal death (wild animals), restricting food intake.
> 
> For the purposes of this story, I'm locating Beacon Hills in the general vicinity of Black Butte, CA, which is about an hour north of Redding. Why? Because I need a geographical grounder.

* * *

Stiles slammed the door of the jeep. "Ah," he said, breathing in dramatically. "Just like we never left."

Allison wrinkled her nose. The high school parking lot smelled like new asphalt and manure. "How are you even able to breathe?" she asked as they walked towards the school. Homeroom didn't start for another half-hour, but already there were kids streaming into the building.

"I lost my sense of smell in a train-wreck in seventy-three," Stiles said. "That comes in handy in the locker room."

Someone walked past and Allison sneezed in the resulting waft of Axe. "Want to trade olfactory systems?"

"Doesn't work like that." Stiles danced to the side to avoid a freshman on a mission. "Were we ever that young?"

"You were," Allison said. She clutched at the strap of the backpack she'd borrowed from Stiles, containing all her new school supplies and her gym clothes. She didn't know why she was so nervous. It was just high school. It didn't matter. She could flunk out, then ace the SATs and get Tony Stark to buy her into any college in the country.

 _Don't lie to yourself,_ Bucky's voice echoed in her head. _You know why you're like this. You're completely unarmed for the first time in twenty-five years_.

The conversation with Noah that morning had been awkward. While Stiles hogged the shower, Noah and Allison had faced off over the school district's absolutely-no-knives policy. Allison had tried to compromise by saying she'd leave her weapons in Stiles' car, but Noah had just looked at her in disappointment until Allison threw her hands up and promised that she'd leave everything at home.

So there she was, heading back into high school unarmed, with a backpack borrowed from Stiles, clothes donated by Erica, and school supplies bought for her by Noah's public servant paycheque.

It wasn't even eight o'clock and her day _sucked_.

"Are you working after school?" Stiles asked, hefting his lacrosse gear.

"Yes," Allison said. "Three hours, no big deal."

"What about dinner?"

"I can grab something from the vending machine at the station."

"Yuck. No." Stiles was nearly decapitated by a flying basketball. A teacherly scream of _'no roughhousing!'_ followed the fleeing sophomores. "I'll swing by after your shift, we can go grab dinner with Dad. That means I don't have to cook."

"You're a good cook," Allison told him. He grinned. "Also, I have to go to the office and change my contact info. See you in homeroom?"

Stiles gave her a sloppy salute. "First one to see Scott texts the other."

Allison sighed. Right. Scott. "Bye, Stiles."

The boy headed off.

Allison squared her shoulders as she walked down the hall. Most of the children ignored her, but a few, of whom Allison had only hazy memories, were watching her. She knew that by the end of the day the rumour mill would be running at peak capacity, and she was already tired of it.

She wondered if it was too late to call in sick.

There was a line out the office door. Allison took her place in the queue, trying to not let the proximity of all these children send her into a panic attack.

Statistically speaking, at least one of them had to be carrying a weapon, right?

"Allison."

Allison jumped. "Isaac," she said. "Hello."

The boy nodded at her. He looked about as enthusiastic to see her as he had at the ice rink. "Erica really did it, huh?"

"What?"

"Gave you some of her clothes."

Allison looked down. The previous day, Erica had brought over most of her wardrobe, which was not large to begin with, and Boyd for makeweight. Allison managed to argue the girl down to just giving her the large bulky clothes that Erica had worn before the bite, while Boyd had observed from the couch beside Stiles, playing video games. Allison had told them about the omega at the park, and Boyd chimed in with some of the things he'd found in researching omegas in the books Peter left lying around the train depot. All in all, it had been an awkward but blood-shed free afternoon, and Allison thought that she might be on the way to squaring things up with Boyd.

But that left Isaac.

"She did," Allison confirmed, shuffling as the line moved forward. "Just jeans and a few shirts. Her skirts are too short for me."

A ghost of a smile crossed Isaac's face. "You could make it work."

Allison gave him a look. "Erica wears them far better than me."

"She does." Isaac edged into Allison's personal space, sending a shiver of warning down her spine. "It's weird, you smelling like her."

"How so?" Allison asked. She wasn't sure if this was a high school attempt at flirting, or werewolf stuff.

Isaac shrugged. "I stay at her house sometimes," he said. "I know what she smells like. You… maybe Derek's right. You do smell weird."

Allison sighed. "Derek Hale can keep his goddamned opinions to himself," she said. "Why are you here, anyway?"

A sour smile played over Isaac's face. She knew that smile, and knew it was hiding deep discomfort. "The social worker said I had to put a formal address on the school forms or else they were going to arrest me for truancy."

"That sucks."

"Yeah." Isaac eyed her. "What about you?"

"Something similar."

"Right."

The line shuffled again. Isaac put his hands in his pockets. Allison watched him out of the corner of her eye. She had been Isaac's alpha for a while, after they got him back following the Snap. He had gone to Australia in 2028 to help with climate change refugee resettlement, but there had been enough time for them all to be in each other's pockets in Beacon Hills that Allison had a good sense that something was wrong.

"How was your summer?" she finally asked.

Isaac bit his lip. "Stiles didn't tell you?"

Allison turned around fully at this. "No," she said, protective instincts flaring to life. "What happened?"

"A week or so ago. Derek and Stiles had to help me with a, uh." He waited until a rush of approaching freshman echoed in the hallway. "Little problem with a succubus."

Allison took a deep breath. Was _that_ what had sent Peter into his line of questioning up on Two Hat Ridge the first night she was back? Allison didn't know much about sex demons, other than one didn't want to tangle with them, and she couldn't imagine facing off against one.

"Are you okay?" she asked, keeping her voice as neutral as she could.

"Of course," Isaac said with another shrug and a fake smile. "Isn't that what every guy wants?"

Allison clenched her jaw. What little she did know about sex demons was that they tended to cause sleep paralysis while they went about their rapey deeds. "I'm sorry that happened to you," she said, so quietly that only werewolf ears could pick up on the words. "Is it handled?"

Isaac stared at her. There was a moment where his face fell, a moment where he was a scared kid who'd had something terrible happen to him that he couldn't stop, couldn't control. Then he pulled himself back up behind that protective wall he'd built through years of living with his abusive father. "Yeah," he said. "Derek got her."

"Good." Allison wanted to offer reassurance, but Isaac was giving off such intense _don't touch me_ vibes that her teeth hurt. "Let me know if you want someone to talk to. Not me," she added when Isaac's expression changed. "I can help you find someone."

"As if that's going to be a good idea," Isaac scoffed. "I'd get thrown in the looney bin."

"There are people out there," Allison said vaguely. The line moved forward. "Are you taking any extracurriculars this year?"

"Just lacrosse," Isaac said. "Everything else costs money. You?"

"No. The sheriff gave me a job, I think that will take up most of my time."

"You want to be a cop when you graduate?"

"Not even a little." The line moved again, and Allison was next up. "But it pays."

"I should get another job," Isaac said.

"Try to graduate high school first," Allison said. She really needed to have a conversation with Derek about giving Isaac an allowance out of pack funds. "There's always enough time for work."

"Next," announced the secretary. Allison gave Isaac a tentative smile, hopefully a truce for now, and stepped forward to ask for a contact form.

The secretary handed her the paper, then looked at Isaac. As the boy started a rambling description of the conversation with his social worker, Allison filled out the change of address to the Stilinski house, and wrote Noah's name in as her legal guardian. It was only for a few weeks, until she turned eighteen, but hopefully it would forestall the school bringing Chris Argent anywhere near her business.

With a flourish, she forged Noah's signature at the bottom of the form, dropped the paper into the bulging box marked "In", and sailed out of the office.

She was almost immediately pounced upon by Erica and Lydia, both of whom were dressed to the nines for the first day. "Where have you been?" Lydia demanded, hooking her hand through Allison's arm. Erica took Allison's other side. "And what are you wearing?

"Erica loaned me some clothes," Allison said, sending Lydia a warning look. "For which I am very grateful."

"What about my clothes?" Lydia asked.

"Are you kidding?" Erica asked, her voice floating with amusement. "If Allison tried to wear any of your clothes, she'd get arrested for indecent exposure."

Lydia came to a halt, almost yanking Allison off her feet. She glared at Erica, Erica smirked back, and Allison wondered what on earth had really happened at Stiles' self-proclaimed 'research orgy' on Sunday.

Then Lydia cocked her head. "True," she announced. "But she can't go around wearing jeans and your old flannel all year. We're going shopping this weekend." She started walking again, pulling Allison and Erica along.

"Lydia, I am seriously low on funds," Allison said.

"You bought five hundred dollars worth of knives," Lydia reminded her.

"Yes, well, a girl has needs," Allison said. "I get paid in a week and a half."

"Stiles told me you're working at the sheriff's department," Lydia mused. They went up the stairs towards the junior lockers. "Sounds tedious."

"It's not bad." Allison let Erica and Lydia step away from her to go to their lockers. "It's better than working fast food." She shoved her gym clothes and backpack into her locker. "Speaking of which, Erica, did you ever follow up on that job at the steakhouse?"

"My dad said he can drop off my resume on Friday."

Lydia shoved a massive textbook into her locker. "Sounds like you two are really getting along."

Allison wanted to sigh. It wasn't only teenage boys who were a lot of work. "We are," she said evenly. Erica was glancing between Allison and Lydia. "I know, it's a little surprising after all that happened last year."

"You can say that again." Lydia slammed her locker. "Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I'm being the bad guy."

"You're not." Allison closed the padlock on her locker. "I thought you two were getting along."

"We were," Erica said, tossing her hair over one shoulder. A passing boy nearly walked into the water fountain. "But I don't know, maybe we need Stiles around to prevent bloodshed."

Lydia rolled her eyes. "We don't need Stiles."

"Come on," Erica said. She went over to Lydia's side. "Let's go to homeroom and see if anyone will swap seats so we can sit together."

"All right." Lydia took Erica's arm, then fixed Allison with a glare. "Coming?"

Allison wasn't sure if she was being challenged or intimidated. Either way, it was somewhat adorable. "Lead the way."

Lydia and Erica went down the hall at a synchronized flounce, and Allison followed them, wondering how the hell she was going to survive two more years of this.

School hadn't even _started_ yet.

Walking into home room sucked. Scott was sitting on the other side of Stiles and Jackson when the girls entered the room. Erica bounced over to Isaac's desk and sat on it, crossing her legs as she stared at him pointedly. Isaac just looked at her in resignation. "Move," she said.

Isaac pulled his notebook from under Erica's ass and went to a desk at the front.

Erica slipped into the vacated desk, Lydia sat beside Jackson and gave him a smile, to which he raised his eyebrows. Allison sank into the desk on Erica's other side and stared at the front of the class.

She'd had nightmares that started just like this, only she ended up being naked or forgetting how to read. She really wanted this to be over.

Maybe she could pull a page out of Clint Barton's book and run off to join the circus.

The bell rang, the teacher took attendance, then led most of the class in the Pledge of Allegiance. The rest either stood in the usual silent protest, or, like Stiles, were distracted by something else.

Allison stayed seated. As a member of A-Force, she had pledged her life to protect the people of Earth, and those in the galaxies around Sol. At a time in history when Hydra lurked in every corner of the American government, Allison could not stomach making any pledge to a fabric representation of a government contaminated to the core.

The pledge ended, everyone sat down, and their homeroom teacher Mr. Mobbs said, "Argent, you used to stand for that. Had any new political awakenings this summer?"

Allison focused her attention on him. Ah, the petty tyranny of high school teachers. "I spent the summer in France," she said, because technically she had. "The French have a lot to say about the perils of blind nationalism."

"So you don't agree with the pledge."

Around the room, some of the students sank lower in their seats. Allison sat up, back straight, and smiled. Mr. Mobbs faltered. "A government exists to serve its people, not the people their government."

"According to who?"

Allison clicked her tongue. "The constitution? Big piece of paper, lots of signatures."

"Are you bucking for detention on the first day of school?"

Allison's smile grew sharper. "If you want to send me to detention for not standing for a pledge that I am not legally required to say, and for thinking that gosh darn it, maybe Nazis are bad, then go ahead."

Across the room, someone whispered, "What do the Nazis have to do with the Pledge of Allegiance?"

Jackson's sigh was audible.

Mr. Mobbs went back to his desk. "Are you in history this year, Argent?"

"Probably. Why?"

"Because." He moved some papers around on his desk until he could pull up one sheet. "We have a new history teacher, and she is going to eat you alive." He walked over to hand Allison her schedule.

Allison took the paper. "Okay, but, metaphorically, right?" She wasn't sure she could handle actual cannibalism in high school; it was too many shades of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_.

Mr. Mobbs stared at her in bewilderment as the bell rang. Everyone jumped up. "Hey, get your schedules before you leave!" the teacher shouted. Allison took the opportunity to escape out into the hallway.

She was just glancing down the page when Stiles said in her ear, "Holy shit!"

"What?" she demanded. She turned to see the pack and Lydia surrounding her. "Oh god, this is that dream where I'm naked, right?" She looked down. Nope, still dressed.

"I thought Mobbs was going to have a stroke," Isaac said gleefully.

"I thought you liked the pledge," Scott said. He had been one of the ones standing to say it.

"Well." Allison folded her schedule into her notebook. "Last year taught me a little about blindly believing what old white men want me to."

That cast a pall over the pack. Lydia shook it off first. "Who has math first period?" she demanded.

The group split up. Jackson planted a peck on Lydia's cheek then headed off with Erica in the other direction. Scott, looking sad and more than a little forlorn, said, "I have civics."

"Math," Allison said. "Hi, Scott."

"Hi."

Stiles looked at his schedule. "Math. Isaac, why are you standing there like an overgrown stalk of asparagus?"

Isaac narrowed his eyes, then brushed past Stiles, knocking him against the lockers. "I have math too."

"All right," Lydia said brightly. "Onward!"

The math classroom faced the school's inner courtyard. Allison snagged a desk along the wall where she could see the new class of freshman moving outside in a herd on the school tour. They were fourteen, she realized, the same age as Lydia's twins.

A wave of remembered sadness closed around Allison's heart. Lydia wasn't going to have the twins. Not Siobhan and Connor, the bubbly whirling dervishes she'd had two years after the UnSnap, the lights of Allison's life for many years. Just like with Morgan, Allison's descent through time had erased all those lives irrevocably.

It hurt to breathe.

Into this pain, the math teacher, Miss Woodrow, announced, "Given the state of last year's administration, we need to have a skills placement test." Protests rose around the room. "Quiet!" the woman yelled. "I don't like this any more than you do. Pencils out. No phone, no calculators, no notebooks!"

"I'm having a panic attack," Stiles announced as he put his bag under his desk. "Either that or a heart attack. Allison, am I having a heart attack?"

Allison looked at him. "Any nausea or pain in your chest or arm?" she asked as she dropped her books to the ground.

"Uh, no?" Stiles blinked, like he wasn't sure if she was being serious.

"Then it's a panic attack."

Miss Woodrow appeared between them. Her glare of irritation sent Allison's hackles up. "I'm surprised to see you here, Miss Argent."

"Why?" Allison was baffled.

"A grade of sixty-three percent in sophomore mathematics is not a good indicator of future academic success."

Allison raised her eyebrows. "Do you want me to write that test or not?"

The woman slapped the paper on Allison's desk and moved on. Stiles and Lydia were both staring at Allison with open mouths. Isaac continued to look amused. "What?"

"Silence!" Miss Woodrow went back to the front of the class. "Turn your papers over. You have forty-five minutes."

Pages turned. Allison breathed through the nausea of grief as she flipped her booklet. It took her a few minutes to focus on the paper. The first question appeared absurdly simple, even to someone who hadn't spent the last sixteen years calculating the scientifically impossible on the fly.

She straightened her pencil and began to work.

The test was stupidly easy. Morgan could have aced the thing when she was ten. Allison wrote steadily, more irritated at having to show her work than having any trouble finding the answers. Finally, she got to the last page, where there was a single line of text. _If it is easy to check that a solution to a problem is correct, is it also easy to solve the problem?_

Allison gritted her teeth. She'd lived through Lydia's deep dives into theoretical mathematics, including the so-called unsolvable Millennium problems, and to see one here on this stupid math placement test grated on her nerves. Piqued, she wrote _, solution to P=NP will be provided upon receipt of a cheque for $1-million._

Then she put her pencil down, flipped the booklet over, and glanced at the clock. Only fifteen minutes had passed.

This day was going to take forever.

Allison went back to staring outside. The freshman were so tiny. Allison remembered her first day of high school, already a year older than her peers and so desperately lonely. They were in Boston for the first half of that year, and Allison hated the cold icy weather.

Looking back, Allison wondered why they had been in Boston in the first place.

"Miss Argent."

Allison let her eyes slide sideways to where Miss Woodrow loomed.

"Either finish your test or it will be taken away."

Allison held out the paper. The teacher snatched it from Allison's hand and walked off. Allison turned to the windows. Waiting in silence had never been Allison's strong suit. That was Bucky, all over, with his sniper's watchful calm. Allison always wanted to _do_ something. Fight, snark, plan, tinker, all of it was the motion that kept her going.

But here she was, with twenty-five minutes left to wait in a classroom that was growing increasingly stale from teenage sweat—

"Miss Argent!"

Allison jumped at the shout from the teacher. "What?"

Miss Woodrow was at her desk, so red in the face that Allison was alarmed. She wondered if the school board was still funding the school nurse. "The principal's office, now!"

"Why?" The last jibe on her paper about the _P=NP_ problem hadn't been that snarky, had it?

"Up, up!" Miss Woodrow went on, brandishing Allison's test paper. Baffled, Allison retrieved her notebook and stood. "Go!"

"I need a hall pass," Allison said, walking towards the front of the room. She sent Stiles and Lydia a puzzled look. They appeared as confused as she did. Isaac, on the other hand, had gone pale and was staring at the ground, like he always did when an authority figure started acting violent.

Miss Woodrow grabbed a piece of paper, nearly threw it at Allison, and slammed the door behind her. Allison blinked at the empty hall.

What the hell was that?

Allison headed in the direction of the office for the second time that day. She passed Richard, the new school janitor, and they exchanged a few pleasantries about being back for another year. Then she had to continue.

In the office, the secretary looked as confused as Allison felt, but sent her to sit on the bench while someone located the principal. The man was new, and looked far better suited to the role as educator than the damnable Gerard Argent.

Allison hoped that wherever Gerard was, he was in pain.

"Please, come in," said Mr. Andrews, ushering her into the office. "I'm afraid I'm not sure what Miss Woodrow wanted you here for."

"Me neither. My apologies to take you away from your first-day duties."

"Please, sit." Allison lowered herself into the visitor's chair, wondering how much this man had heard about her and about her family. "I've been at a few schools in my career, and I can tell you, the first day is always the strangest. I have no set preconceptions."

"You've moved around a lot?" Allison asked.

Mr. Andrews smiled, his hands folded on the desk. "My wife is in the National Guard. This is a new posting for our family."

"I see." Allison leaned in. "Is that them?"

"Yes." The man held out the framed picture, of a lovely woman and two young children. "They're starting in the elementary school." Allison nodded. "First day nerves for everyone."

"I can imagine."

The secretary walked in. "Miss Woodrow can't get anyone to cover her class," the woman stage-whispered. "She sent a message."

"Thank you." Mr. Andrews took the note. When he read it, his face changed. Allison's heart sank. "It appears that Miss Woodrow believes that you cheated on a math test this morning."

Allison's mouth dropped open. "She thinks what?" Allison demanded, scalding fury ripping through her. "I did not!"

Mr. Andrews held up the note. "I quote, 'this child is a mathematical dullard, and her perfect answers in too short a time prove that she cheated'."

Allison pushed her hair back to keep from screaming. "Okay, first off, mathematical dullard? And that test was super easy!"

"So you deny cheating."

Allison narrowed her eyes. "I categorically deny cheating in any way, shape or form on any academic assignment I have ever had at this school," she bit out. "Where is she? I want her to say all that to my face."

"Hold on," said Mr. Andrews. "This is a serious charge. I think we should call your parents."

The secretary made a small meep. Of course, she had been in the school during the last year. Allison shook her head. "My mother's dead and my father has essentially given up custody." Well, it wasn't exactly a lie. "My legal guardian's at work."

Mr. Andrews rallied. "We'll just call them," he said. "Why don't you go sit in the front of the office until they get here?"

"Actually," said the secretary. Allison looked at her. "We're only allowed to call whoever's on the contact form."

Allison smiled, baring her teeth. "There's an updated form in your inbox," she said.

"Right."

Mr. Andrews stood up. "We'll get to the bottom of this, Miss Argent."

Allison also stood. "Thank you, sir." She strode out of the office.

She parked herself on the so-called punishment bench, pulling her legs up under her to wait. She dug her schedule out of her notebook. If this took too long, she was going to miss her first history class of the year.

She wasn't sorry.

Growling, Allison settled in to wait. She would just bet that somewhere in America, Sam Wilson had started laughing and he didn't even know why.

Time passed. People came in and out of the office, and Allison sat staring at the flow of traffic. The bell rang, and Allison just clenched her fingers around her notebook. Maybe she could just tell Noah she was going to home-school herself, then write all the tests and be done with education.

A whir of plaid flung itself into the office. "Amelia!" Stiles gasped, nearly sliding past the secretary's desk. "You look amazing!"

"What do you want, Stiles?" the secretary asked in annoyance.

"Just to make sure that my number one gal is doing okay." Stiles smiled his smarmiest.

The secretary frowned. "Don't make this weird."

"I would never." Stiles glanced over her shoulder to Allison. "Oh, good, you're still alive."

"What?"

The secretary sighed. "Stiles, you have two minutes before you need to get to class," she said.

Stiles jumped to attention, then hurried over to Allison. "What happened?" he demanded as he fell onto the bench.

"I don't know, Woodrow just went off that I'd cheated because I got some of the questions on her stupid test right." Allison let her head fall against the wall. "I fucking hate high school, this is the ninth ring of _hell._ "

"How could you cheat on the test?" Stiles asked, puzzled.

"That's what I said."

"We didn't even know we were having a test."

"I know!"

At that moment, a shadow fell across the door. Both Stiles and Allison looked up to see Noah Stilinski, clad in his very official sheriff's uniform, entering the office. In spite of himself, Stiles whimpered.

Noah stopped in front of the bench, feet apart, thumbs hooked in his belt. He looked beyond frustrated. "It's the first day of school. Your first class." He let out a sigh. "Stiles, I'm not mad. I'm just disappointed."

Stiles and Allison looked at Noah, then at each other, then back to Noah. "Dad, this isn't about me," Stiles said. "Uh." He pointed at Allison.

"I'm sorry," Allison said. Her stomach twisted. When she was growing up with the Argents, disappointing her elders academically had usually ended with Victoria taking a belt to Allison's ribs. "Something happened in math class and it's entirely possible that I listed you on my contact form as my legal guardian." She met Noah's eyes. "I didn't expect anything to actually happen."

Noah considered her. "Well," he said after a moment. "Here I am. Where's the principal?"

The bell rang. Stiles shot to his feet. "I gotta go learn… stuff," he said, backing away. "See you later, Dad. At home, where we live."

"Yes, son, you will," Noah said.

With a grin, Stiles vacated the premises at a near-run.

"I'm sorry," Allison said again.

Noah shook his head. "Allison, it's okay."

Just then, Mr. Andrews returned, trailed by a teacher Allison knew only by sight. "Hello," the principal said, reaching out a hand. "Isaiah Andrews."

"Noah Stilinski," Noah said, shaking hands with a political smile. Allison restrained herself from rolling her eyes. "Pardon the uniform, but a sheriff's job is never done."

The other teacher was introduced as Mr. Lazarov, and they all went back into the office. Allison and Noah settled on the visitor's chairs while Mr. Andrews went behind his desk. Mr. Lazarov perched on the low filing cabinet.

"Has Allison filled you in on what's happened this morning?" Mr. Andrews asked.

"She was about to," Noah said. "I just got here."

"Yes. Well." Mr. Andrews hesitated.

God, Allison was so sick of this day. "My math teacher accused me of cheating on a surprise math test this morning because, and this appears to be the only reason, I'm too stupid to be able to have gotten any of it right," she said.

"What?" Noah exclaimed. There was anger growing on his face, but it wasn't directed at Allison.

"Those weren't her exact words," Mr. Andrews said.

"Close enough."

"That's quite an accusation," Noah said, voice turning hard. "I don't suppose that this teacher has any evidence to support her claims?"

Mr. Lazarov cleared his throat. "She said that someone with Miss Argent's academic background in math wouldn't have been able to answer the questions on the test, in such a short period of time."

"Are you kidding?" Allison demanded. "That test was dead simple."

Mr. Lazarov raised his bushy eyebrows. "You think so?"

"Yes."

"I would not have classified it as such, for someone coming off the sophomore curriculum," Mr. Lazarov said. "Would you be willing to do additional testing?"

"Like what?" Allison demanded. "A quick dunk in the witch pond?"

"Alas, the school board has cut the funding for trial by ordeals this year," said Mr. Lazarov. "No, I mean to write another test."

Allison sat back. This felt like a trap and she couldn't see clear to what was going on. But Noah was there, at least. "Why not? When, after school?"

"Now," said Mr. Lazarov, and produced a sheet of paper.

"Hang on," Noah interrupted. "Regardless of how Allison does on this next test, I want an apology from the math teacher. Accusing someone of cheating just because they're starting to do better in school is a terrible way to motivate students." He looked at Mr. Andrews. "Right?"

"I agree," said Mr. Andrews. "It's on my to-do list, to talk to Miss Woodrow."

Mr. Lazarov handed the paper over to Allison. "This may take some time," he cautioned.

Allison, who had already scanned down the page, said, "I doubt that." Without asking, she pulled a pen from the jar on the principal's desk and started writing.

She had no clear memory of high school math, or even college math. The calculus equations on the page were a little more complex than had been on Woodrow's test, but she could solve these sorts of problems on no sleep compounded by blood loss any day of the week. Even sitting in a quiet office with three grown men watching her, it was probably the easiest test she'd ever written.

She flipped the page over. There was a theorem that she was pretty sure had to do with some math law or another, something about quadratic equations. Shuri had lived for these types of puzzles in her down-time, and to keep up Allison had learned a whole lot over the years so she didn't embarrass herself in front of the superheroes.

She scrawled the final number with vindictive relish and shoved the page back at Mr. Lazarov. Then she crossed one knee over the other demurely, never mind that she was in Erica's faded jeans and a flannel shirt over one of Stiles' worn-out Batman tees. "Can I go now?"

Mr. Andrews's eyebrows were practically reaching his hairline. Mr. Lazarov was scrutinising the paper in the light from the window, making quiet Bulgarian noises to himself.

Noah just settled back in his chair. "I'll be wanting to hear about that apology."

"Yes, this is very interesting," Mr. Lazarov said, coming back over to the desk. "Miss Argent, you must be in my AP Calculus class, very much so."

Allison frowned. "Isn't that a senior class? I'm in junior year."

Mr. Lazarov waved such considerations aside. "It would be a case of a brain much wasted. What do you have in fourth period?"

Allison pulled her crumpled schedule out of her notebook. "French."

"Can you drop it?"

"Depends." She looked at Mr. Andrews. "Can I test out on my language requirement?"

The man leaned back in his chair. "Colleges look more favourably on transcripts with a second language."

"This school doesn't teach anything I can't already speak."

Mr. Andrews frowned. "You can speak French, Spanish _and_ Russian?"

"I had an interesting upbringing."

Noah coughed.

"All right, you can drop French this year. We'll get you into AP Calculus in that period."

"Can I have a free period in first?" Allison asked hopefully.

"No, you need an elective," Mr. Andrews said. "You don't have any art electives on your transcript. How about drama?"

Allison stared at him. " _Drama?_ Please. How about computer science?"

"The only computer science class in first period is for the seniors."

"Great!" Allison said. "Sign me up."

Mr. Andrews studied Allison from across the desk. "Please don't take offense to this, Allison," and yes, that was the best way to begin a conversation. Allison set her jaw. "But I looked over your transcripts. Your past academic showing has been, if I may say, uneven."

There was no malice in the man's words or his posture, so Allison decided to answer with as much truth as all her years of therapy had helped her find. "We moved around a lot when I was young," she said. "And let's just say that my home environment wasn't conducive to a supportive learning environment."

Noah held his breath. Mr. Andrews moved a paperclip on his desk. "I hope that this means you're in a better place, now?"

Allison glanced at Noah. "I am." She looked back to the principal. She should probably temper her behaviour that morning with something that the men would see as feminine and, well, something a seventeen-year-old might say, as much as the idea infuriated her. "I had a lot of down-time this summer. Did a lot of reading, a lot of catching up. I want to do well in school, and I know that I have an opportunity here."

Mr. Lazarov snickered. "She's good," he announced before Mr. Andrews could speak. "Say what you really think, girl." He added in Russian, _"What do you really want out of life?"_

Allison narrowed her eyes as she replied in kind, _"To say fuck you to all the people in my life who think I am too stupid to do anything but marry rich."_

Mr. Lazarov snickered again. _"I pity anyone who thinks you stupid, child."_ He stood, nodded to Noah and the principal, and walked out of the office. "See you in class!" he shouted over his shoulder.

"This year should be fun," Allison muttered.

"So," Mr. Andrews said. "I'll have Mrs. Simms put together your new schedule. You can wait in the office until the next class starts. Okay?"

"Yes."

The principal turned to Noah. "Thank you for coming in today, Sheriff, and at such short notice."

"Of course," Noah said. "It's always a good day to be called in to the high school when there are no bodies around."

Mr. Andrews visibly stuttered.

"Welcome to Beacon Hills," Allison said, and stood at the same time as Noah. They left the office, and went past the secretary and out into the quiet hallway.

There, Noah leaned against the wall and looked at Allison, his arms crossed over his chest.

Allison held her notebook in one hand and put her other hand on her hip, shoulders back. "In my defence, I was left unsupervised," she said.

Noah exhaled. "It's messed up that when a kid starts doing better, they get accused of cheating." He eyed her. "You okay with everything?"

Allison shrugged. "It's not like any of this matters."

Noah waited for a beat. "You mean high school?"

"In part, yeah. Teachers always act like getting bad grades is the end of the world, but it's not."

"Then what is?"

"What?"

"What would be the end of the world?" Noah asked.

Allison had to breathe through a lifetime of memories smashing inside her head; the Snap, the UnSnap, the slow disintegration of the universe. "I don't know. Nazis infiltrating the government. Domestic terrorist attacks using self-immolating suicide bombers. Half the world's population dying at once."

"Those are all very specific," Noah said. His entire posture was radiating _cop_.

"You asked for examples," Allison pointed out. "Getting yelled at by high school teachers who aren't allowed to physically touch you isn't even on the bottom of the list."

Noah exhaled. "Okay. However. Can I ask you to do something for me?"

"You can ask."

"Can you at least _pretend_ to care about school?"

Allison hooked one finger through a belt loop. "I'm stuck here for seven hours a day. I might as well keep myself occupied."

"Thank you." Noah pushed off the wall. "Now, I have to get back to work."

"Okay." Allison took a step back. "Thank you for not just taking off when you realized it was me."

Noah frowned. "Why would I do that?"

"Because I'm not…" Allison stopped, not sure where the sudden lump in her throat had come from. True, the first time she'd lived through this, Noah had become a surrogate father to her, until Derek's death had driven Allison from the Stilinsks.

But this time, Allison was just some kid who had been living in his house for less than a week, and who was causing no end of trouble to him and his family.

And maybe that was why Allison felt like crying. Because she wasn't really anything but a case to Noah Stilinski.

"Hey," Noah said, and his voice was suddenly soothing. "Permission to approach?"

Allison nodded.

He took a step towards her, putting one hand on her upper arm. "You're going through a lot right now, and you need someone in your corner. Right?"

Allison nodded again. Oh god, she could feel tears gathering in her eyes. What _was_ this? Teenage hormones?

"You've got Stiles, you know that, right?"

That was it. One tear, then another, rolled down Allison's cheeks. For so long in her life, she hadn't had Stiles, and even though she did now, the memory of those dark days still ripped at her heart like claws. "I know," she managed to say.

"And you've got me."

Another tear.

"You're a good kid, Allison," Noah went on. "I know that you want to take care of people, I see it with Stiles and with Erica, and all the kids at the picnic. But sometimes, to take care of other people, you need to take care of yourself too."

Allison sniffled. "Put on your own oxygen mask first?"

"Something like that." Noah squeezed her arm and then let go. "It's okay to want to do good in school, and to do fun things with your friends, even when everything feels like it's a total disaster."

"Maybe for other people," Allison said. She wiped her cheeks. "I don't have that luxury."

"Will you at least let us help? Me and Stiles?"

Allison pressed her hand to her mouth as she tried to breathe evenly. "Can we talk about this later?" she asked. "Stiles said he'd come by the station after my shift and we could all go get dinner." She thought about the dwindling stack of cash in her duffle bag. She could probably afford a sandwich, if she could steal some of Stiles' fries."

"That's a good idea," Noah said. He watched her for another moment. "Just try to do your best today, okay?"

"Right," Allison said with false brightness. "Appearances and everything. It is an election year."

Noah winced. "That's not… I didn't mean that."

"It's a good incentive regardless. You might as well have one kid in the house who doesn't spend their days dallying in delinquency."

"That is the dream." Noah stepped back. "I do have to go."

"Right." Allison gave a half-hearted smile. "See you at work."

"Take care of yourself." With that, Noah headed down the hall.

Allison took in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. What the hell was wrong with her? she wondered. She was a grown woman, she didn't just break down and cry when someone was nice to her.

She meandered back into the office. Behind the desk, Mrs. Simms was looking at her with such tender sympathy that Allison suspected she had witnessed the whole scene in the hallway. Damn it. Allison pasted a smile on her face and said, "I need a new class schedule."

"Of course." Mrs. Simms handed over the new listing, with Allison's two new courses. "And, dear." The woman handed Allison a blank contact form. "Bring this back tomorrow, and make sure the Sheriff's signs it for real, this time."

"Okay." She put the papers into her notebook. "Do I have to stay here until the bell rings?"

"Yes, no wandering the halls, even though you are a junior now." Mrs. Simms gestured at the bookcase of college pamphlets. "Why don't you read up on colleges?"

Allison held in a sigh. "Sure."

College. If she lived that long, Allison was going to have to figure out how she could get through _college_.

Maybe she should run off and join the circus, after all.

* * *

Lydia was angry.

No, that was an understatement. Lydia was _furious_.

"It's not fair," she said to Jackson for the third time, at the other end of the lunch table. Allison hunched over her banana, the cheapest thing on the school menu, and wished she couldn't hear. "She gets to write some test and jump up to AP Calculus and I have to stay in junior math? _Mainstream_ math?"

"So why don't you go write some test?" Jackson asked, trying to inhale his meatloaf.

"They didn't ask me," Lydia seethed.

Isaac dropped into the chair across from Allison, beside Stiles and Scott. "Did you hear we have a new gym teacher?" he asked.

"Yeah, Mr. Barton," Stiles said. He was stuck in no-man's land between Allison and Lydia and the uncertainty oozed off him. "He was at the sheriff's department picnic yesterday. He can juggle."

"Whatever." Isaac waited until Erica slipped into the seat on Allison's other side before he stabbed his fork into the day's overly cooked vegetable. "Where's your lunch?"

Allison looked up. "This is it."

Isaac raised one eyebrow. "You're going to eat a banana in the middle of the cafeteria?"

Allison frowned, then looked around. A few of the boys were already staring at her, giggling. She swore.

"You can have my lunch," Erica said.

"No." Allison stopped Erica from pushing her tray over. "You eat." Allison picked up the banana, holding it firmly upright in one hand while she peeled it with the other. Around the cafeteria, conversation faltered.

Once the banana was neatly peeled, Allison examined it, as if considering the best angle of approach. Stiles squeaked. Out of the corner of her eye, Allison saw a few camera phones pointed in her direction.

Then Allison picked up the knife from Erica's tray, sliced the banana down lengthwise, and nipped off the top with the knife to scoop into her mouth. She was pretty sure she heard a cry of actual pain from somewhere in the cafeteria.

Isaac grinned as he shoved vegetables into his mouth.

"I think Alfie just passed out," Stiles said, looking around. "I mean, as demonstrations go, graphic but well-intentioned."

"If you like that, you should see how I eat a popsicle." Allison ate another bite of banana.

"No, see, I never need to see that," Stiles argued. "Because I have enough nightmares."

An abrupt movement, and Lydia was pushing Jackson down the bench to squeeze in next to Allison. "That was entertaining," she announced.

"Are you still mad at me?"

"Yes." Lydia slipped her arm through Allison's, only slightly impeding her ability to eat. Erica leaned around Allison to glare at Lydia. "Why can't I be in AP Calculus?"

"Get your mom to talk to the principal," Allison suggested. She was nearly done her banana, and she was still so hungry her stomach was cramping.

Jackson got up and walked off, leaving his lunch tray beside Lydia. "She says I need to stay in age-appropriate classes," Lydia muttered.

"What's age-inappropriate about math?" Isaac asked, glancing up as Boyd sat on Erica's other side.

"All those differentials and integrals," Allison said. Lydia did not help matters by letting out a little moan and burying her head in her hands. "Seriously. Talk to your mother."

"What did I miss?" Boyd asked.

"Allison got into a fight with the homeroom teacher, aced a math test and nearly gave Miss Woodrow a stroke, then went and got herself kicked up into senior AP calculus and computer science," Erica summarized around a mouthful of salad. "And the sheriff got called to the principal's office."

"Huh." Boyd took out his lunch bag. "Lazarov's class?" Allison nodded. "That's next. I'll see you there. And isn't Danny in that computer science course?"

"I'll ask." Stiles leaned back until he was nearly horizontal. "Danny! Yoo, Danny!"

Danny turned around from where he was talking to one of the other guys on the lacrosse team. He made a _what?_ gesture.

"Are you in first period comp sci?" Stiles shouted. Beside Stiles, Scott hung his head.

Danny nodded.

"Great!" Stiles gave two finger-guns, and promptly fell off the bench.

Jackson returned then, and slapped a tray full of food in front of Allison. "Eat something," he growled, then went back to his seat beside Lydia.

"What?" Lydia asked, startled. "Oh, god, Jackson, you can't just tell someone to _eat_."

Jackson angrily resumed his meal. "She's so hungry that I'm getting a headache." He looked around at the other wolves. "What, like you can't smell how hungry she is?"

Allison clenched her hands under the table. She hadn't realized that any of the wolves had picked up on her hunger pangs. "I don't need this," she said.

"Yes, you do." Jackson was concentrating on a point midway down the table. "Even Isaac's never been this bad."

Isaac went red, slumping in his seat.

Allison stared at the tray. In spite of herself, her mouth was watering at the sight of the luke-warm school lunch in front of her. Taking a deep breath, she reached into her pocket to pull out the four one-dollar-bills she'd gotten back as change from her banana. "I'll pay you the rest," she said. She hated having to owe Jackson anything, but if she didn't eat this food, and _right now_ , she might just take a page out of Peter's book and begin chewing on school staff. "I get paid next Friday."

Jackson stopped mid-chew, looking at the outstretched bills out of the side of his eye. Around them, no one moved.

"Fine," he said, taking the money and shoving it into his pocket.

Lydia looked between Allison and Jackson, her eyes wide.

Across the table, Scott got up and walked off without a word. Stiles stood up, taking a step after him, then stopped. He looked at Allison with a _what do I do?_ expression on his face.

She moved her head in Scott's direction, and Stiles bolted. In the resulting quiet, Isaac dragged over Stiles' uneaten lunch. "Anyone want any of this?" he asked before dumping the food onto his own plate.

Erica edged closer to Allison. "Is having a job terrible?" she asked.

Allison made herself take small bites of the food in front of her. It was nearly cold and objectively terrible, but Allison had spent time in some of the galaxy's worse dives, and she would eat anything.

Except human flesh. She had standards.

Belatedly, she remembered Erica's question. "No. Why?"

"You felt weird when you talked about your job," Erica said.

"No." Allison folded a limp green bean into her mouth. "I like the job. I really do, it's interesting." She was about to say _it's safe in the sheriff's station_ , but Jackson was _right there_ and that would have been a real asshole move even if he hadn't bought her lunch. "I'm just freaking out about money, that's all."

"Don't you, like, have a bank card?" Lydia asked. "You used to spend that money all the time."

Allison chomped on a carrot. "I'd rather starve than touch anything of Chris Argent's."

True, she had taken a chunk of emergency money from the apartment before she left, but she considered that reparations for what Victoria had done to her. And she wasn't about to touch another penny of the Argents' money.

After a pause, Isaac said, "Like, really starve?"

Allison met his eyes. "Yes."

Isaac looked back at her. "Then I guess that's where we're different." He bit down on Stiles' half-eaten sandwich. "If your dad wants to fork over any of that money to a werewolf in need, I'm right here."

At this point, Danny sat down beside Isaac, across from Jackson. "Hey, did you guys hear about the new gym teacher?" he asked, and the question was just enough to pull everyone out of their misery into school gossip, just as it should be at the start of the school year.

Allison was quiet, letting the teenagers talk around her. She wondered what was wrong with Scott, and wished that she could do something other than mess things up with him.

* * *

After the disaster of her morning, Allison was surprised to find that math class was fun. Mr. Lazarov ranted through half the class, starting on mathematics and veering over Eastern European politics, touching on the recycling methods of soft plastics and to solar energy, before flinging a bunch of equations at the class. It reminded Allison a lot of how Bruce Banner had taught her physics.

Mr. Lazarov paired the students up, and Allison was quick to grab Boyd. They spent the last fifteen minutes of class working on some ridiculous math problem, which Allison figured out in the first minute and spent the next ten explaining the process behind it to Boyd. When he solved the problem all on his own, he actually gave Allison a half-smile.

Mr. Lazarov dismissed them all by throwing a handful of papers in the air. They escaped into the hall with the rest of the class as the bell rang.

"I have gym," Allison said. "See you."

"Right. Hey." Boyd held out a hand, hovering over Allison's arm. "Um. Look. These past few days." He cleared his throat. "Your opinion matters to Erica."

"I don't see why."

"Me either," and there was the Boyd Allison had been expecting. "But it does. So don't… don't be mean. Or ditch her for Lydia."

It stung, that Boyd felt the need for this caution, and that Allison completely deserved it. "I won't," Allison said quietly. "Erica's important to me."

"Yeah. And maybe one day I'll figure out why." He walked away without another word.

Allison cast her eyes skyward, hoping for strength. Then she saw the clock, and booked it back to her locker to get her gym clothes. She hoped that whatever Clint Barton had in store for them wasn't too annoying.

She skidded into the locker room, and managed to get out of her street clothes and into the t-shirt and shorts she'd borrowed from Stiles by the time she made it across the room. She jammed her backpack and clothes into a locker, slammed and locked it, and was carrying her sneakers out into the gymnasium before anyone had a chance to say anything to her.

Some of the boys were already there, lounging on the mats. Allison walked over and dropped down beside Stiles. "How was chemistry?"

"Stupid." Stiles chewed on his thumb. "Harris hates me even more than last year, which, I did not think was possible."

"French was fun," Isaac said. "The teacher didn't show up so we watched a movie."

Allison tugged on her shoes, conscious of how Scott was very pointedly not looking at her. "What about you, Scott, how was chemistry?"

Scott poked at a small hole in the mat. "Why didn't you just tell us that you were hungry?" he asked, finally looking at her.

"Because it's my problem," Allison said. "I can handle it."

"But you let Jackson buy you food."

"Because he had a point," Allison said. "If I'm affecting you guys, then that needs to stop."

"But if you need money—"

"I don't need money," Allison snapped. Isaac moved back on the mats. Scott looked like he'd been slapped. "Scott. I've got it handled, okay? Can you leave this alone?"

Scott looked down at his hands. Stiles jittered from a seated position, which Allison knew was both difficult and a bad sign.

"I have it handled," she said again, softer. "I'm going through a lot of big changes and it's a lot to worry about, and I'm not thrilled to talk about it, all right?"

Scott shrugged, still looking at his hands.

Thankfully, Danny and Jackson arrived then, already arguing about something to do with lacrosse. Allison shifted away from the pack of boys, pulling her legs up to her chest and waiting for the class to begin. She wanted to get out of this building, go to the sheriff's department, and do something that was useful to the world.

She didn't want to be sitting on these mats with so many children around, waiting for the shoe to drop when Clint Barton showed up.

Most of the girls came into the gym in a clump. Lydia and Erica detached themselves from the huddle to sit beside Allison. "Why do we have to have mandatory gym class?" Lydia moaned.

"The school board wants to combat childhood obesity," Isaac said.

The glare Lydia sent the boy would have set a less oblivious person on their guard. "Are you calling me _fat?"_ she demanded.

Isaac seemed to wake to his danger. "Oh. Of course not?"

Erica snickered.

Into the chaos stepped Clint Barton, dressed up as a parody of a high school gym teacher: sweatpants, a tight t-shirt displaying the high school crest, a whistle on a lanyard around his neck and a clipboard in his hand.

At Allison's side, Erica straightened up. "Hello, handsome."

"No," Allison said in warning. "Just, no."

"Welcome to the gun show," Danny muttered.

"Hello class," Clint said, radiating boredom. "I'm your new gym teacher, Mr. Barton."

"Where's Coach Finstock?" Isaac asked.

"The school wants Coach Finstock to put his degree to use and teach AP Economics this semester instead of showing the athletically disinclined how to do laps."

"What about lacrosse?" Jackson demanded.

"He'll be at practice after school," Clint said. He lifted his clipboard. "Any other questions?"

"Why is the sky blue?" Allison asked.

"Blue light scatters the most in the atmosphere so that's what you see," Clint said without missing a beat. "Any _relevant_ questions?" Silence. "Attendance. Allison Argent?"

Allison sighed. "Here."

Clint went down the list, then tossed his clipboard across the gym to land perfectly on one of the bleachers. Someone let out a whistle. "All right. There's a bunch of reasons that kids your age should have gym class. I didn't read the pamphlet. We're all stuck here for a while, so let's make the best of this."

Allison stretched out her legs in front of her. This was starting to get entertaining.

"Rules!" Clint crossed his arms over his chest, flexing biceps. Danny exhaled. "No fighting. No horseplay. No groping. And no name-calling." He glared around at the group. _"Do. Not. Do it."_

The group was silent.

"Now." He uncrossed his arms. "We have a special visitor today, who's going to talk to you about one of the tests of physical endurance commonly used, namely the Army's basic training physical fitness test." He paused, taking in how several of the students, including Lydia, wilted. "Don't worry, you don't have to actually pass the test in this class. You just have to try."

"Can I move out of town?" Lydia whispered.

"Class, please welcome…" Clint turned to the doors, and Allison had a moment as the other shoe dropped. "Deputy Sheriff Natasha Rushman."

And into the gym walked Natasha Romanoff, wearing a baggy t-shirt, gym shorts, very little make up, and a flat expression on her face.

"This is fascism," Allison muttered.

"Deputy Rushman is volunteering her time today," Clint said, casting a beady eye around at the students. "Be nice."

Natasha smiled at the group. Allison kept glaring. "Hi, everyone, thanks for having me today."

Isaac muttered something that made Stiles punch him in the arm.

"This fitness test is something that people work up towards to pass basic training in the Army." Natasha looked at a piece of paper in her hand. "Scores are assigned on how many push-ups and sit-ups you can do in two minutes each, and how fast you can complete a two-mile run."

Lydia's hand shot into the air. "What if the answer is none, none and not at all?"

"Then I'm afraid you'll never be a successful recruit with the United States military," Natasha said.

"Deal," Lydia said frostily.

"But to pass this class," Clint put in, "You need to make an attempt."

Another hand went up. "My brother's in the army," said one of the kids Allison didn't know remember. "He said that the test scores for girls are rigged." The anger in his voice made the back of Allison's neck tingle. She'd need to keep an eye on that one.

"The minimum requirements are different for women than they are for men," Natasha said with complete blankness. "But in practice, a lot of women meet the same levels as their male counterparts."

"It's still cheating," said the boy, sulking.

Erica was glaring at the boy like she wanted to sharpen her claws on his sternum. Allison put her hand on Erica's arm, and shook her head, just a fraction. Erica subsided.

"Now, everyone pair off," Clint said. "We're going to try out the first part of the test, and you're going to count your partner's reps. Then we'll run laps or something to fill the time." He looked around. "Go!"

Allison was on her feet, hauling Lydia and Erica up. "Lydia, just try a few," she said. "Erica, don't show off."

"But—"

Allison put her mouth close to Erica's ear. "They're strangers, okay?"

Erica nodded.

By then, the boys were on their feet, so Allison moved towards the pack. She shoved Erica at Jackson. "Play nice," she ordered. Erica and Jackson eyed each other with suspicion. Allison kept moving to deposit Lydia in front of Isaac. "You two can bemoan the necessity of physical exertion at each other, okay?"

"Ugh," Isaac said, while Lydia rolled her eyes.

"Thank you." She saw that Stiles and Scott had already paired up. Good. That left Allison turning in place, looking for someone to work with. She wasn't thrilled with the way Natasha was eyeing her.

"Allison?"

She turned around. Danny was standing nearby. "Hi."

"Count you off?" he said.

Allison let out a breath. "Danny Mahealani, you are both a god amongst men and a true gentleman."

"I try."

They moved down to find a spot of clear mat. "Do you want to go first?" Allison asked.

Danny looked over his shoulder. "I used to let Jackson go first so I could see how many reps I'd need to do to beat him."

Allison stopped. She'd always wondered how early Danny had learned about werewolves in Beacon Hills. No one was really sure when he'd found out or when someone told him, but by the end of high school it was pretty evident he'd picked up on the fact.

Now, Allison looked at Danny and wondered if he'd known this early.

Then again, the wolves in high school hadn't exactly been _subtle_.

"So do you want to go first?" Allison asked.

Danny shook his head. "Why don't you go?"

"Sure."

"Get ready!" Clint shouted. "Count down in ten seconds! Sit-ups first!"

Irritated, Allison dropped to the floor. "Want me to hold your feet?" Danny asked.

"Why not." Allison let Danny put his hands on top of her shoes, gauging her own discomfort. He wasn't gripping her ankles, and she could scoot away if she needed, so it was probably going to be fine.

"Five!" Clint shouted. He continued the countdown, then called out, "Start!"

Still irritated, Allison levered her torso down to the ground, then moved back up. Her core strength had always been good, even before she became the alpha, and afterwards, sit-ups became more of a way to pass the boredom on long spaceflights than anything else. She was never able to do as many as Bucky, because, super soldier, but she could usually match Sam's count.

"What's computer science like?" Allison asked after her tenth rep.

"It's, uh, okay," Danny said. "We're starting to learn C. Last year we did Python."

Allison sighed. Class was going to be so boring. At least maybe she could use the computers to chat with Jarvis during class. "How's the connection speed in the labs?"

"It's pretty good." Danny was frowning at her. "Aren't you getting tired?"

"Why?"

"No reason."

Allison kept up the crunches. She did make an effort to slow down at the one-minute mark, as if she was feeling the burn. From the look on Danny's face, she wasn't being very convincing. "Did you do anything fun this summer?"

Danny described his family's trip to Cabo San Lucas in such brief tones that Allison knew he'd had a miserable time.

"Stop!" Clint yelled.

Allison sat up, resting her arms on her knees. "This will be a better year," she said. "I know it."

"How are you not exhausted?" Danny asked.

"Bananas have a lot of potassium."

Danny laughed.

"Change!"

Allison swapped places with Danny, holding his feet as the count-down started again. She looked around to see what the wolves were doing. Isaac was holding Lydia's ankles, and they were glaring at each other. Jackson and Erica were talking about something in a whisper Allison couldn't hear.

"Start!"

Danny was quiet on his reps, concentrating on his form. Allison had seen his abs… heck, everyone in school had seen Danny's abs, and this was a boy who had perfected his sit-up technique.

Allison counted absently over the two minutes. She noticed that Lydia managed to do at least twenty, with Isaac either cajoling or roasting her the entire time.

When Clint called time again, Danny sprawled back, breathing hard. "Was that seventy?" he gasped.

"Seventy-three," Allison said.

Danny rubbed his eyes. "I almost beat you."

"Eh, who's counting?"

Clint, who was nearby, said, "Counting was the point of the exercise, Argent."

Allison shot him a glare. She couldn't tell if he was in role, or if he was trying to get arise out of her. "Counting's for children and vampires."

"Sure." He turned to the group. "Push-ups!"

Allison sighed. With Clint on a power-trip and Natasha standing off to the side like a red-headed enigma, the class felt surreal. "How many of these do I have to do to pass this stupid test?"

"Thirteen," Natasha called.

"What about the boys?" came that same hostile voice across the room.

"Thirty-five."

Allison looked at Danny, and flashed him a smile. "Thirty-five it is," she said. Danny grinned at her.

Thirteen push-ups was a cakewalk. Even thirty-five was relatively easy. She slowed down at that point, pretending to be tired, but still got to forty-five by the time Clint called time.

She sat up, barely winded, to find a sea of collapsing teenagers around her. "You have got to tell me your work-out routine," Danny said, wide-eyed.

"The training sequence from Mulan," Allison said. "You're up."

Natasha wandered over while Danny was showing off his upper arm strength. She crouched down beside Allison. "You know, there are some times when holding back is the better option," she said in an undertone.

Allison kept her eyes on Danny. "The wisest person I ever knew said something that I try to live by."

"What's that?" Natasha asked.

"Stop!" Clint yelled.

"Guys love it when you can show them you're better than they are at something they love," Allison said. "Good job, Danny."

Danny, lying facedown on the ground, huffed out a wheezing laugh.

"Time for laps!"

Allison hauled Danny to his feet. "We should probably go separate Jackson and Erica."

"Why are they like that?" Danny asked as they made their way back over the mats, to where Jackson and Erica were sniping at each other.

"They're both only children and don't like sharing attention?" Allison stepped into the fracas. "Erica, come on, let's run laps."

"Fine." Erica let Allison drag her away, still glaring at Jackson. "What about Lydia?"

Lydia had marched over to Clint and was saying something to him. The man gave a shrug. Looking mighty pleased with herself, Lydia returned to the group. "I told him I'm walking."

"What did he say?"

"He said he's not getting paid enough to care."

"Laps!" Clint shouted again. "Come on!"

Allison let the wolves and Stiles and Danny stream off to the edges of the gym. "You don't need to go with me," Lydia said. "I know you want to run. You've been bouncing around all afternoon."

"I want to make sure you're okay."

Lydia fumed. "This is so stupid, I need to get into a good college, and this stupid class is going to haul my GPA into the toilet."

"It'll be okay," Allison said. "I know it will."

Lydia shook her head. "Some days I wonder."

"Are you okay? Really?"

Clint coughed. They looked over at him. "I don't care if you're talking, just walk while you're doing it." He drifted off to Natasha's side in the middle of the gym.

"This is so dumb," Lydia muttered. She and Allison started walking around the gym, far enough away from the runners to avoid any collisions.

"You can tell me."

"I just…" Lydia took in a deep breath. "On Sunday. Research and everything with Stiles and Erica, it wasn't… Terrible. But it wasn't you."

"Sunday." Allison tucked her hair behind her ears. "Did Stiles tell you what happened with Scott?"

"That you had a total mental breakdown?" Lydia snapped. "Yes."

Teenagers, Allison reminded herself. They were teenagers, and she was the adult in the room. "It wasn't a mental breakdown," she said, very quietly. "It was a flashback."

Lydia's eyes widened. "A flashback to what?"

Allison took a deep breath. She looked around the gym, locating all the wolves. They were far enough away that she wouldn't be heard. "Something… happened this summer. And I don't want to talk about it, but I've been dealing with it. Sometimes… something happens and I just… go back there."

"Right." Lydia's voice was hollow. "I… right."

"How are you doing with everything?" Allison asked, painfully aware that the Peter Hale complication was likely going to come up as a problem at some point between them. Better keep that quiet for now.

"Oh, just great!" Lydia said with a total lack of sincerity. "Never better!"

Allison slipped her hand through Lydia's arm and slowed her pace to match that of her shorter friend. "Let me know if you want to talk about it, okay?"

Lydia didn't say anything.

As they completed one circuit, Stiles fell out of the running lane to join them. "What are you talking about?" he asked, panting.

"Our shared trauma," Allison replied. "Want to join in?"

"Hell no." He wiped his forehead. "I'm done trying to keep up with everyone. I have lacrosse in half an hour and Finstock always starts us on laps."

"You could quit the team and join debate club," Lydia deadpanned.

"Hmm. Interesting, and no." Stiles walked along beside the girls. "I was going to coast this year, but now that Allison's working with Dad, I might have to get a job or something."

"What are you talking about?" Allison demanded.

"You're making me look bad." Stiles didn't sound like he meant it. "Layabout first-born son, outshone by new foster-kid in the house. I'm pretty sure they made a sitcom out of it in the eighties."

"Your dad doesn't care about that," Allison said. "He just wants you to do well in school and not get arrested this year."

Stiles snorted. "Well, we all have unrealistic dreams, don't we?"

"I'm not getting a job," Lydia said with a sniff. "I have extracurriculars. And I'm running for Class President."

"Why?" Stiles asked as Isaac slowed to join them. "No offense, Lydia, but you're not very civic minded."

Lydia fixed Stiles with a glare. "I'm going to get into Stanford on my first try," she said. "And being on Student Council is going to help."

"Sounds like a lot of extra work," Isaac said. "But you do like telling people what to do."

"Careful, Lahey, or I'm making you my student council running partner," Lydia threatened.

Isaac shuddered.

In the centre of the gym, Clint blew his whistle. "Fine, I get it, you're done with laps," he called. "Everyone get back here and we'll finish up with question period."

"Yes, the traditional part of any gym class," Allison said under her breath. She let Lydia tug her across the gym, where everyone sat on the mats again.

Clint and Natasha stood at the front of the group expectantly. "So," Clint said. "Does anyone have any questions for Deputy Rushman?"

Allison put her hand up.

"Does anyone have any _relevant_ questions for Deputy Rushman?" Clint amended.

Allison put her hand down.

Stiles put his hand up. "What are your thoughts on California State Penal Code section 247-b?" he asked.

Natasha didn't so much as blink. "Don't do it," she said.

"What about section 469?" Stiles went on. At his side, Scott tittered.

"A law enforcement officer is charged with enforcing the law, Mr. Stilinski," Natasha said. "If you want to change the laws, go into politics."

Isaac's hand went up. "Does being a cop pay well?"

"Not really."

"Then why do it?" Scott asked.

Natasha looked at him. "Because keeping people safe is a worthwhile career goal," she said.

Allison drummed her fingers against her knee. This was all going too smoothly, and Allison was too tired after her first day of school to try to pry out the hidden agendas of these agents of SHIELD.

"Do you know, like, any martial arts?" someone asked in the back.

Natasha lifted her head a fraction. "I do."

"Like what?"

"Muay Thai and jiu-jitsu, among others."

"Could you show us?"

What a perfect set up. Allison wondered briefly what innocent child they'd tricked into asking the question, then decided she didn't care.

"I could," Natasha said. "But I'd need a volunteer."

Allison sat up. Far be it for her to ruin Clint and Natasha's carefully laid plans. Stiles was looking at her, his eyes wide. "Allison, no," he hissed.

"Allison, _yes."_ She put up her hand.

"Yes, Argent?" Clint said.

Allison rose to her feet in a fluid motion. Stiles whimpered. "If I do this, can we all leave early?" she asked.

"Sure."

"Fine." Allison kicked off her shoes and peeled off her socks. Natasha was doing the same.

"Oh, this is bad," Stiles muttered.

"Why?" Lydia demanded.

Allison crossed the mats to stand in front of Natasha. The woman looked up at her, green eyes calculating. "Do you know jiu-jitsu?" she asked.

"A little," Allison replied. "I've picked up a bit of this, a bit of that."

"Do you know how to fall?"

Allison smiled, all her irritation at the petty torments of high school falling away in the face of a fight. "I've made falling an art form."

"All right," Clint said. "Kids, don't try this at home."

"Oh my god," Allison heard Stiles say, as Natasha lunged at her. The woman caught Allison's arms in a classic jiu-jitsu hold, trying to pull her off-balance. Allison put her weight on her left leg and swiped at Natasha's knee with her right foot. Natasha, taken by surprise, let her centre of gravity shift, and Allison was able to roll backwards, pulling Natasha along with her. As her back hit the mats, she pushed Natasha over her head, separating them, then she continued in the roll, over her shoulder and up onto a knee.

Natasha scrambled to her feet, all traces of Deputy Rushman gone. This was the Black Widow, a woman Allison had known for only a few short years before she had died in the race to find the Soul Stone.

Allison flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Best two out of three?"

"All right." Natasha backed up a step. "You lead."

"I bet you say that to all the boys," Allison said, and lunged. She knew it was a lost cause before she started; Natasha's skills on defense were legendary. Bucky had told Allison stories about Natasha's prowess, about how he himself had trained her back in the old days of the Red Room. But seeing it in action, even dialed back in front of a high school gym class, was poetry in violent motion.

Natasha let Allison grab her arm, then she spun into Allison's body, her shoulder jamming hard against Allison's breastbone. At the same time, Natasha reached down and grabbed Allison's thigh just under the knee. It was inevitable, really, that Natasha throw Allison over her shoulder and slam her to the ground.

What Natasha had likely not expected was for Allison to grab her ankle and yank as hard as she could. Natasha fell beside Allison as Allison spun away, one hand on the ground as she pushed herself up, dancing backwards out of reach.

"That looked like a draw," Clint said from a distance.

Natasha sent him an annoyed glare. "You're good at this," she said, turning back to Allison. "What dojo do you go to?"

"School of hard knocks," Allison said. "Come on, are we going to wisecrack or are we going to fight?"

"We can fight," Natasha said, and sprung.

Allison recognized the move before Natasha reached her. It was classic Red Room, designed to maim, not kill, and Allison reacted on instinct, sliding into defence just like Bucky had taught her. Natasha stepped on Allison's thigh to propel herself up into a swinging scissor kick. Allison threw her weight back as she grabbed Natasha's knee mid-air, spinning to throw Natasha off balance. Natasha grabbed the back of Allison's shirt, trying to gain leverage to stay in control.

If that was what Natasha wanted. Allison let Natasha's leg go and looped her right arm around the woman's waist, then twisted her own body to throw them both to the ground.

Natasha's back hit the mat, driving the air from her lungs. Allison rolled off to the side, spider-crawling a few feet away in case Natasha got up to continue the attack.

"What's going on here?" demanded a male voice. Allison didn't look around, keeping all her attention on the active threat.

"Martial arts demonstration," Clint replied. At his words, Natasha let her head hit the mat, and Allison could relax.

The fight was over, and Allison still wasn't sure what the point had been.

"Do you have a permission form for this?" It was Mr. Andrews, the principal.

"It's okay," Allison said. She stood up. "We work together."

"No," said Mr. Andrews. "Hands-on demonstrations like this require a signed permission form."

"My mistake," Clint said easily. He walked over to Natasha and held out his hand. "But we're all good, right?"

"We are," Natasha said. "Allison?"

Allison adjusted her shirt. "Of course."

Mr. Andrews did not look convinced. "Mr. Barton, a word?"

"Sure." Clint looked over the class. "That was the deal, you can all leave."

The stampede of students to the locker rooms was almost comical. Allison took a moment to grab her shoes, give Natasha an appraising once-over, then she sauntered towards the locker rooms herself. That had been just what she needed to get rid of a little tension. If she hadn't been working that afternoon, she might just have tracked Peter down to see if he could finish the job.

The girls' locker room was full of whispers on Allison's arrival. She ignored them, going to retrieve her clothes. If she hurried, she could catch the city bus that ran outside the high school in the direction of the sheriff's station.

"What was that?" Lydia demanded, nearly tripping into Allison.

"What was what?"

" _That_ ," Lydia hissed. Erica was standing at her shoulder, looking more than a little uncertain. "Where did you learn to fight like that?"

Allison shoved her gym clothes into her backpack, then dumped her sneakers on top. "I told you, it's been a weird summer." She pulled the Batman t-shirt over her head.

"That looked really cool," Erica said. "Did Deputy Rushman show you how to do any of that at work?"

"Hardly." Allison stepped into her jeans. "I'm an intern. All I do is file papers and make phone calls."

Lydia made an irritated noise. "I'm not going to have to learn that, am I?"

"No." Allison tied the flannel shirt around her waist. She needed to cool down. "You've got other ways to defend yourself."

"Right." Lydia paused. "Wait, what?"

"We'll figure it out." Allison sat to pull on her socks. "What are you doing now?"

"Going to study in the library until Jackson's done lacrosse practice."

Allison jammed on her boots. "Erica?"

"Boyd and me are going to watch the practice," Erica said. "Isaac's a little nervous."

"Sounds good." Allison stood. "See you tomorrow."

She picked up her backpack and strode out of the locker room. Clint and Mr. Andrews were in the hall, still arguing, so Allison hung a right to escape the school through the doors to the sports field.

"Where did you learn to fight?"

Natasha's question startled Allison. The woman was leaning against the wall, looking completely unflappable. But there was a tension in her eyes Allison didn't understand.

"Around," Allison said. "Picked up a few things in France this summer."

"You have a very interesting technique. Reminds me a little of someone I've met before."

Shit. Allison had gotten most of her fight training from Bucky, and the rest from Sam, who in turn had picked up a few tricks from Steve Rogers over the years. And Natasha had likely seen that in the brief fight.

Allison didn't let herself react. "Maybe we were trained by some of the same people."

Natasha let out a breath, but otherwise she was completely still. "That would be very interesting."

"It would." Allison hitched her bag up on her shoulder. "I have to go to work."

"See you later," Natasha said. She didn't move as Allison walked past her, giving a wide berth, and down the hall.

Out in the open air, Allison cursed. Was that the point of the exercise? she wondered. But no, that didn't make any sense. None of this made any sense. Why would Natasha want to see her fighting skills?

In the distance, Allison spotted the city bus approaching the stop by the school, and she broke into a run. She could think about the disaster she was making of her life later.

* * *

"Argent."

Allison paused in the lobby of the sheriff's station. Deputy Strong was on duty at the front desk. "Yes?"

"Sheriff wants to see you."

"Great." Allison headed in the direction of Noah's office. He was at his desk, on the phone. Allison hesitated in the doorway, but he waved her in. She perched on the visitor's chair while he wrote on a notepad.

"What did the necropsy show?" Noah asked.

With her alpha hearing, Allison could make out the voice on the other end of the line. "Same as the others. Bite marks on the ribs and limbs, most of the body eaten. The vet's never seen teeth marks like these, though. He's got a call into the university to see if any of the zoology profs can help us out."

"Well, let me know what you find out."

"Will do."

Noah hung up. "Allison, hi."

"Hello." Allison craned her neck to see the paper. "Got a new case?"

"Maybe." Noah sat back. "Maybe you do."

Allison's head snapped up. "Huh?"

Noah tapped the notepad. "I just got a call from the sheriff up in Klamath Falls."

"About homicide?" Allison asked.

"More like animal control."

Allison frowned. "Why?"

"Over the last week, hikers have found the remains of a few deer and elk in the mountains east of town. No one's really sure what took them down."

Allison thought about the geography of the surrounding territory. "Maybe bears?" she suggested. "It's getting closer to hibernation season."

"It's not bears, or cougar." Noah sat back. "And it's not wolves."

Allison looked at him. "You mean, like…"

"Like wolves," Noah said. A smile ghosted over his face. "Oregon's grey wolf program is reintroducing breeding pairs up in the north-east. There haven't been any sightings south of Baker City."

Allison put her backpack on the ground, thinking. It was unlikely to be werewolves; even an omega would have stopped after one kill. There was a limit to how much a werewolf stomach could hold.

"So," Noah said. "We made a deal. I tell you about the weird ones, you look into them."

Allison tilted her head. "This isn't just about Klamath Falls, is it."

"Nope." Noah plucked a folder off the desk. "About a month ago, something came across the wire from Sun Valley in Idaho." He handed her the file. "Something real similar. Some mountain goats and elk again."

"Big game," Allison said, reading over the briefing note. "They ruled out poachers. These animals would be too big for a coyote kill…." She bit her lip, thinking. "Any sign of knife scoring on the bones? Poachers trying to cover their tracks?"

"Poachers tend to take trophies," Noah said. "These carcases were intact, outside being chewed on."

Allison sat back. "What do you want me to do?"

Noah spread his hands. "Klamath Falls isn't too far north of here. Maybe get on the horn to the parks service to see if anything's heading in this direction."

Allison closed the folder. "Do you have any reason to think it is?"

"If it's the same thing? It's heading south and west, and I'm a little nervous that Beacon Hills might be in its path," Noah said.

Allison looked at Noah. "Is this some sort of test?" she asked after a moment.

"No." Noah looked back at her. "It's just the faintest shred of a hunch, and I can't justify having any of my deputies spending time looking into a handful of out-of-state animal deaths."

"But your ill-paid intern can?"

"Do you have anything else to do?"

Allison wrinkled her nose. "Not really. Are there any pictures from Sun Valley or Klamath Falls?"

"Mark has them at the front desk. I hear they're a bit gruesome."

"I can handle it. Whose desk can I use?" Allison stood.

"Take Ibarra's, he's out until Thursday."

"Thanks." Allison headed towards the door.

"Allison?" Noah called. Allison paused. "Any reason why the school office left me a message to call them back ten minutes ago?"

"Oh." Allison reviewed her day. "I don't think so." She started to turn. "Oh, it might have been because Mr. Barton and Deputy Rushman were doing a demonstration of the army fitness test that turned into a martial arts demonstration for which apparently I needed a signed permission slip."

Noah's expression was incredulous.

"Oh, Natasha didn't tell you she was moonlighting at the high school?" Allison asked, innocent as sunrise. Then she gave Noah a smile and swept out of the office.

She grabbed a chunky folder from Deputy Strong, then headed back to the bullpen where she collapsed at Deputy Ibarra's desk. She sat for a minute, exhausted after her long day at school. Then she got out a map of the western states, highlighted the town names of Sun Valley and Klamath Falls, and popped open the folder of photos.

They showed about what she expected. The remains of the deer and elk had been ravaged, meat scraped off bone, and that made Allison cross simple hunting or poaching off her list. A poacher would have cut the meat off the animal in sections, or carved off whole chunks. A trophy hunter would likely have taken the heads or hooves, and on these animals those were intact.

That left Allison with three likely possibilities. The first was a human who was attacking these animals for pure violence. If that was the case, that person needed to be found and stopped, as violent animal harm was often the precursor to hurting other humans.

The second was a sentient supernatural creature. Allison hoped that was what it was, so it could be reasoned with and, most importantly, told to get out of town and to stop killing. And if such a creature disagreed with the request, Allison would beat on it for a while until it got her point.

The third possibility, and the one Allison dreaded, was a true monster, desiring nothing but violence and carnage. You couldn't reason with a monster. You could only put it down.

And maybe that was the difference between Allison and what the Argents stood for. Allison killed monsters to protect people. The Argents saw a monster in anything that was different, when maybe they should have started by looking in a mirror.

The pictures of the tooth marks on the bones were indistinct and practically useless for Allison's purposes. She dropped them onto the desk and turned to the computer to pull up a list of all the law enforcement offices and park ranger stations in a vague path between Sun Valley and Klamath Falls. Then she started dialing.

As with most leg work, she was met with mostly failure. At least the people on the other end of the line answered her questions, asked in a voice half an octave lower than her usual, and from a Beacon Hills Sheriff's Department number.

One call sounded promising. A park ranger in Malheur National Forest in Oregon said a Boy Scout troop had found the scattered remains of two elk a few weeks previous, with tooth markings that he hadn't been able to identify. Allison suggested that he get in touch with the Klamath Falls sheriff station, and rang off.

She made a mark on her map. It was possible to get from Sun Valley to Malheur National Forest, then down to Klamath Falls either by road, or by sparsely inhabited mountainous terrain.

That probably ruled out a human; most often, violence like that was centred around the malefactor's home terrain, or along a route traveled for work. But the forward advance of the attacks suggested a more migratory path.

And it might be heading straight for Beacon Hills.

Allison checked the time. She had an hour left on her shift. Enough time for another round of phone calls. She drew a cut north of Sun Valley, up the foot of the Rockies, and circled all the places along the mountains that were large enough to have some sort of eyes on the forested terrain, but small enough to avoid an overwhelming human presence.

Reaching for the phone, she was about to dial the first number when someone stopped by her desk. It was Deputy Callahan, Emma's dad. "Deputy," Allison said, hand still on the receiver.

"Allison." The man looked a little embarrassed, hooking his thumbs in his belt. Allison wondered if they taught that stance at the police academy. "Can I ask a question?"

"Of course," Allison said evenly, leaning back in the chair.

"Those flower crowns you were showing the girls yesterday. Do you got a pattern or something? Emma won't stop talking about them."

Allison blinked. Not what she had expected, but easy enough to sort. "There's a whole bunch of tutorials online," she said. "You can use fake flowers, too, if you don't want the petals flaking off all over the house."

"Right." The man tapped his belt. "Thanks." He turned to leave, then stopped. "And thanks for watching out for Emma yesterday."

Allison met his eyes, and gave a nod. The man nodded back, and walked away.

Allison took a moment to compose herself. Yesterday was over. There had been no sightings of the brown pickup, and nothing from Derek about the omega sticking around town. He was gone, and no one was in any danger.

In Allison's book, that was a win all around.

She picked up the phone. She had calls to make.

Her pattern of attack was a steady east-west sweep across the state, inching north. Most of the calls were a bust. Dialing up the station in Grangeville, Allison didn't hold out much hope for anything different.

"Grangeville Police Station."

"Hello, I'm calling from the Beacon Hills Sheriff's Department in California," Allison said, affecting boredom. "Allison Argent, I'm a research assistant. I'm calling law enforcement offices in Idaho to check on if you've had any reports of predator attacks on large game animals in the area over the last two months or so."

Complete silence. Allison snapped to attention. "You're calling from where?" the person on the other end of the line said after a moment.

"Beacon Hills, California." Allison pulled over her map and circled Grangeville in red. "We're about an hour and a half south of Klamath Falls in Oregon. They had some similar attacks last week. Sun Valley got hit last month."

The other person let out a sigh. "Shit."

"Have you had anything suspicious happen?" Allison asked.

"You can sure as hell say that."

"Were animals attacked?"

"No. Two hikers up in the Nez Perce–Clearwater forests went missing about six weeks ago. Rangers just found them a few days ago…" he trailed off. "Look, I think my boss had better talk to your boss."

"Absolutely," Allison said. "Is your chief in? The sheriff's still in the office, he can call you."

"Sure." The man gave Allison a phone number. "Look, I gotta tell you, we get the odd bear attack up around here, but nothing like this. Something unzipped those boys' tent, and I ain't never seen a bear with opposable thumbs."

"Jesus." Allison ripped a page off her notebook. "I'll go grab my boss right now."

"Do that. If this thing is in your neck of the woods, good luck."

Allison rang off, gathered up her notebook and map, and booked it to Noah's office. She found Stiles already there, ranting about lacrosse and first string.

She didn't bother to interrupt, just walked around the desk to put the map in front of Noah. "What did you find?" Noah asked.

"More animals were attacked in Malheur National Forest about a month ago." She moved her pencil up to the newest red circle. "But six weeks ago, two hikers went missing in the Nez Perce–Clearwater forests. Their bodies were found a few days ago. And the guy I talked to at the Grangeville police station sounded spooked." She slapped the notepaper on top of the map. "He said you'd better call his boss."

Noah traced the line between Nez Perce–Clearwater, Sun Valley, Malheur, and then down to Klamath Falls. The motion only too easily slid south towards Beacon Hills. "I'd better make that call," he said.

"What do you think it is?" Stiles asked, leaning against Allison's shoulder to see the map.

"I don't know," Allison said. "And that's what worries me."

Noah reached for his phone. "All right, kids, out. Let me make this call and then we can figure out what we're doing for dinner."

"But—" Allison started.

"Now that we know there's two human victims, I have to be the one to follow up on this," Noah said. "Sorry, Allison."

"Fine," Allison said through gritted teeth. "We'll be in the break room."

"I'll be there as soon as I can."

Allison grabbed Stiles by the arm and hauled him out into the bullpen. "This is so unfair," Allison muttered as she tidied up Ibarra's desk. "I did the leg work, I found the victims. No one was even looking for a connection."

"He's not wrong," Stiles said. "I mean, he's the sheriff. He might get more information than a high school junior who moonlights as a filing clerk."

"Stiles," Allison said. She picked up her backpack. "Stop helping."

Stiles shut up.

They went into the break room, where Stiles fed money into the vending machine until it spit out a candy bar. He chewed in silence while Allison drank a few glasses of water from the cooler. She'd forgotten how much talking on the phone made her thirsty.

"Why aren't you eating more?" Stiles finally asked.

Allison washed her glass in the sink. "Do we really have to do this?"

"Since it was _Jackson_ who noticed at lunch, yes." He bit off another chunk of Snickers.

"I don't want to be a burden," Allison said. "And I don't know when I'm going to get any money to pay your dad back for the school supplies, and I need clothes, and working minimum wage doesn't really make much of a difference."

"When Derek became…" Stiles made a circular gesture with his candy bar. "You know. He started eating, like, three times as much as he did before."

Allison dried her hands with a paper towel. "Your point?"

"You eat less than I do," Stiles said. He wasn't blinking. "And I did some math. To be as strong as you are, your metabolism has to be cranked. Like, super cranked."

"Your _point?"_ Allison repeated.

"So you should eat more." Stiles' free hand fidgeted with the zipper on his hoodie. "Or I'll tell Dad."

Allison's glare turned icy. "Or you'll tell Noah, what?"

"That you're not eating enough."

Allison stalked across the room to stand in front of Stiles. "Do you really want to tug on this thread?"

Stiles didn't back down. "Yes. Because if _Jackson_ thinks it's a problem, then it's a real fucking problem."

Allison wanted to scream. "Stiles—"

"If it was Erica?" and oh god, Allison was going to get mighty sick of everyone whipping out the comparisons to Erica. "If she wasn't eating enough?"

"That's different."

"Why?"

"You know why?"

"Just because you're a fraction less likely to bite out someone's liver if you don't get your afternoon snacks, doesn't mean it's not a big deal."

Allison tried to breathe deep, seeking patience. "Stiles, I won't take charity—"

"Eating food isn't charity, it's an actual human right." Stiles held out his candy bar. "Like, you staying at our house and we're not giving you enough to eat? That's cruel and unusual punishment."

Allison kept breathing. She wanted to tell Stiles where he could stick his human rights. But god, she was just so hungry all the time.

"If it makes you feel any better, we can keep a running tally on how much the food bill goes up and you can put it on that stupid tab thing you have with Dad."

Allison's last excuse crumpled away. "You better," she said, curling one arm around Stiles' shoulders and stealing the candy bar with her other hand. She took a bite and handed it back before releasing Stiles.

Stiles took the Snickers, looked askance at her teeth marks, then shrugged and shoved the rest of it in his mouth.

"Hey, kids, you ready to go?" Noah asked, entering the break room. He was holding his hat and his keys.

"Yes," Stiles said immediately. "What did you find? What's going on?"

"Nothing, I—" Noah stopped, and visibly changed tracks. "You know what? I'll tell you about it over dinner. Come on. Where are we going?"

"First day back to school, and Stiles gets to pick the restaurant," the boy said smugly. Allison glared at him. He'd known this before he'd tricked her into the deal about the food. "And Stiles says, all-you-can-eat barbecue."

Allison frowned at him. "Where is there all-you-can-eat barbecue in this town?"

"There isn't," Noah said. "But I'm paying, which turns into all-you-can-eat."

Allison opened her mouth to protest, but Stiles said, "Liver?" and Allison snapped her mouth shut again.

Noah looked between Stiles and Allison. "Did I miss anything?"

"Probably," Stiles said. "Come on, I'm starving."

"You're always starving," Noah said as he let the two of them precede him out of the room.

"I had lacrosse!" Stiles protested. "Finstock was a beast. And not in a good way!"

"Ew," Allison said.

Stiles made a face. "Not like that, _gross._ "

Noah sighed. "Sounds like today ended up all right, after all."

Allison thought about the day's ups and downs, and she remembered what Sam used to say, that every day where everyone makes it through, is a good day. "Yeah," she said. "I guess so."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wisest person Alison has ever known is apparently Leslie Knope:  
> 
> 
>   * [California State Penal Code section 247-b](https://www.shouselaw.com/penal-code-247b)
>   * [Penal Code 469](https://www.shouselaw.com/duplicating-key)
>   * Yes, Stiles literally pulled a "you're not yourself when you're hungry, eat a snickers™" on Allison.
>   * I am never writing a chapter with so many moving characters again.
>   * And don't at me about the math. I'm write for a living.
> 



	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allison goes to Peter's place for research on the latest supernatural creature threatening Beacon Hills, and gets more than (or, rather, exactly what) she bargained for. Peter wonders what he's doing with Allison, considering everything the Argents had done to him. Later, Allison has an early-morning therapy session at school with Jackson. And the first week of school isn't even over yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Making up Hales wholesale, but there were ~~ten~~ nine people in that house when it burned down and we know the names of exactly two of them.
> 
> A shorter chapter this time as I again wrote two chapters into one, but I've taken the second part out and will post on Wednesday for better thematic flow.
> 
> Content warning: Another request to pay attention to the tags. The chapter contains reference to past violence, as well as a (mostly off-screen) sex scene. Also, one character ponders theoretical violence towards an intimate partner (but doesn't actually harm her, and never will).

* * *

Allison managed about five hours of sleep, waking up at four on Wednesday morning. That left her with some free time to check her internet searches for any Extremis developments or any hints of Hydra activity, all to a stunning lack of success.

The second day of school was slightly more tolerable than the first. Allison survived history class, although she wasn't sure what to make of the teacher. Biology was boring, as Mr. Arthurs didn't seem to want to hear anything but the sound of his own voice. Math was interesting, at least, with Mr. Lazarov introducing the class to the concept of geometry equations with complex variables.

Lunch was … odd. Allison had brought lunch from home so there were no repeats of the Jackson debacle. Lydia was in top sarcastic form. Isaac and Erica got into an argument over some TV show, and a few lunch items were spattered around, but it didn't devolve into an actual food fight. Scott sat on the end of the group and left halfway through the meal. Again, Stiles went after him. Allison hoped that Scott would sort himself out soon.

Gym was blessedly Black-Widow-free. Clint had the students rotate through stations, and Allison could run laps for an hour without anyone bothering her.

Her last class of the day was computer science. The teacher droned on about programming languages while most of the class, including Danny, seemed to ignore him and do their own work. Once Allison had completed the challenge on the board, she turned to a perusal of used motorcycles for sale in town. She really hoped she got her new licence soon. Relying on Stiles for rides everywhere in the blue eyesore grated on her nerves.

After school ended, Stiles caught Allison beside her locker. "Uh," he said.

"What?" Allison asked as she pulled her history assignment from the bottom of the mess.

"Scott wants to hang out."

Allison dug around for her biology textbook. "I take it from the look on your face that the invitation does not extend to me."

"Yeah, no." Stiles watched Allison stuff her sneakers into her backpack. "We're going over to his house."

"Okay." Allison zipped the bag. "See you later."

Stiles rubbed his jaw. "I mean, I can drive you home."

Allison slung the bag straps over her shoulder. "Or you can go hang out with Scott." He was still hesitating. "Seriously, Stiles, go. I'll get home okay."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Okay." Stiles took a few steps back. "Call if Hunters happen."

Allison rolled her eyes, but at least Stiles left.

"Do you need a ride?" Erica asked, stopping at her own locker. "My mom's picking me up."

"That would be great." Allison leaned against the wall. "What are you doing tonight?"

"English assignment," Erica said, making a face. "And it's Wednesday, so it's family dinner night."

"That doesn't sound so bad."

"It's not." Erica slammed her locker. "Just, sometimes it's nicer when Isaac is there. Dad tends to talk to him more."

"No Isaac tonight?"

"He's picking up some work at the rink with Boyd." Together, Allison and Erica walked down the hallway. "The owner can pay Isaac off the books and Isaac gets cash, so everyone's happy."

"Are you?"

Erica stopped and turned to Allison. "What?"

"Are you happy with how things are working out?"

Erica looked at the ceiling for a moment. "I don't think Isaac likes having to bounce around so much," she said. "But I don't know how to ask my parents if he can stay more."

"Do you want him to?" Allison asked. "Because there are other options."

"He can't stay with Boyd full-time, either," Erica said, and that was an answer of sorts. "Boyd's house is small and his sisters are all over the place."

"I wasn't thinking of that." Allison hooked her arm through Erica's and started walking again. "Tell me, how are Isaac and Jackson getting along?"

* * *

Erica's mom dropped Allison off at the Stilinskis'. Allison went int a silent house, picked the mail up off the hall floor, and wandered up to her bedroom.

She wasn't working, she barely had any homework, and both Stiles and Noah would be out for hours yet. So what did she want to do?

As if the thought summoned him, Allison's phone beeped with a message from Noah.

_ME in Grangerville confirmed teeth marks appear identical to ones on animal remains. If you have any suggestions on leads, let me know._

God, Noah texted like such a cop.

 _I'll see what I can dig up,_ Allison wrote back. She wandered around her bedroom, unpacking her bag absently. Who in town would have any supernatural insight that she could tap into?

There was Dr. Deaton, of course, but Allison wasn't ready to walk down that road quite yet. Deaton had always been an enigma, and he was more an ally to Derek and Scott than he had ever been to her.

Then there was Derek, which, just, no. If Allison told Derek about the possible threat, he'd have the wolves out investigating, which could potentially end up with teenagers getting hurt… or worse.

However, that left another Hale. Peter might be home, and she could combine a visit to the man's wall of books with a nice, normal afternoon run.

Allison took stock. She had her phone with Jarvis's monitoring program, and if she stuck to the more popular streets, it was highly unlikely that she would be molested by any of Dupont's cronies.

Satisfied, Allison changed into her running clothes, braided her hair, and headed out, first stopping to leave a note on the kitchen table in case anyone got home before her.

The run was cathartic. She headed towards the river path, sharing the walkway with other runners and pedestrians. Taking advantage of the crowd for cover, she went north over the old bridge at a relatively fast clip for a human.

On the other side of the river, she headed uphill, in the general direction of Peter's place. She hadn't seen anyone following her, but just in case, she continued north for a few blocks before ducking back and around through a service alley that spit her out onto Peter's street. There were no vehicles around, so Allison ran straight up to Peter's door and knocked.

Allison could hear movement inside, footsteps heading in the direction of the door, then nothing. She looked directly at the peephole and said, "Are you going to let me in or not?"

The door opened reluctantly. "What do you want?" Peter asked, and oh god, even irritated, he looked good.

Allison swallowed on the sudden wave of _want mine want_ that surged in her. "I'm here to riffle through your pages."

Peter frowned. "Is that as painful as it sounds?"

"Probably not." Neither of them moved. "Really, though, I need to look at your library."

Peter sighed. "This is a bad idea," he muttered, but he stepped aside.

"Why have books if no one looks at them?" Allison asked. She kicked out of her shoes and socks as Peter closed the door. "More to the point, why collect anything if you don't let others see?"

Peter walked into the apartment, leaving her by the door. "Because I see it, isn't that enough?"

"Maybe." Allison followed him, eyes on the snug fit of his jeans. "Anyway, do you have anything on carnivorous creatures that can unzip a tent flap?"

Peter sat on the couch, propping one foot up on the coffee table. "Why?"

Allison wandered over to the bookshelf that covered an entire wall of the apartment. "Something's killing game animals and hikers and eating most of their bodies," she said. She'd never figured out the logic behind Peter's book sorting system, which he changed regularly. For one solid year, he'd organized his books by publication date, and it drove Allison up the wall.

"That doesn't sound like my problem."

"The creature's trail seems to be heading in the direction of Beacon Hills." Allison craned her neck. "Like everything else seems to end up here. If it's on its way, I'd like to stop it before it kills anyone in town."

"Still not seeing how this is my problem."

"I never said it was your problem." Allison jumped to see the titles on an upper shelf. "It's mine." She jumped again.

"For fuck's sake." Peter appeared at her side, looking intensely annoyed. "Stop it."

Allison ran her tongue over her lower lip. "Why?"

Peter retrieved a small stepladder. "You're giving me a headache."

"Sorry." Allison set the stepladder down, climbed it, and reached for the book she'd been eyeing. _Flesh-Eaters of Legend_ was a hefty tome, and she had to rest it against the shelf as she opened the cover to find the table of contents.

"Really?"

Allison glanced down to find Peter staring at her ass. "What?"

"Why did you really come here?"

"I told you, for books."

"Give it to me." She gave him the book, which he dropped on a lower shelf before putting his hands around her waist to lift her to the ground.

The sudden nearness sent Allison's breath fluttering in her mouth. "Yes?" she asked, hands on his shoulders. It was an echo of the way they'd stood that first night, after the chase through the woods, and the memory sent a flame of warmth through her belly.

Peter leaned in, close enough to kiss. His eyes were dark. "I doubt it's the attraction of my books that's making you smell like that."

"Like what?"

With his breath ghosting over her cheek, Peter said, "Like you want to climb into my bed and never leave." He paused for a beat. "Also, gravy?"

Allison let out a huff. "I thought I got all that out," she said as she pulled her braid over her shoulder.

"Do I even want to ask?"

"Werewolf puppies getting excitable at lunch." Allison sniffed at her hair. "Damn it."

"You could…" Peter trailed off. "If you wanted to take a shower."

Allison let her braid fall. "If I wanted to take a shower…"

"You could." His expression was inscrutable.

"I could," she agreed. He didn't move. "Did you want to join me?"

"It's not that big of a shower."

Allison looked at him for a few moments. "Okay," she finally said. "I have no idea where this is going."

"I just offered—"

"Peter." He closed his mouth. "Tell me what you want."

After a moment, Peter ran his gaze down her body, then back up, lingering on her breasts. "Wouldn't that ruin the moment?"

"You know what ruins the moment?" Allison asked. "Trying to second-guess what's going on in your head."

"Oh, likewise," and now he was getting defensive.

"Great. So," Allison said, stepping closer to him. "You could tell me exactly what you want me to do." She stared at him. "And then have the satisfaction of hearing me say yes."

"There's a difference between saying and doing," Peter pointed out, but Allison could tell that he was tempted.

"Then ask me," Allison said. She kissed the corner of his mouth. "And I'll say, and I'll do."

Peter let out his breath. "Are you sure?"

"As long as we stick to the ground rules."

He put his hands around her waist, below the hem of her running tank. His touch on bare skin sent a thrill down her spine. It took him a moment to speak. "If you have a shower, then we could figure out if I have the books you need." He looked at her. "Then I could take you to bed."

"Do you have anything in particular you'd like?" Allison whispered.

"I'm sure I'll come up with something." He moved forward to kiss her then, a soft press of lips before he was licking his way into her mouth. She had just reached up to wrap her arms around his shoulders when he pulled back, stepping all the way away. "Go."

Allison glared, caught off-guard. Of course, Peter would want to turn the situation to one where he was in control. Why was she even surprised any more? "Do you have something I can change into?" she asked, gesturing down at her sweaty running clothes.

"There's a robe in there."

"Fine." Allison turned and headed in the direction of the bathroom, putting an extra sway in her step as she went.

In the bathroom, she stripped out of her clothes, undid her braid, and hopped into the shower. She gave herself a good soaping before washing her hair. It didn't take her long, and soon she was out, drying off with Peter's ridiculously thick towels. Searching the drawers did not produce a brush, so she set about trying to untangle her hair with her fingers.

She really had no idea what she was doing. Sure, pilfering Peter's library was always a good plan when things in Beacon Hills got weird. And falling into bed with him was always a good secondary option.

But that _always_ was from a time that hadn't happened yet, with the man Peter would never become.

This wasn't a continuation of how things had always been with her and Peter. This… this was the start of things, and Allison had to remember that.

Well, her hair was as untangled as it was going to get. Allison pulled the silk robe from the back of the door. She considered leaving it unbelted, but that would probably send the wrong message. Or, the right message with the wrong timing. Or…

 _Stop overthinking this_ , Allison told herself firmly. She wrapped the robe around her body, tied the belt tight, and went in search of Peter.

He was by the bookcase, thumbing through a small leather-bound volume. "Hi," Allison said. He looked up. "Do you have a comb I could use?"

He just stared at her.

"This was the robe you were talking about, right?"

He swallowed. "Yes." He put the book on a shelf. "You wanted a comb?"

"If you have one."

She waited while Peter went into the bathroom for a moment. He returned with a small ivory-coloured comb. "I'd ask if you wanted me to help with your hair, but I'm pretty sure the answer is going to be no."

"Smart man." Allison took the comb. Peter put his hand on her back, warm through the silk. She exhaled. "Am I doing something wrong?"

"No." Peter ran his hand up to her shoulder. "I just didn't expect you to look like this."

"Like what?"

"Like…" He let his eyes move over her body. "This isn't a seduction. It's like you want to be here."

"I do want to be here," Allison said quietly.

"Why?"

"Because you're not expecting anything from me."

"I wouldn't say that."

A smile played over her lips. "That's not what I mean."

"What do you mean?"

Well, if he was going to press the point. Allison leaned sideways against his chest, letting him take some of her weight. "We've got a history, you and me."

"That's one way of putting it."

"But every time we meet, it's like you're waiting to see what I do, and then treat me accordingly. Everyone else thinks they know what I should be like, and when I don't fit into their little box, they get mad, or confused."

"But I don't."

Allison shrugged. "Maybe it's because you're still trying to figure me out."

"Maybe." Peter leaned in to kiss her temple. "What happens then?"

"I don't know."

They stayed like that for a few moments, before Allison reluctantly pulled away. "Books," she said. "What do you have?"

"Right." Peter let his hand trail down her arm. "I don't have much. Historically speaking, in Beacon Hills, carnivorous humanoid meant one of the family."

Allison hoped this wouldn't derail into a spiral for Peter about how all his family was dead. She perched on the back of the couch. "I don't think this was a were-creature," she said to the ends of her hair. "The animals this thing's taken down so far were really large, and it went for the flesh. If it was weres, there would have had to have been half a dozen of them at least working in tandem."

"It's very rare to find that level of coordinated savagery," Peter agreed. He retrieved a few more books from the shelf. "I mean, a nip at a hiker here and there, sure." Allison glanced up to see him watching her with amusement. "Have you ever eaten human flesh? It's gamey."

"I'd say the texture is more off-putting than the flavour."

Peter stopped and stared at her. "Have you…"

"No." Allison separated out a section of hair. "But trying to chew a hunk of raw beef is pretty weird. I always assumed that werewolves can fall prey to the temptations of cooked meat and a well-appointed condiment bar like the rest of us.

Peter opened another book. "Usually. Sometimes, a full moon can egg on a new wolf, but even then, like you said, there's only so much you can eat. And getting a full pack to be in on the hunt can be a challenge for any alpha." He glanced up. "Did this thing start with animals and work up to humans?"

"No, the humans first, six weeks ago." Allison wondered what this comb was made of; it moved through her hair like glass. "Then the animals as it moved south and west. That's why I think the kills are opportunistic."

"So not revenge killings, or any sort of escalation," Peter muttered. He swapped out the book in his hands for another on a higher shelf. "Whatever it is, it must be hungry."

Allison let the comb slide through her hair. Something in what Peter just said was pinging a very faint, very old memory. "It must be. How much meat would you say is on a full-grown elk?"

"At this time of year?" Peter frowned. "Up to two hundred pounds, if you skip the organs."

"Then this thing could be eating up to four hundred pounds of meat in one day." Allison tapped the comb against her cheek. "That doesn't make any sense."

Peter brought down a book covered in faded blue cloth. "If it can eat that much, then it's probably massive. How hasn't anyone seen it yet?"

"Maybe it moves at night." Again, that shiver of memory, something large and terrifying rising up against the nighttime treetops. She stared at the floor, trying to chase the elusive strands of her memory.

It had been dark and the wind had been howling, the creature had been howling, and she had been so scared and… and…

Stiles?

Stiles.

Stiles and an axe.

Stiles and an axe, facing down a creature as tall as the trees, a creature screaming in its eternal starvation, a lipless mouth, sharp jagged teeth, black-on-black pits where eyes had once been before the creature ripped them out in its own insatiable hunger.

"It's a wendigo," Allison breathed. "Of course." She sprang to her feet, stuffing the comb absently into the robe's pocket. "Do you have any books on Algonquin folklore?"

"No, but I've heard about the wendigo," Peter said. "I have something around here…" He reached for a book, but Allison plucked it out of his hand, flipping the pages. "Why do you think it's a wendigo?"

"Insatiable hunger, cannibalizing when it can, travelling at night." Allison found the page she was looking for. A terrifying illustration stared up at her. "And I _knew_ the teeth marks were wrong. It wasn't chewing the bodies. It was scraping the flesh from the bones like you'd do with a chicken wing."

"Scratch that off the dinner menu," Peter muttered. He put his hand on Allison's back as he looked over her shoulder. "What does it say?"

"It's a story told by a trapper in the late nineteenth century." Allison turned the page. "He says he was walking his lines one day when a snow-storm came up and he had to make an emergency camp. All night, something was just outside his tent waiting for him, sometimes it would scrape on the tent hide, sometimes it would scream, and the only reason the trapper lived was that he was able to build a fire. In the morning, when the trapper left the tent, all the animals he'd gathered had had the flesh sucked clean off the bone."

"This says that a wendigo is a monster that started off as a human who resorted to cannibalism." Peter made a small sound in his throat. "I hope that only applies to humans."

Allison slapped the book shut, nearly trapping Peter's fingers. "You probably have a werewolf get-out-of-jail-free card on that one. If you were going to start tearing through the woods on the search for human flesh, you'd probably have noticed by now."

She wasn't expecting for Peter to sweep her up into his arms, pressing their bodies together and lifting so her toes just barely touched the ground. She gasped. "Maybe," Peter said, "My hunger manifests in different ways."

Allison tossed the book onto the couch. "Really, _cannibalism_ is what gets you going?" she asked, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"That's all theoretical." Peter took a few steps away from the couch, carrying Allison as if they were dancing. "You're right here."

"I am." She ran her hand through his hair. "You know, one of the words I read in that description was insatiable."

"Let's find out." He kissed her, hot and opened-mouthed. Allison fell into him, kissing him back with fervor. The thin silk clothing her body suddenly felt insubstantial, like she was already naked in his arms.

Peter reached between them to untie the robe's belt, never breaking the kiss. Allison gasped into his mouth as his hand slid up her body, cupping her breast, his fingers almost too rough. In retaliation, Allison took his lower lip between her teeth and bit down. Peter's arm tightened around her waist.

"Why are we still standing here?" Allison demanded, panting, as Peter pulled back.

"An excellent question." He pushed the robe off Allison's shoulders, letting the silk pool at her feet. He reached for her again, but Allison put a hand on his chest.

"Wait," she said, trying to think clearly. "I should tell someone about this wendigo thing."

"Like who, Derek?" Peter stepped in against her body. "You realize that if you do that, he's going to come over right now to look at my books."

"Hmm. I could see how Derek reading in the corner might be a bit of a mood killer. I suppose calling Stiles would have the same result."

"Can we stop talking about them?" Peter asked. "You said, if I let you look at my books, you'd let me take you to bed."

"Was that what I said?" Allison stepped backwards. "Maybe I should have been clearer."

"How so?" Peter tracked her without moving.

"There's a difference between letting something happen, and wanting it to happen." Allison sat on the edge of the bed, leaning back and drawing up one knee. "This? I want."

Peter sighed. "Well, if you insist," he said with the voice of the long-suffering. However, he was removing his clothing with remarkable alacrity.

"Oh, but I do." He was close enough now for Allison to help him in pulling off his boxers. "Come on, I have to leave in an hour."

Peter picked her up and tossed her into the middle of the bed, then pulled her firmly under his body, kissing her as if he was drowning. Allison closed her eyes as he moved against her, skin sliding over skin, and she wanted more, she wanted everything.

Peter was hers, and she was going to take him every way that she could.

### Peter Hale

Peter lay in the twilight of his apartment, with Allison passed out in exhaustion against his side, and wondered when he was going to kill her.

He should. After all, he'd been half planning on it ever since he came back from the dead, one of those things he figured he'd get around to at some point. That first night up in the mountains, when he had come across her all alone and defenceless, that had been the first time he actually tried to put his plan into action. He'd chased her, but she'd led the pursuit away from him like a wolf, and in the intervening confusion (her taunts, her invitations, the sweet-salt tang of sweat and blood as he kissed her before the bullets began) he'd let it slide.

Then in the train depot, when he'd seen her all alone while Derek and Stiles argued in the other building, he'd gone for her throat. But she'd outpaced him, climbing away from him and dancing over the decaying metalwork like she was floating.

Then she had turned the tables on him again, using the same hands with which he'd intended to rip her to pieces, to set her shoulder back in place after the fall.

And the way she'd looked at him. Blood in her mouth, drying on her lips, her eyes dark and gleaming like obsidian in the moonlight.

She said she trusted him.

An Argent trusting a Hale.

Peter blinked. He had one arm tucked behind his head, the other wrapped around Allison's shoulders, holding her against his body. She was so warm and soft, breathing and heart beat slow.

She was utterly defenceless. Peter could slit her throat right here and now, and she'd die without ever waking up.

He could.

He should.

He didn't.

He didn't want to. That was the most surprising realization that he'd had in the last week. He didn't want to kill Allison Argent anymore.

Maybe she was right. Maybe he really did want to figure her out. Maybe the satisfaction of solving the puzzle would outweigh watching her die at his hand.

Because Allison Argent did not make _any sense_.

Before she left for France that summer, she'd been just another one of the nuisance teenagers in town, all awkward emotions and bad decisions and far too much fucking drama. But the girl who Peter had chased up on the mountain, who had outwitted him at the train depot, who had come to his house on Saturday and practically fallen naked into his bed… she'd changed.

Part of it was her speed, her heightened senses. A lot of it had to do with how she smelled (like long-ago memories of cedar drying in the forest sun, like cinnamon cookies, like copper and fur on the air, like _home_ ) and Peter didn't have time to follow that thread of remembrance, because at the end of that line was fire and smoke and pain.

But more than that, she acted… old. Not just _older_ , and Peter had spent a great deal of time trying to justify to himself the rationale behind taking a seventeen-year-old into his bed. But… old.

Old, like his father's friends who had come back from World War II, tired and watchful. Old, like his mother's sisters and aunts, confident in every move, owning their decisions and accepting their responsibility. Allison moved around Beacon Hills like everything and everyone in it was her responsibility, but also that the town itself owed her fealty.

Talia had been like that, sometimes.

And Peter did not _understand_. Allison was seventeen. She should have been like the other teenagers, obnoxious and brash and loud and falling over herself in her awkwardness. Before the summer, she'd been nothing more than a collection of coltish bones and fumbling hormones.

Now, she moved like a soldier.

Peter wondered how much pain she had endured, to cut away all traces of the child.

He wondered if her father had been the one to hold the knife on her.

Allison sighed in her sleep, rolling onto her side. Peter let her go, slipping his arm away as she settled again. The sheets bunched around her hips, leaving the smooth, flawless line of her back exposed for Peter to admire.

Regardless of how she acted, regardless of what she had been through, Allison was incredibly beautiful.

And that might have been another reason why Peter held his hand. He had always admired beautiful things, made it a point to surround himself with them. Even better, too, when he knew he was the only one to possess such a treasure.

Maybe that was what led Peter to be in his position, lying naked next to a girl half his age, wrung out after all the ways she'd demanded to be satisfied in his bed. Allison Argent was something very rare, indeed, and Peter wanted to keep her.

And there was the added bonus of how much it would _eat Chris Argent alive_ when the man found out that his only child, his darling baby girl, was spreading her legs for a Hale; the last in the long line of Argent hunters falling onto her back and begging to be fucked senseless by a werewolf. Peter thought back to the hour before, at the frankly indecent sounds Allison made as he pushed into her from behind. Her body had been hot and tight and so, so wet, and the memory of those soft needy moans that had fallen from her lips as he'd fucked her made Peter shiver.

That was probably the final reason Peter wouldn't kill Allison Argent – because she'd been right up on the mountain when she'd said that there were so many things they could do over and over again. He could only kill her once, but he could keep her in his bed forever.

Allison murmured something in her sleep. Peter sat up. She said it again, then quieted. Peter looked at her, wondering who Bucky was, and if he'd been the one to teach her how to suck dick like that.

Peter sighed. The post-coital languor was gone now, and he still had a lot to do that night. He supposed he should wake Allison up, kick her out to head back to the sheriff's house. That was the only thing in this whole arrangement that worried him. Sure, Allison might say that she wouldn't tell Stilinski what was going on, but Peter didn't necessarily want to draw the man's attention. For all that the interest appeared to be off Kate Argent's death, the case was still officially unsolved.

Kate.

Peter pressed his hand to his mouth, his earlier decision to leave Allison alive wavering. Thinking of Kate Argent made Peter remember his time as the alpha, seeking his violent revenge against the people who killed his family.

He stood up, taking a few steps away from the bed. Because thinking about the people who killed his family always made him remember the last minutes in the house, of his wife Teresa screaming, of his babies screaming, of fire and screaming and pain pain pain

Everything whited out and for a while, Peter didn't know anything, didn't see anything, didn't hear anything. He gradually came back to himself, collapsed on the floor of his darkened apartment.

He remembered the screaming worst of all.

He looked down. No blood on his hands. Sometimes, when he came out of the memories like this, he'd clawed up his own body. But not today.

A sound from the bed, and Peter turned around. Allison had moved again, kicking free of the sheet. Her skin was flawless, untouched.

He hadn't gone after her.

Peter took a deep breath. He hadn't hurt her unthinkingly, even when she was lying in his bed, defenceless and completely vulnerable.

Even consumed by his pain, he had still been in control.

Peter ran his hand over his face. He didn't want to remember. He didn't want to think about the past, about the family he'd lost that night, Teresa and Nick and Nicole, or his sister's husband Kevin or Kevin's parents or about his niece Julia, just four years old and the first to succumb to the smoke. He didn't want to think about Cora, lost somewhere else in the house, or about Talia, who had gone to try to find Cora, and who had ended up dying alone in the living room, the flames and the smoke overcoming even an alpha.

If Cora hadn't hidden, Talia wouldn't have gone after her, and if she'd been with Peter when she died, maybe he'd have become the alpha instead of Laura. Maybe he'd have been able to do something.

 But she hadn't. Peter hadn't. And everyone died.

Peter stood up on shaky feet. He wanted to do something with the agony and fury pounding in his chest. It would be easy, to go over and slash Allison's throat, to kill a girl who bore the same name as those who'd ruined his life.

But she wasn't the one who had done those terrible things to his family. And she was the same age as Cora would have been, if Cora hadn't died in the fire. Allison hadn't done anything to his family. True, she had set him on fire after he'd killed Kate, but then again, Derek had killed him directly after that, and if Peter was going to give Derek a free pass, he supposed he should do the same for Allison.

Peter went over to retrieve his jeans. He didn't want to be naked anymore.

He should wake Allison up and send her on her way, but he needed a little quiet to help the wolf settle. Tidying up always helped, so he made his way across the apartment to the discarded books. He shoved a few of them onto the shelf at random before moving to the next stack. This time, first, he picked up the silk robe from the floor, and pulled the comb out of the pocket.

It had been his grandmother's, carved (so his mother had always said) from the shoulder blade of an enemy. It was one of the few things that survived the fire, that Peter had dug out of the police impound after everything shook out earlier in the year. Derek hadn't wanted anything. So Peter had taken his grandmother's comb and his mother's rings and the knife his father had given him on his fifth birthday, and put everything else in storage.

He hadn't taken anything of Talia's. And nothing had remained from Teresa or the babies.

Peter ran his thumb over the worn carvings in the bone. He'd seen how much Allison liked the comb. Maybe, the next time she was over, she might want to use it.

Peter set it on a safe spot on the bookshelf. Then he tossed the robe over the back of the couch as he went in search of the book with the wendigo drawing.

Wendigo. That was another thing. If they had a wendigo in town, Peter wanted nothing to do with it. Wendigos were monsters of legend, and absolutely nothing could stop them.

So of course, he had no doubt that his idiot of a nephew would want to try.

Even after all this time, Peter couldn't believe that _Derek_ had ended up as the Hale alpha.

Opening the book to the section on the wendigo, Peter looked at the illustration of all-consuming hunger. He hoped that it was mostly the artist's fancy that had made those teeth so sharp.

Still reading, Peter turned, and froze.

Allison was sitting up in bed and her hair was over her face and something was _wrong_ , something about how she sat, the tilt of her shoulders, the coiled tension in her spine rooted Peter to the spot, fear hammering at his heart.

There was a predator in his bed and he was too close and his throat was exposed.

Instinctively, Peter let the book go and took a step back, knocking over the small stepladder. The book hit the floor before the ladder, a double crash that echoed in the apartment.

And just like that, the predator was gone. Allison lifted her head, sweeping her hair out of her face as she blinked in the dim room. "What happened?" she asked, voice sleep-soft.

It took Peter a moment to answer. "I dropped something."

"Oh." Allison rubbed her eyes. "Why is your heart beating so fast?"

"It startled me." Peter picked up the book. He didn't understand what had just happened. It was just Allison, and while she might be an enigma, she wasn't dangerous.

So why did he want to run?

Allison got up and stretched, which normally would have enticed Peter no end, but not right now. "I didn't think anything startled you," she said as she dropped her arms.

He tried to smile. "Only falling furniture."

"Okay." Allison walked across the room, totally unselfconscious in her nudity. Peter put the book on the shelf before she reached him, in case…. In case. But she just walked right up to him and put her arms around his neck, still half asleep.

Peter hugged her, pressing his cheek against her hair. She smelled so warm, like sex and him and a tiny hint of cedar trees baking in the summer sun.

He didn't understand.

"I have to go home," Allison said, not moving.

"Probably." Peter tried to remember exactly where the Stilinskis lived. It was a fair ways away, over the river and down into the south of town. "Do you want a ride?"

This got Allison to pull away from him. "No," she said, smiling. "I'll run. It'll only take twenty minutes. But thanks."

"For what?"

"Offering." She touched his cheek as she looked up at him, almost fondly. "You might fool someone into thinking you're a gentleman."

"I'm a werewolf, not an animal," Peter pointed out. He was both relieved and disappointed when Allison headed towards the bathroom. He told himself to get it together. "What are you going to do about the wendigo?"

"I suppose I should mention it to Derek," Allison said, coming back into the main room with her clothes. "In case he starts taking overnight trips into the hills up north. Is that the sort of thing he'd do?"

"What, go lurking in the woods instead of staying at home to watch a movie or get take-out?" Peter leaned back against the bookshelf to watch Allison get dressed.

"Yeah, I guess that's Derek." Allison shimmied into her running pants. "Do you want to call him or should I?"

"Is he really going to listen to you?" Peter asked. "At the ice rink he was five minutes away from throwing you under the Zamboni."

"Fine, you can call him." Allison pulled her bra over her head. "And if he finds anything, he needs to tell Stiles."

"Why Stiles?"

"Because." Allison wiggled into her running top. "Derek won't tell me anything, but Stiles will."

"That's very Machiavellian of you."

"No, just practical." Allison straightened her bra strap. "I'll keep an ear on my police sources in case they find any more bodies."

"You have police sources?"

Allison sighed. "I live with the sheriff and spend half my free time working in the sheriff's station," she said. "I can't escape police sources."

"What are you going to do if this thing kills anyone else?"

Allison shrugged. "Stop it."

Peter looked at her. "You."

"Me," Allison agreed. She crossed the room to stand in front of him. "Thanks for letting me drop by." She leaned in for a quick kiss. "As always, it was stimulating." She ran her eyes down his body, gaze lingering for a beat just below the belt. "Intellectually and otherwise."

"I feel objectified," Peter complained.

"Good." Allison kissed him again, then turned to go. "Until next time, Peter."

"Stop hogging all the good exit lines!" Peter called, following her to the door.

"I'm surprised you're not already kicking me out." Allison hopped to put on her socks, then her shoes. "Wouldn't want to cut into your movie night."

"What are you going to do with the rest of your evening?"

"I don't know." Allison stood up. "Listen to Stiles complain about lacrosse. See how much leftover lasagne I can shove into my mouth." The corner of her lips twitched. "Do my junior history homework?"

"Get out," Peter said, reaching past her for the door. She didn't move, so the motion put Peter right up against her body.

"Thanks," she said quietly.

"For what?"

"For letting me sleep. I haven't been getting a lot of rest at night."

Well, now Peter felt like a jerk for spending so much time thinking about killing Allison in her sleep. "Why not?"

There was a weight in her eyes that twisted a little in Peter's stomach. "Everyone's got ghosts," she said. She kissed him one last time. "Stay safe."

"You too."

Allison slipped out the door. Peter closed it after her and flipped the main deadbolt, then the other four. Then he rested his forehead against the solid metal and exhaled.

What the _fuck_ was he doing?

The run home from Peter's was mostly downhill, and the hardest part was keeping her speed within human limits. Even though she got home at half past six, Stiles and Noah were still out, so she turned on the oven to pre-heat, ran upstairs for a very thorough shower, and was dressed and downstairs making dinner by the time Noah's car rolled into the driveway.

The evening went well. Allison spent the time after dinner at the kitchen table, bullshitting her way through a history assignment while Stiles and Noah argued over some concert Stiles wanted to see in Redding. Then Stiles ducked upstairs with his laptop, looking furtive, which was either an indication that he was up to something, or that something was up. Either way, Allison stayed in the kitchen, plowing through her math assignment before setting about memorizing the first half of the biology textbook.

Noah stopped in the kitchen at half past eleven. "Are you going to bed tonight?"

Allison looked up from where the details on macroevolution were starting to blur on the page. "Maybe at midnight."

Noah gave her a tired smile. "It's going to be okay, you know."

Allison sat back in her chair. It was never going to be okay; not after Allison had lost so much in a future that would never happen. "It might be," she said cautiously. "I just… I'm tired."

"I know."

"And trying to see the big picture…" She let her voice trail off. She'd been spending so much time focusing on what was happening in Beacon Hills, she hadn't made much progress on her bigger goals.

Stop Aldrich Killian. Find Bucky. Burn Hydra to the ground. Obliterate Thanos. The things any normal seventeen-year-old wanted.

"Just remember that you've got us," Noah said. "Why don't you go on, finish your work upstairs. I'll lock up."

Allison could take a hint. "See you tomorrow," she said gathering her things before heading up the stairs.

Thankfully, Stiles' room held only silence. Allison went into her bedroom and closed the door without bothering to turn on the lights. She dumped the books on the floor, retrieved her hatchet from under the mattress, and lay down on top of the covers. It had been such a long and weird day, and all she wanted to do was sleep.

So she did what she always did in the field when she needed to catch ten minutes of sleep – closed her eyes, held her weapon close, and focused on a good memory. Today, that good memory had been lying in Peter's arms, safe and warm in his bed, and just drifting for a few minutes.

Just a few minutes.

When she woke up, there was a soft light coming in the window. Allison sat up, confused. How late was it?

Her phone told her that it was almost seven o'clock. There was movement around the house. Everyone else was up.

How the hell had she slept through the night?

Well, she mentally amended, she'd had a little help in the relaxation department. She'd have to put _Peter Hale_ on her list of known soporifics.

Rubbing her eyes, Allison stashed the hatchet back in its daytime hiding spot and went to find some clothes for the day.

Stiles and Allison got to school a little early, a minor miracle for Stiles, and separated at their lockers. Allison piled her lunch-bag, textbooks, notebooks, and gym clothes in the locker, topped the stack precariously with her running shoes, and moved the locker door to find Jackson looming there, practically vibrating in irritation.

"Good morning," Allison said. From the look on Jackson's face, something dramatic was going down, so she crossed off any plans to visit the library before biology. "How are you?"

"What are you doing?" Jackson hissed. His eyebrows were doing complicated things on his forehead.

"Getting my bio notes, why?"

"What are you _trying_ to do?"

Allison yanked her notebook and textbook out of the stack, shoved a pen into her pocket, and closed her locker. "I'm trying to accomplish a lot of things, you're going to have to give me a little more context."

"With Isaac!"

Allison frowned at Jackson. "Isaac and what?"

"Why are you—" Jackson spotted someone passing, and bit down on his words. Something was really bothering him.

"Come on," Allison said, moving to slip her hand through the crook in his arm. "Walk me to class and tell me what I've done now." She rested her hand on his forearm, feeling the tension there.

Jackson walked along at her side for a while in silence. They passed the biology room and kept going, out into the courtyard. Finally, Jackson said, "Erica told me that you said that Isaac should come live with me."

Erica talked to Jackson? That was interesting. "I did ask how you two were getting along," Allison said evenly. "Isaac needs a place to live, full-time."

"But why me?" Jackson's question was almost a hiss. Allison rubbed his arm in warning. She wasn't sure if he had rediscovered the parts of his kanima nature that co-existed with his werewolf one, but either way, she didn't want him to have to think about that before a long day at school. "Is it a punishment for what I did to his father?"

Allison stopped dead. "What?" she demanded. "No! Jackson, it's not that at all."

He was vibrating again, the grey of his eyes tinged with electric blue.

"Jackson." Allison put her books on the bench, never letting go of Jackson. "Listen to me. You didn't kill Isaac's father. Matt did."

"But I—"

"Matt did that." Allison interrupted. His eyes were still blue, and fuck, there were people about. She had to do something to calm Jackson down. Without even thinking, she pulled the strength of the alpha up and willed it out into her hands, to where she was touching Jackson's arm. "Matt killed all those people. Not you."

Jackson clenched his jaw, and Allison could see all the pain he was holding inside. Her heart ached. They were just kids, all of them, and they'd been through so much, Jackson especially. "He used me to do it."

"He used you," Allison said, so quietly that only a werewolf could hear her. "He took what you offered, and he used you to do terrible things that you never would have on your own."

"You don't know that."

"I do," Allison said. "I know that Matt and Gerard used you as a weapon and they didn't care anything about you. They're the monsters, okay? They chose to do those things, and they chose to do those things to you."

Jackson was staring at Allison, all traces of blue now gone from his grey eyes. "Why are you saying this?"

"Because it's true." Allison squeezed his arm. "I know what it's like to be made into a weapon. And I know that the guilt is something that's never going to go away. And I'm sorry."

Jackson breathed in through his nose. He visibly pulled himself together before shaking Allison's hand off his arm. "Whatever," and the word was brittle. "What's the deal with Isaac?"

"Like I said, he needs a place to live."

"And since my parents take in all orphans, you thought why not me?"

Allison growled. Jackson flinched. "No, jackass, because you've got a lot of room at your place."

"That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard."

"So forget I said anything," Allison said as she went to pick up her books. "Come on, let's go to class."

Jackson let Allison take his arm again as they walked back into the school. "It's a stupid idea," Jackson said. "Do you think Isaac would want to live with me after what happened with the sheriff?"

"I think Isaac is a lot more practical than you're giving him credit for."

"My parents would never go for it."

"If you say so."

"Isaac's annoying."

"I'm sure he thinks the same thing about you."

"No, like super annoying."

"Like I said."

"It'll never happen."

"Okay."

"Why does your hair smell like Peter's shampoo?"

Allison froze, letting Jackson continue on without her for a step. "What?"

"You heard me." Jackson turned around, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked uncomfortable.

"How do you know what Peter's shampoo smells like?"

Jackson's discomfort morphed into exasperation. "I'm a werewolf, I smell things." There was a long moment where Jackson and Allison just stood and stared at each other.

Then, to Allison's horror, the penny dropped.

"No," Jackson breathed. His eyes went wide _. "No."_

"Shut up," Allison ordered.

"That thing with the two of you at the ice rink, _that's_ why Erica called it foreplay."

Allison wondered how she had lost control of the situation. "Since when are you talking to Erica about this?"

Jackson's eyebrows were practically to his hairline. "Does Derek know? Does _Scott_ know?"

Allison grabbed Jackson's shirt and hauled him into a nearby doorway. "Shut up," she snapped. "Derek knows. Scott does not and he _is not going to find out_." She glared at Jackson. "This has nothing to do with Scott."

"Whatever, I'm not the one making bad life choices," Jackson said. "Wait, didn't you set Peter on fire?"

"That was one time," Allison exclaimed. She let go of his shirt. "Jackson, please, keep this to yourself. It's no one's business but mine."

"And mine, if Lydia finds out," Jackson said. He rubbed his chest. "When did you get so strong?"

"I eat a lot of spinach." She put one hand on her hip. "So? Are you going to ruin my life by talking about this to anyone?"

"No, as long as you don't ruin mine." Jackson straightened his backpack straps. "Seriously. If Lydia finds out, we are both never going to hear the end of it."

"Perfect," Allison muttered.

"Speaking of Lydia," Jackson went on, and Allison groaned. "Can you, like, pay attention to her? She's super mopey when she thinks you're being best friends with Erica. I don't have time for that."

"Oh my god."

Jackson licked his lips, like he did when he got what he was convinced was a good idea. "Tell you what. You take Lydia shopping after school like she has been whining about for days, and I will never, _ever,_ tell anyone about Peter."

Allison stuck out her hand. "Deal."

Giving her a strange look, Jackson shook. "And I'm not asking Isaac to live with me."

"Fine."

"At all."

"Okay."

"Fine."

With one final wary exchange of glances, Jackson and Allison continued down the hall towards biology.

This was the only class that the juniors in the pack had together, besides gym, and Allison was slightly behind Jackson as they entered just as the bell rang. Mr. Arthurs slammed the door behind Allison, making her jump. "Sit down!" he yelled. "Miss Argent has the distinction of being late to class, so she gets to take a quiz."

"I was here before the bell!" Allison protested, dropping her books onto the only empty desk, beside Greenberg. She stayed on her feet.

"Quiz or detention?" Arthurs asked maliciously.

Allison wondered how long of a detention she'd get if she punched that stupid mustache right off his face. Probably the kind that ended in jail time. "Quiz."

"What is DNA?"

"The building block of life?" Allison said sarcastically. Someone in the back tittered nervously. "Deoxyribonucleic acid, a molecule composed of two chains that coil around each other to form a double helix carrying genetic instructions for the development, functioning, growth and reproduction of all known organisms and many viruses—"

"Enough!" Arthurs looked aggrieved. "What's a chromosome?"

"A DNA molecule with part or all of an organism's genome."

"What about genetic drift?"

"It's when you're driving on the highway of life and you lose traction in your back wheels around a curve." Allison provided a demonstrative hand gesture.

"Do you really want detention after all?"

Allison let her hands drop. "It's the change over time in the frequency of an existing gene variant in a population. What gives? Genetic drift isn't even defined in the textbook."

Arthurs' expression was sour and pinched. "When did you become an expert in genetic and evolutionary biology?" he demanded.

"Last night."

"Sit down!" Allison dropped into her chair, never taking her eyes off the teacher. "Textbooks open to page 43!"

Allison slapped her book open. At her side, Greenberg said in a whisper, "That was so cool. How'd you know all that stuff?"

"I read a lot."

"Quiet!"

Allison glanced over the page, which she'd reviewed the previous night, and tried to settle in for an hour of complete boredom.

High school was such a scam. Allison was going to have to write a sternly worded letter to the school board about the so-called educators employed in Beacon Hills.

But on the bright side, at least the day couldn't get any worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disaster child: *gets enough to eat, feels safe, has lots of weapons* Why am I suddenly able to sleep?
> 
> Thanks to Wikipedia for the crib notes on the biology quiz.
> 
> Next chapter: Rhodey visits Malibu at Pepper's request to figure out wtf is wrong with Tony. But nothing (and I mean nothing) could prepare him for what he finds. See you Wednesday!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James Rhodes has known Tony Stark for what feels like three lifetimes, so he's expecting things to be bad when Pepper calls him to Malibu to figure out what's up with Tony now. But he can handle it, right? Wrong. (aka Tony summarizes _Hour of the Wolf chapter 6_ for Rhodey and Pepper.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As mentioned in the summary, this chapter features a 'replay' of events in [Hour of the Wolf chapter 6](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18980413/chapters/45723196), if you'd care to refresh yourself before reading this chapter. 
> 
> Content notes: this chapter does reference past child abuse.

### James Rhodes

Rhodey met Pepper at the front door of the Malibu house. His hopes that whatever Tony had gotten into this time would be easy to deal with evaporated when he saw the expression on Pepper's face. "Oh god, now what?" Rhodey greeted her.

"I don't know." Pepper said. "I honestly do not even know where to start."

"Where is Tony?" Rhodey followed Pepper into the living room.

"The workshop. He's been in the workshop almost non-stop since Saturday." Pepper stalked over to the wet bar, a force of nature in her CEO pantsuit. Rhodey raised his eyebrows. It wasn't even one o'clock, and Pepper had never been much for alcohol before five.

But then, Tony Stark drove a lot of people to extremes.

"Have you asked him what's up?" Rhodey put his jacket on the back of a chair.

Pepper's glare could have stripped the plating off the War Machine suit. "Several times, including twice this morning." She went for the espresso machine, to Rhodey's relief. "He says everything's fine, he's just working on new Iron Man suits."

"You don't believe him."

Pepper picked up a small porcelain cup. "I don't." Her hands were trembling, ever so slightly. "What if he's sick again?"

"Pepper…"

"What if he's dying again and he doesn't tell anyone? Again?"

"We'll help him."

"Like he wants to be helped?"

Rhodey took the cup from Pepper. "He's going to get help whether he likes it or not." Rhodey put the cup on the espresso machine. "What do you want?"

"Answers," Pepper said. "Or a double shot."

"One double shot espresso, coming up." Rhodey poked at the overly complicated machine. "Did anything happen on Saturday to set him off?"

"I don't know." Pepper leaned against the bar. "I went to bed early, I'd been in New York for a week, and when I woke up the next morning he still hadn't come to bed."

Rhodey watched twin streams of coffee pour into the tiny mug. He didn't like how this was sounding. "Did Tony get any sleep?"

"He didn't answer when I asked. He barely ate anything, and went right back down."

"What happens when you go down to see him?" Rhodey put the cup in front of Pepper before starting on one for himself.

"He just…" Pepper shook her head. "Everything shuts down as soon as I put a foot on the stairs. And Jarvis won't tell me a thing."

This was worse than Rhodey expected. Usually, Tony didn't bother to hide his work around Pepper or Rhodey himself, just didn't bother to explain any of it. Tony Stark hiding things, was worrying.

"What if he's cheating on me?" Pepper asked.

"What?" Rhodey exclaimed, twisting around. "He wouldn't do that."

"I know, but—"

"No, he would not do that," Rhodey said firmly. "Think about it, Pepper, once Tony commits, he commits. Can you think of a single time when he stepped out on anyone he was even just dating?"

"No." Pepper pressed her hands to her face. "No, you're right. It just…" She sighed. "It feels like there's someone else in this house. Like a ghost."

Rhodey's stomach turned. He knew all about Tony's ghosts, and there was a very significant milestone coming up for a woman who Tony and Rhodey had both lost. "We'll figure it out," was all he said, because he didn't know how much Tony had told Pepper about losing Clara Vasquez and their unborn baby. He held up his own little cup. "To dealing with Tony Stark."

Pepper clinked her cup against Rhodey's. "To all the headaches and ulcers."

"He's an irritating man," Rhodey agreed. He knocked back his coffee in one gulp. God, he missed the good stuff Tony kept in stock. The Air Force was many things, but a connoisseur of quality coffee it was not.

"So goddamned irritating." Pepper braced her hands on the counter. "Okay. I have to go change out of this stupid suit and call my assistant. I'll be upstairs if you need me."

"We'll get to the bottom of this," Rhodey promised her. "We always do."

"Maybe that's what I'm afraid of," Pepper said, and with that ominous pronouncement, headed towards the stairs.

Rhodey sighed. "Jarvis?"

A pause, then Jarvis's dulcet tones said, "Colonel Rhodes."

"Where's Tony?"

"In the workshop, sir."

"Does he know I'm here?"

"Yes, sir."

"Is he going to lock me out if I try to head on down there?"

"Of course not, sir."

Fine. Rhodey looked around the bar, wondering what approach he should take. He had options, after a near lifetime of handling Tony Stark. He grabbed a bottle of Crown Royal (seriously, Tony) before heading to the stairs. Maybe he could go the old-fashioned route and get Tony drunk and talking.

The workshop was… somehow wrong. Even on the approach, it was too quiet. No music, no construction sounds, and no Tony. Tony was always talking, to Jarvis, to the bots, to himself. But now, nothing.

Warily, Rhodey descended the final steps. Tony was seated in the middle of a too-clean room, staring at a half-dozen screens, angled so they weren't visible from the stairs. From the set of Tony's shoulders, Rhodey knew that his approach was anticipated, and not wanted.

He kept going anyway.

The door whooshed open, and Rhodey stepped inside. Tony blanked the screens and turned on his stool. "Colonel Rhodes."

"Mr. Stark." The two men eyed each other. "You want to tell me what's going on, Tony?"

"Nothing." Tony got to his feet. "Nothing at all. Just your regular, run-of-the-mill afternoon of billionaire leisure."

"Since when have you ever done anything run-of-the-mill?" Rhodey asked.

"Maybe it was about time." Tony wandered over to his workbench, to run his hands over his precisely arranged tools. "I thought you were supposed to be in Washington."

"I was, and now I'm here." Rhodey continued into the workshop. "Pepper's worried about you."

"She shouldn't be." Tony picked up a coil of solder. "I'm great."

"Uh huh."

"Look at me." Tony spread his hands. "I'm living the life. I've got money, power, respect. There's a woman upstairs who loves me, for some reason I'm still trying to understand. And I've got the best friend in the world. What else could a guy want?"

Rhodey exhaled. The pain was practically bleeding off Tony's words. "There have been times in your life when things weren't so great," he said carefully.

"That's true." Tony snapped a length of solder off the coil. "I had my parents die at the same time, that sucked. The Ten Rings thing, I could have lived without. And Obadiah, whoow." Tony made an exaggerated face. "Who would have seen that one coming?"

"Tony."

"And then, aliens, you know?" Tony absently tied a knot in the flexible metal. "But, whatever, I took care of it. I always take care of it."

Rhodey put the whisky bottle down on the workbench. "Tony. Pepper said that you've been acting weird since Saturday."

"Pepper's exaggerating," Tony said. The solder broke apart in his hands. "Sunday morning, at the outside earliest."

Rhodey waited. He knew Tony's moods, knew his angers, and knew that this wasn't going to be pretty.

"Do you ever look back in your life at something, and wonder why you never questioned it?" Tony asked. He wiped his hands on his pants. "Like someone tells you that Santa Claus exists when you're a kid and there's enough evidence for it to seem real, so may as well believe it?"

"What did you believe, Tony?"

Tony walked to the centre of the room. He looked up, and Rhodey wondered what he was seeing. "I believed that a mountain lion could be walking around Los Angeles in the middle of the night."

Rhodey took a breath. The only time he'd ever heard of a mountain lion in L.A. had been when Clara and the baby were mauled to death. "What are you talking about?"

Tony glanced around, almost as if he'd forgotten Rhodey was there. He blinked for a few seconds, then said, in a clear, business-like voice, "Someone hacked into Jarvis's systems last week."

Rhodey was used to Tony's jumps of logic. "Did you find out who it was?"

Tony lifted one eyebrow.

"Of course you did."

"Jarvis," Tony called. "Show him."

"If you think that wise, sir." Jarvis's wariness was all the warning Rhodey got before a large screen came up on the north wall, and Rhodey was looking at Clara.

"Oh my god," Rhodey breathed. He took an unconscious step towards the screen. His brain righted itself after a moment, taking in everything – a girl, a girl with Clara's face, her hair hanging down long over one shoulder, the faded t-shirt, the kitchen in the background.

This couldn't be Clara, because Clara died almost eighteen years ago.

And they'd never found any trace of her unborn child.

"Is that her?" Rhodey demanded. "Tony, is that your daughter?"

"I don't know," Tony snapped, his eyes flashing. "How can I know?"

"Find her and ask her!" Rhodey put his hand over his mouth. For over seventeen years, he'd believed the same as Tony, that Clara had died in a wild animal attack, and the baby had been eaten.

But Clara had been a werewolf, and it had happened in the middle of Los Angeles.

"Holy shit," Rhodey exclaimed. _"Holy shit."_

"It gets better," Tony said, and in that moment, the girl on the screen started talking.

 _"I know you're watching me,"_ she said, and her voice was nothing like Clara's, or Tony's, and that helped shake all the ghosts out of Rhodey's head. _"So here's the deal. You haven't cut off my access yet, which either means that you don't want to, or far more likely, you don't know how I got in."_

When she smiled, Rhodey felt cold. He'd seen those sorts of smiles before, working with the locals in war zones. It was the smile of someone who had seen things, and done things, far beyond their years.

"Who took her?" Rhodey asked. "What happened?"

Jarvis paused the recording. "Sir, if I may."

"Be my guest," Tony said. He settled on the stool, staring at the girl's face with an intensity that was more than a little unnerving to Rhodey.

"Sir, this is Allison," Jarvis began. "Her listed birthdate is one day after the death of Miss Clara Vasquez in 1994. To summarize a long and twisting story, she appears to have been raised by Christopher and Victoria Argent, whom she classified as Hunters." The photos of two white people popped up on a screen beside the one displaying Allison. "From the manner in which Miss Vasquez met her demise, and from the context that will reveal itself later in this conversation, we believe that she means werewolf hunters."

Of course, Rhodey thought. Who else could take a wolf like Clara out?

Then the rest of the implications hit him. "Wait, they stole a werewolf's baby? What for?"

"She was never going to be a wolf," Tony said. He hadn't taken his eyes off Allison. "She'd grow up like any human girl. Until they started training her to kill werewolves."

Rhodey needed to sit down. He needed a drink. He needed… Actually, he could do something about that last one. He walked over to grab the whisky. "Glass," he said.

Tony pointed to the workbench. Rhodey dumped screws out of a mug, dashed in some alcohol, and slammed it back. The burn didn't help.

"If I may continue," Jarvis said. "Allison is no longer in the custody of Christopher Argent. She is currently in residence with the local sheriff, one Noah Stilinski, and his son Mieczysław, alias Stiles."

"What about the wife?"

"She stabbed herself through the heart earlier this year," Tony said. "I'm having a hard time feeling sorry for her. Does that make me a psychopath? Because I'm okay with that."

"At this point in time," Jarvis went on, "Allison believes herself to be in danger, and I am assisting her with the monitoring of several cell phones in the area."

"Wait, she's in danger?" Rhodey swung around to look at Tony. "And you're still here?"

"Yeah." Tony met Rhodey's gaze. "Because there's three possibilities here, all right?"

"Tony…"

"One." Tony stuck his index finger in the air. "She's Clara's daughter, raised by werewolf hunters. Two," and a second finger joined the first. "Someone found a kid who looks just like Clara, sent her into my extremely unhackable systems, and is using her to try to trick me into something."

Rhodey wished he could believe it was the former, but there were too many things at play for anything to be easy. "And three?"

Tony let his hand drop. "She's Clara's daughter, raised by werewolf hunters, and is trying to trick me into something, see above, et cetera." He ran his hands through his hair, exhaustion in the set of his shoulders.

"What do you think she knows?"

"I don't know. She never said anything about Clara."

"Did she ask about you?"

Tony sat back. "Sort of."

Rhodey pinched the bridge of his nose. "Tony. You know that I love you."

"I hear a 'but' coming."

"But you need to tell Pepper about this."

"No."

"Tony."

"I can't. Not yet."

"Why not?"

Tony went back to staring at the screen.

"Sir," Jarvis said. "Ms. Potts is on her way downstairs."

Tony groaned. "Fine. _Fine._ " He threw Rhodey a look of reproach. "It's a good thing you're cute." He minimized the screen as Pepper walked down the last few steps and into the workshop. She'd changed into casual wear, but she walked like she was expecting a fight.

"Tony has something he wants to tell you," Rhodey said.

"Does he?" Pepper asked. She looked directly at Tony, a challenge in her eyes.

"Sort of." Tony paused. "So what's the deal with Aldrich Killian?"

"Aldrich Killian?" Pepper asked, confused. Rhodey went to pour out another drink. "What about him?"

"Is he, like, supervillain material? Or is he more the middle-management of evil?"

"He's… no, he runs a think-tank, Advanced Idea Mechanics," Pepper said. "We've met at conferences."

"Tony, what does this have to do with anything?" Rhodey asked, returning with the mug half-full of whisky.

Tony tapped his fingers along his leg. "Pep. You know about Clara, right?"

Pepper blinked. "Do you mean your fiancée?"

"Ex-fiancée," Tony said. "Former fiancée? Fiancée, deceased?" He spun around. "Jarvis, pictures of Clara, please."

A handful of photographs appeared on the east wall. There were some shots of Clara with Tony, of her with Rhodey himself, and a few of Clara by herself. Rhodey's eyes were drawn to one of Clara standing, seven months pregnant, holding a little toy wolf over her baby bump.

God, Rhodey missed her so much. They'd been friends first, introduced through Clara's uncle, who had been one of Rhodey's ROTC instructors. She was smart and quick, and when Rhodey introduced her to Tony, they'd both fallen for each other, hard.

Rhodey had been deployed when Clara died, and by the time he made it back to L.A., Tony had already driven all of his pain and anger into work, and Rhodey had had to focus on the living.

But still, Rhodey missed her.

And now… this.

"So." Tony put his back to the wall of photos. "I literally have no idea how to explain any of this to you in a way that doesn't sound insane, so you're going to get to experience the exact same thing I did, last week, in real time."

Rhodey rested against the workbench. "You're just going to, what, roll tape?"

"Yeah." Tony took a deep breath. Pepper was still staring at him in concern. "Jarvis? Light her up."

The screen on the north wall opened, and Allison appeared again. This time, beside her, was a mirror of another screen, code flying across Jarvis's servers.

Pepper took a step forward, watching the screen for a long moment. "She's a teenager," Pepper breathed. "Everyone said… the baby…"

"They said the baby was gone," Rhodey said softly. "At the time I thought they meant that she'd been eaten." He took a sip of whisky to knock that image out of his head.

"They meant gone," Tony said. He was staring at Allison again. "Removed."

"Tony…" Pepper put her hand on Tony's shoulder. He leaned into the touch. "If that's her… where is she?"

Tony snapped his fingers. A map appeared over the wall of photographs. "She's in Beacon Hills, some truck-stop town up north on the way to Oregon."

"And you've known this all week?"

"Yeah." Tony took Pepper's hand and kissed her palm. "And you need to watch this to know why I didn't tell you."

On the screen, Allison paused, and her eyes slid up to the webcam. " _I know you're watching me,"_ she said again, and Rhodey was struck fresh by how tired she looked. She held herself like a soldier on patrol, exhausted and watchful and always, always on alert.

Rhodey had seen too many kids like Allison in active war zones.

In silence, the three of them watched the screen as Allison bantered with Jarvis. Rhodey could only imagine how Tony had handled this, alone and unaware.

When the philosophical discussion around villainy began, Rhodey pushed himself off the table to join Pepper and Tony. _"And what do you choose to do?"_ Jarvis was asking.

" _I try to do the right thing,"_ Allison said, a tiny smile on her lips, and god, that was Clara through and through. _"I try to ask myself one question. What would Captain America do?"_

"Is this where she starts talking about the Avengers?" Rhodey asked.

"She brings up Steve again, right after the plot twist," Tony said. "Shush."

And just like that, everything changed. Allison talked about the danger she was in, from her 'father' and his business associates. Rhodey knew a little bit about Hunters; Clara had told him that a pack as big as hers was usually pretty safe, but smaller packs, and especially lone wolves, could run into problems.

"Oh, this is a good one," Tony said. "Wait for it."

 _"There's a time and a place for philosophy,"_ Allison was saying _. "But there was never any place for that in how I was raised."_

 _"And how was that?"_ Jarvis asked.

_"Like I said, my father's a hunter. Same as his father before him, the entire Argent line back centuries. That's what they wanted me to be. Only, they tend to hunt for trophies. That's not my thing."_

_"What do you hunt for?"_ Jarvis asked.

Allison's smile was sharp as a razor. _"I hunt to survive. And I eat what I kill."_

"That!" Tony pointed at the screen. "That was an amazing line."

"Oh my god," Pepper murmured. She took the mug from Rhodey and drank. "Tony, this is so bad."

"I know. Wait for it."

Again, everything changed, with a news story of a suicide bomber in Tennessee, and Allison asking for Jarvis to give Tony a message. Her story about some lady Tony had met in the nineties, then bringing in Aldrich Killian and a domestic terrorism front, made no sense.

"Okay, here's where it gets weird," Tony said.

"Here?" Pepper said incredulously.

 _"Your allegations would be bolstered if you could hand over any evidence as to what you're saying,"_ Jarvis said on the screen.

Allison's expression changed, radiating pure anger. _"Mr. Stark doesn't like having things handed to him, haven't you noticed that?"_

"How does she know that?" Pepper asked.

"I know, right?" Tony exclaimed.

Allison went on _. "If Mr. 'I privatized world peace' needs evidence, he can find it himself. He's got the world's largest supercomputer and access to every database in existence. He has god knows how many Iron Man suits, and more money than anyone could ever spend. I, on the other hand, am seventeen, homeless, with a weapons inventory of three knives, an axe, and a belt that might double as a garotte if I tried really hard."_ She sat back in her chair. _"If Tony's too busy pissing off Congress to do anything about Kilian and Extremis, fine. I'll find someone who can."_

"Jarvis, freeze it," Pepper ordered. The playback paused. "Tony, this is not good. This is so not good."

"I know."

"No, I mean it," Pepper said. "She knows too much about you. What if this is a trick? Someone's setting you up?"

"I'm with Pepper," Rhodey said.

"Just watch to the end," Tony said. He took Pepper's hands in his. "There's something else that you are not going to see coming."

"Honestly, by this point, nothing will surprise me." Pepper leaned against Tony's shoulder.

Jarvis resumed the playback. It took less than a minute for the final shoe to drop, but when Natasha Romanoff appeared behind Allison, dressed as a deputy sheriff, Rhodey could only shake his head.

"SHIELD's involved," he said. "This is a disaster."

"Hang on," Tony said. "Wait for Natasha to head out of shot."

 _"Didn't Noah tell you?"_ Natasha was saying. _"The sheriff's department is having a Labour Day barbeque. You're the only intern, so you're in charge of the kids' games."_

"She's working at the sheriff's station?" Pepper wondered. "I thought she was in school."

"She's an overachiever," Tony said. On the screen, Allison appeared alone, but she was silent. "Okay, so we have a few minutes before this wraps up. Natasha in town means one of two things, as far as I can figure."

"Let's have it," Rhodey said.

"One, Allison's the bad guy, and SHIELD's in town to take her out."

"She's _seventeen_ ," Pepper said, appalled.

"Or, two, SHIELD knows that Allison is connected to Earth's most valuable superhero. Me. And they decided to avoid telling me and somehow Allison got into Jarvis's systems coincidentally."

"No," Rhodey said. "No, it can't be a coincidence that she knows so much about you."

"That's what I thought." Tony took the mug from Pepper. "Which is why I am currently boating down Denial River, and trying to figure out if Allison is right about Killian and A.I.M." He swallowed the rest of the whisky in the mug, and made a face. "Jesus, what is this?"

"It was on your bar." Rhodey took the mug away from Tony. "So, if Allison is right, who could have fed her this information? And why did they go through her to get it to you?"

"Could you think of a better way to get my attention?" Tony asked.

He had a point.

On the screen, Allison was talking to Jarvis again. "Oh, this is the best part," Tony said, standing up. "Here it comes."

Allison leaned over, then straightened up, holding a very sharp, very shiny hatchet. Pepper let out a soft gasp.

 _"What is that?"_ Jarvis asked.

Allison looked at the camera. _"Premeditated self-defence."_

Tony clapped his hands. "See? Brilliant."

"That's not the word I'd use," Rhodey muttered.

Another few minutes, and the video went black. Rhodey, Tony and Pepper were left in a silent workshop, looking at each other.

Pepper spoke first. "You've known about this for a week."

"Five days."

"And you've been down here that whole time."

"I do come up for meals."

"What are you planning?"

"Pardon?"

Pepper crossed her arms over her chest. "I know you, and I know that there is no way that you watched that video and aren't in the middle of something."

Tony shrugged. "You heard Allison. I'm Iron Man. Defender of the public good, or something."

"You've been running the Killian angle," Rhodey deduced.

"You know it." Tony made a gesture, and a wall of information sprang up to the south. "And I can't find it. There's something missing."

"From Allison's story?" Pepper asked.

"I don't know. This guy's secrets have secrets. We're still trying to crack the money trail. The government money is easy, but there's private funds twisting up in here and that's making things complicated."

"What else are you working on?" Pepper asked.

Tony looked at her. "Isn't trying to save the country from domestic terrorism enough?"

"In anyone else? Yes. From you?"

Tony sighed. "Fine." He snapped, and another wall of information came up. "Meet the Argents."

The worst part was the crime scene photos, Rhodey decided after a heart-stopping moment. Bodies that had been burned beyond recognition, bodies that had been dismembered, bodies that lay in pools of blood.

Pepper turned away, hands over her mouth. "Did she… Did Allison do any of that?"

"No." Tony was at Pepper's side in an instant, his hand on her arm. "No, this was the older generation. As far as I can tell, Allison hasn't hurt anyone."

Both fascinated and horrified, Rhodey walked over the display. The name _Kate Argent_ appeared far too frequently. "Allison grew up with this?"

"Yeah." Tony was rubbing Pepper's back. "But that's not the worst of it."

If mass murder wasn't the worst of it, Rhodey really didn't want to know what was. "Tony."

The man looked away, then let his forehead rest on Pepper's shoulder. She turned to put her arm around his back. "Jarvis, pull up the medical records."

"Sir." A list of dates and times appeared on the wall, glittering green letters dispassionately listing injury after injury.

Tony coughed. "It took a while to find all this. They moved a lot."

Broken bones. Deep bruises. All Allison's, all flagged by the emergency room doctors to the attention of child services, all abandoned after the Argents left town.

Rhodey rubbed his hand over his face.

"It all sort of stopped when Allison hit thirteen," Tony said. "Which, coincidentally, was when Christopher Argent stopped spending so much time overseas."

"You think it was the wife?" Rhodey asked.

"I don't know." Tony lifted his head. "I don't know anything."

"So what do we do now?" Pepper asked.

"I—"

"Sir," Jarvis cut in with urgency. "Allison is online."

"Show me," Tony demanded, stepping away from Pepper. He didn't see her reaching for him, but Rhodey did. He stepped up beside her and offered his hand. She took it and squeezed.

A new screen flared to life. Allison sat in front of the computer, a bored expression on her face as she typed. The room behind her looked like a classroom, with other computers and a droning male voice in the distance.

"What's she doing?" Pepper asked.

"Hacking into my servers again," Tony said with glee. "She shouldn't be able to do this. Jarvis, I told you to lock down access."

"I did, sir." Jarvis sounded aggrieved. "As with before, she slipped inside without me knowing."

"Open hailing frequencies," Tony said.

"Oh god," Pepper whispered.

A small text window appeared on Allison's screen, mirrored beside the camera view. The girl smiled, happiness transforming her face. _Hi Jarvis._

_Allison. How are you today?_

_Bored. I got into senior comp sci and it's pretty much the wild west in here. How are you?_

_I am well._

Allison glanced up at something the teacher said. Around her, there was a sudden flurry of activity. _Hang on I gotta do a pop quiz._

_As you wish._

Allison opened a new window and began to type, code that made no sense to Rhodey.

"I should ask her something," Tony said. He bit at his knuckle. "What should I ask her?"

"How about what the hell is going on with Extremis and Killian?" Rhodey suggested.

"Or how she knows so much about you?" Pepper chimed in. "Or how she really got into Jarvis's server?"

"All great ideas," Tony said absently. "Ooh, that's interesting."

"What is?"

"She's building a better mousetrap." Tony walked over to poke at the code box on Allison's screen. "It's an old coding trick." He smiled to himself. "She's good."

"She got into Jarvis's servers, of course she's good," Pepper pointed out.

On the screen, Allison finished typing, tapped _execute_ , and sat back. A tiny illustrated mouse moved across her computer screen. With a satisfied air, Allison hit _submit_.

"How did you finish that so fast?" someone asked Allison. The girl turned to her right, where a dark-haired boy was looking over her shoulder.

"Pattern recognition," Allison said. "Danny, you're mixing your variables."

With a groan, the boy went back to his work.

Allison returned to the message window. _Sorry for the delay, Jarvis._

_It is not a problem. I wonder if I may ask you a few questions._

Allison bit her lip. _About what?_

_About the matter you asked that I bring to the attention of Mr. Stark._

Allison relaxed. _Sure, what?_

_We are running into a roadblock. It is the age-old problem, I fear, of too little data._

"Jarvis, buddy, what are you doing?" Tony asked.

"Taking advantage of the situation," Jarvis said. "We do not know for how long Allison will be online, and I, for one, am weary of spinning my wheels."

"Just don't give away the farm," Tony said.

"Noted, sir."

 _What can I tell you?_ Allison typed.

_We are unable to find the smoking gun, as it were. Do you have any more information that may aid in our search?_

Allison hesitated. _What have you done so far?_

_I have looked at A.I.M.'s financial trails, but so far, all appears above board._

_Of course._ Allison took her hands off the keyboard. She pressed one hand to her cheek as her eyes took on a searching look.

"Thank god," said the boy next to her. "That's done. Hey, are you going to tell me what's up with Jackson and Isaac?"

"What do you mean?" Allison asked, her eyes unfocused.

"Jackson said you're trying to get him to let Isaac live with him."

"Isaac needs a place to stay."

"Jackson and Isaac can't stand each other."

"They'll grow on each other." Allison blinked. "Like mold or something." She looked at Danny. "Jackson told me this morning that it wasn't going to happen."

"You know what Jackson's like." Danny stretched out in his chair.

"Half bluster?"

"Yeah."

"Okay," Tony said loudly. "Enough high school drama."

"Shall I bring you into the conversation?" Jarvis asked testily.

"No!" Tony yelped.

"Then allow things to continue," Jarvis said.

Rhodey was getting a headache.

On the screen, Allison was tapping her fingers against her jawbone. "Isaac living with Jackson is the best option," she said. "The other would be Scott, but money's tight for them."

"And you don't think that Jackson accusing Isaac of murdering his own father is a barrier to any of that?"

Rhodey raised his eyebrows. That was a level of drama that he'd never come across in his high school days.

Allison made a dismissive gesture. "Water under the bridge. We've weathered worse."

Danny was staring at Allison now. "Do I even want to know what you're talking about?"

"Nope. I—" Allison's eyes grew wide, and she smiled suddenly. "Danny, you're brilliant."

"Okay?"

Allison reached for her keyboard. In the background, a male voice called out, "Assignments are in. Feel free to spend the rest of the class doing whatever you want. But no porn on school computers!"

 _Is this connection secure?_ Allison wrote.

_Of course._

_Great. Can you see if there's any connection between A.I.M. or any of its subsidiaries and the vice-president?_

"The what?" Tony asked. "Vice-president of what?"

Rhodey suddenly had a very bad feeling.

_Of the USA._

_What should I be looking for?_

_I told you that Extremis can help regrow limbs, right?_

_Yes._

Allison opened up a browser window and entered a complicated search string that, after some waiting, popped up a news story from Vice-President Rodriguez's hometown. The story described how the man's daughter was recovering from leukemia, and had needed to have her leg amputated the previous month.

"No," Rhodey said. " _No._ Is she seriously trying to imply that the vice-president of the United States is somehow connected with potential terrorism activity?"

"Jarvis, the man's voting record," Tony snapped.

"Don't bother," Rhodey said. He knew a great deal about the vice-president's track record. "Never met an arms bill he didn't like. If it was up to him, we'd be at war with half a dozen more countries."

Allison was still typing. _And l'd look at his past, if I were you. A man doesn't suddenly find himself in the pocket of the first evil organization that comes his way. He might have a history of shady political donations. And find out how he became President Ellis's running mate._

_You suspect nefarious dealings._

_I suspect everything._ Allison absently pulled a lock of hair over her shoulder. _And I know that power corrupts._

_This ties back to your philosophy about villainy?_

_People make choices all the time. I want to know what choices the vice-president is making._

_Can you tell me what drives your suspicions?_

Allison sighed. _If I say fortune-teller again, are you going to buy it?_

_No._

_Fine. How about information received?_

_From what source?_

Allison looked at the blinking cursor, then raised her eyes to stare directly at the webcam embedded in the monitor. _From someone who used to work for the same sort of people as Deputy Rushman._

"Wait, does she know about Natasha?" Pepper demanded.

_Deputy Rushman has a solid background in law enforcement. I reviewed her record myself._

_I have no doubt that Deputy Rushman's background is meticulously detailed. Probably as detailed as that of our new gym teacher, Clint Barton._

Tony threw his hands into the air. "Are you fucking serious?" he demanded. "Jarvis, find him!"

 _All I care about is stopping the Extremis attacks before they start,_ Allison wrote. _Protecting people is all I want._

_And in that, you and Mr. Stark have a lot in common._

Allison shook her head. _I don't have anything in common with Tony Stark._ All the amusement was gone from Allison's face now. _I'm just a girl with a handful of knives._

Beside the screen, a small photograph popped up. "Mr. Barton's employee record at Beacon Hills High," Jarvis said.

Tony barely looked at it. "I'm too sober for this."

Allison glanced around the room. _I have to go, class ends in a few minutes and I have to back out of your systems. If you need anything, text me and I can find a secure connection._

_Before you go: are you safe?_

Rhodey was not reassured with how long Allison hesitated before answering. _About as safe as I can be, given the circumstances._

_Stay well._

_See ya, Jarvis._ Allison smiled at the camera, and the screen went black.

Rhodey let out a long, deep breath. "Did she just accuse the vice-president of the United States of collaborating with domestic terrorists, based on intel received from agents of hostile foreign powers?"

"Yup." Tony turned around. "I asked for more information to follow, I guess I got it."

"Tony, this is nuts," Rhodey protested. "She's provided no proof, no shred of evidence, nothing. I'm sorry, but this looks like she's trying to trap you into something."

"Possibly," Tony agreed.

"How would a seventeen-year-old girl even _know_ a hostile foreign agent?"

"She spent time in France."

Pepper coughed. "I've been to France, and so have you," she reminded Tony. "Spies aren't exactly dangling from the trees."

"Okay, fair point," Tony said. "But I will remind you that two of SHIELD's agents have wedged their way into Allison's life in Beacon Hills, and the more that she says, the more I think it's because they know something is up. So I'm going to do what I always do."

"Which is what?" Rhodey asked.

Tony blinked at him. "Figure it out first."

Pepper walked over to Tony. "Tony."

"Pepper."

"We have to talk about Allison."

"We have done nothing but talk about Allison," Tony pointed out.

"That's not what I mean." She put her hands on his chest. "If she is your daughter—"

"Nope," Tony interrupted, stepping away.

"If she is your daughter," Pepper went on. "Even if she's trying to trick you into something, you are going to have to address this."

"Or," Tony said, still walking around. "Or, I could figure out if the second-in-command of the United States government is working with terrorists instead."

Rhodey closed his eyes. This was so bad. This was so incredibly bad.

"If not, no harm, right?" Tony picked up a screwdriver. "But if he is, I think I'm patriotically obligated to stop him, right? After all, I am Iron Man."

"Rhodey, help me," Pepper said.

Rhodey took a deep breath. "I have to agree with Tony," he said. "Pepper, this is the worst-case scenario."

"I know this is bad." Pepper pushed her hair back. For a moment, the three of them were silent in their thoughts. "All right. I'm going to let this slide until we can figure out if…" She groaned. "Oh god, are we going to have to take down the government?"

"No," Rhodey said immediately. He couldn't even think that. "If a member of the executive branch has been compromised, then there are steps, legal steps, to take."

"Who stops domestic terrorists?" Tony asked. "Is that SHIELD? The FBI?"

"We need to take a step back," Rhodey said. "If Allison found out about this from foreign agents, then what else do they know? And who else knows about it?"

"Sir." Jarvis's voice fell into the room with a ring of triumph. "I believe I have found something."

Tony spun around. "Show me."

A tower of numbers rose high on the west wall. "Both A.I.M. and the vice-president's election campaign received funds from the same bank account. The shell company listed on the transfer was different in both cases, but the account number is confirmed."

Rhodey, Tony and Pepper looked at each other. "Right," Rhodey said with a nod. "There's something we can follow. And if there's this, there may be more. Jarvis, keep digging. Pepper, can you find out more of what Aldrich Killian has been up to? You said you know him. Tony, you help Jarvis, and see if you can figure out more of what Extremis can do. If terrorists show up, we need to know how to handle them."

Tony shook himself. "I do love it when you take command, honey bear."

"Save it for the debrief," Rhodey ordered. "We're all hands on deck until we figure this out."

Tony saluted.

"And then can we focus on Allison?" Pepper asked.

"You heard the colonel," Tony said, and there was a tightness in his voice that Rhodey knew all too well. "Save the country first, then we figure out if I need to be handing out cigars."

Rhodey cast his eyes to the ceiling. If Allison really was Tony and Clara's daughter, stolen away to be raised by Hunters, he just hoped that she was on the side of the angels now.

Because if Tony had to lose his daughter again, Rhodey didn't know what the man would do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At some point one of the boys will say something about werewolves and then they'll realize that they haven't told Pepper that Clara was a werewolf. Oops.
> 
> Also I know that _Iron Man 3_ came out about a year before _Captain America: the Winter Soldier_ introduced Hydra back into the scene, but I think we can all read the inferences here that Hydra was pushing some of the buttons in this situation…


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allison undertakes a side-quest down on Belladonna Road, gets into a fight with Sheriff Stilinski about money, larceny, and the American way, and sends Derek and the wolves down a rabbit hole before finally going head-to-head with the monster that's threatening her town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Violence and gore at the end, including a description of injuries.

* * *

After school, Allison climbed into the passenger seat of Lydia's car. "Is there any plan to this, or are you just kidnapping me for a few hours?" Allison asked.

Lydia started the engine. "Shopping," she declared. "I don't care what for. This week has been hellish and I want some retail therapy."

Allison slumped. "I need to go home first."

"Why?"

Allison scanned the road around them, checking for a tail or anything suspicious. "That's where all my money is."

 _And knives_ , Allison added in her head. Walking around school unarmed was one thing, where strange men roaming the halls might be noticed. But elsewhere in Beacon Hills? With a Lydia who didn't yet know about or control her banshee powers?

Yeah, Allison needed _all_ her knives.

"What's it like, working for Stiles' dad?" Lydia asked.

"It's okay." Allison let her eyes linger on a passing minivan. "I get to do some interesting stuff. Did Stiles tell you that we probably have a wendigo on the way to town?"

"A what?"

For the rest of the car ride, Allison was in mission report mode, presenting known facts, a summarized backgrounder on the monster of the week, and possible plans of attack.

At the Stilinskis', Lydia parked out front, turned off the car, and looked at Allison. "Is this some creepy Hunter thing?"

Allison was nonplussed. "What?"

"This book report I've been listening to." Lydia tossed her hair over her shoulder. "You just spent two whole minutes detailing possible offensive uses of _incendiary chemical weapons_."

"And did I get any of it wrong?" Allison demanded.

"No, but it's creepy." Lydia opened her door. "And probably illegal."

"So we won't tell Noah." Allison got out of the car. "It's important to have options, Lydia."

"For what, when Derek goes after this thing?" Lydia followed Allison into the house.

Allison picked up the mail as she led Lydia into the kitchen. "Sure, yeah, Derek." She sorted through the envelopes. Gas bill, credit card bill, something from the Gamestop for Stiles… and an envelope for her.

Dropping the other mail on the counter, Allison ripped open the envelope to find her replacement driver's licence, complete with the motorcycle permit. "Fucking finally," she muttered.

"What's that?" Lydia demanded.

"The solution to half of my problems." Allison shoved the card into her pocket. "Let me get my money and we can go."

Because Lydia was Lydia, she followed Allison up the stairs. She hesitated for a moment by the open door to Stiles' room. "How can you live with him?" she asked, wrinkling her nose.

"Stiles is a pretty easy roommate," Allison called, heading into her own bedroom. "He cleans up after himself."

"Still." Lydia drifted through the door. "He's Stiles."

"That he is." Allison tossed her backpack into the corner before heading to the closet. She yanked the duffle down from the shelf above the clothes to take over to the bed.

"This wardrobe is hideous," Lydia mused, flipping between Allison's few hangers.

"Clothing isn't important." Allison pulled the seams of the bag apart, to get to her remaining money.

"If clothing isn't important, then how are you going to get anyone to invite you to the Homecoming dance?" Lydia demanded.

"The day I dress for a man is the day I meet God." Allison quickly counted out the bills. She had just under four thousand dollars remaining. "Besides, I'm not going to the dance."

Lydia spun around. "Why not?" Her eyes grew wide. "Wait, what are you doing?"

"My finances." Allison wrapped a hair tie around the bills before shoving the roll into her jacket pocket. "I have to buy a motorcycle."

"Why?" 

Allison knelt beside the bed. "Would you want to depend on Stiles to drive you everywhere?"

"But a motorcycle?" If possible, Lydia's eyes grew wider. " _Now_ what are you doing?"

Allison looked up. "Getting a knife."

"That's not a knife," Lydia protested. Allison looked down at the lovely silver blade with a dark wood handle she hadn't had a chance to use yet. "That's a machete."

"The blade isn't even seven inches long." Allison flipped the knife in her fingers. Lydia meeped. "Okay, fine, I'll take the k-bar, happy?"

Allison swapped out knives, hooking the sheath into the inside of her waistband.

"I know what seven inches looks like," Lydia said, crossing her arms over her chest. Allison raised an eyebrow. "No, I do."

"Good for Jackson." Allison stood and pushed the mattress back into place.

"Ugh." Lydia rolled her eyes. "I mean, yes, but I was talking about those Christian Louboutin leather pumps I get when I get into MIT."

"Tell you what." Allison patted herself down. Stolen money, forged licence, illegally concealed-carry dagger…. Everything a girl needed for an afternoon on the town in Beacon Hills. "I know a guy who went to MIT, he might be able to give you some help."

Lydia scoffed. "The day I need help to get into MIT is the day I give it all up to work at Anton's."

"Hey, people tip well at Anton's." Allison reached for Lydia's hand. "Come on, I need a snack before we go shopping."

"Fine." Allison and Lydia clattered down the stairs, hitting the hall just as Noah walked into the house.

"Hey, girls." Noah smiled at them. "Homework?"

"I'm taking Allison shopping," Lydia declared, snaking her arm through Allison's. "Her clothing situation is _dire_."

Allison pasted a smile on her face. "I'll be back for dinner."

"Be careful out there," Noah said. "You have your phone?"

"Always." Allison edged Lydia towards the door. "Text me if you want me to pick up anything for dinner."

"Stiles will do the grocery run on his way home from lacrosse," Noah said. "You girls have fun."

"Thanks!" Allison called, practically shoving Lydia out of the house. "Come on," she said in Lydia's ear. "I need a snack."

"How about a frappuccino?" Lydia suggested.

"Or a hamburger." They got into the car.

"Why are you so hungry all the time?" Lydia asked. "Are you pregnant?"

"No." Allison shifted in the seat so the knife wasn't digging into her back. "Stop asking me that."

"Then what?"

"I'm exercising more." Allison scanned the street to see if they were being followed. "And living with the stressful possibility of running into Maurice Dupont and his asshole buddies makes it hard to sleep."

"Stiles told me about them." Lydia glanced at Allison. "Why are they here?"

Allison's head hurt. "I don't know. There's any number of reasons that a crew like that would be in town, but I have no fucking idea."

"Are they…" Lydia had her eyes on the road. "Are they going to go after Jackson? For what happened?"

The question sent a flash of anger through Allison, pulling the alpha up and into her voice as Allison replied, "Absolutely not." She closed her eyes so Lydia wouldn't accidentally see the gleam of red. "The Hunters in town, they're following Chris's lead on Jackson. If Dupont or the others even so much as look at Jackson, I'll deal with them myself."

"What the hell does that mean?" Lydia demanded.

Allison blinked. The alpha settled in her chest. "It means that if push comes to shove, I might have a shot at one get-out-of-jail free card," Allison said. "If Dupont's crew attacks any of my friends, I take them down."

"But there's, like, five of them," Lydia protested.

"That makes it a fair fight."

"Allison!"

"What do you want me to say?" Allison asked. "Do you want me to pretend that I'll just let you guys get hurt?"

"No! I want you to tell me that no one's going to _get_ hurt!"

Lydia sounded so incredibly young, so scared, that Allison reached out to put her hand on Lydia's arm. "You have no idea how much I want to be able to tell you that," Allison said. She was so tired. "I would do anything, _anything_ , to keep you guys safe. That's the best I can offer."

They drove in silence for almost a minute. Allison felt terrible. She was messing everything up with Lydia. Part of her didn't know how to interact with the girl, who had been her friend for so long. In some ways, it was so much more complicated than dealing with Erica, because Erica was pack, and Lydia was… Lydia.

"I hate this all so much," Lydia finally said. "Why can't things go back to the way they were?"

"That's not how life works," Allison said, feeling like a complete hypocrite, because for her, things _had_ gone back to the way they were. "We do what we can and we go forward."

It was what Allison and everyone had tried to do after the Snap. Then the Avengers undid everything, brought everyone back… and because of that, the universe fell apart.

Allison rubbed her temples. She didn't know what she was going to do.

"Have… have you heard from Peter?" Lydia asked tentatively, and it was such a shock that Allison nearly jumped.

"What?"

Lydia pulled into a parking spot. "Peter," she repeated. "Isaac said you were snarking with Peter at the ice rink. Did you, like talk to him at all?"

 _Do not hyperventilate_ , Allison told herself firmly. The last time she'd talked to Peter had been the evening before, when he'd spent over an hour fucking her into his mattress. Somehow, Allison suspected that Lydia would not appreciate most of those details.

"I asked him about the wendigo," Allison said carefully. "He's got books."

Lydia turned off the car. "Okay," she said slowly. "So, how do you go from saying that you'll kill him if he comes after me again, to asking him for research help?"

Allison shrugged. "One doesn't necessarily preclude the other." And, because she apparently had no filter, went on. "He's a good place to start for a dive into areas unexplored."

Lydia took Allison's statement at face value. "I don't like it," she announced. "If you want research, you should come to me and Stiles." She opened her door. "Come on, I need coffee."

Allison gave up and went after her.

They sat outside the Starbucks, Lydia sipping on her frappuccino while Allison held her small black coffee and fantasized about eating an entire turkey dinner by herself. "So you're not getting back together with Scott," Lydia said after a while.

"No."

"Jackson's taken."

Allison took a gulp of coffee. It had been around this time, the first time, that Jackson had started to wonder if he might be a little more fluid in his sexuality than previously supposed. Allison just hoped that it didn't hurt Lydia's feelings as much this time, when Jackson broke up with her. "He is," she agreed.

"Isaac?"

"What about him?"

"You could date Isaac?"

Allison swung around to frown at Lydia. "I'm not interested in dating anyone at school," she said, with as much repressive weight in her voice as she could. "Not _anyone_."

Lydia turned her head, green eyes glittering like she was trying to solve a puzzle. "Not even Erica?"

It was such an unexpected combination of words, that it took Allison a moment to piece together the meaning. "Uh, no," she finally said. "I'm not into girls."

"Are you sure?" Lydia took a hit off her frappuccino without ever breaking eye contact. "Because that's one possible reason why you're hanging around with her."

Oh _god_ , teenage jealousy. "I hang around with Erica because she is my friend," Allison said, trying to keep her temper. "That is the reason. Nothing else."

Lydia stared for one moment more, then flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Are you sure?"

"Very." Allison pried the lid off her coffee cup. "I am, unfortunately, very straight."

"Why unfortunately?" Lydia demanded.

Allison drank half her coffee in one gulp. When she came up for air, she said, "I like dick, but I'm not always that enthusiastic about what it's attached to."

Behind them, Allison heard a smothered snort. She glanced over her shoulder to see two older women carrying their coffee out of the store. The one with the purple fauxhawk was trying to cover a laugh. Allison grinned at her and was about to turn back to Lydia when she spotted the motorcycle helmet on the other woman's arm. Her eyes slid over to the motorcycle parked at the curb, and was on her feet in a moment.

"Excuse me," Allison said, trying to avoid spilling her coffee in her haste. "Hi," she added when the women turned back around. "Did you get your bike anywhere around here?"

The woman with the helmet gave Allison the once-over. "You know how to ride?"

"I do."

The women exchanged a glance. "You should try Lachesis'," said the purple-haired woman. "Down by the tracks where they run along Belladonna Road."

Allison's spine tingled. All the places in Beacon Hills that little girls were warned not to go. "That sounds like fun," she said, and smiled.

* * *

"This is creepy," Lydia hissed in Allison's ear as they entered the shop. "There's dust everywhere."

"It's a used car shop, Lydia, of course it's dusty." Allison hauled Lydia in deeper, past the wall of old carburetors. "We're just going to take a look around."

"This is not a safe neighbourhood," Lydia said. She was actually clinging to Allison's arm. "Everyone knows that."

"It's not safe at the crossroads," Allison corrected. She ran her eyes over an old airplane propeller mounted on the wall. Really, she could spend all day here. "We are inside."

"That doesn't make me feel better." Lydia grumbled. "And this wasn't what I meant when I said I wanted to go shopping."

"It's my kind of retail therapy," Allison said. Her glance slid over the far wall. Then she stopped and looked back. There was a woman sitting there, so motionless that Allison had missed her the first time around. Her hackles went up. "Come on."

Allison drew herself up, shoulders back, an alpha on the approach to something interesting and unknown on her own territory. Lydia hurried along.

The woman tracked their approach, only her eyes moving. She appeared middle-age, shoulder-length hair salt-and-pepper, dressed in greasy auto repair coveralls. Her arms were crossed over her chest and she did not seem in the least bit happy to see Allison and Lydia in the shop.

"Hello," Allison said, dropping every shred of Allison Argent. She was Allison Stark, and she knew what she needed. "I'm told that you sell used motorcycles."

The woman blinked. "Yup."

"I wonder if you might want to sell one to me."

Another blink. "You got a valid licence?"

Allison detached Lydia's hands from her arm, and pulled her new driver's licence out of her pocket. "Of course."

The woman scrutinized the card for longer than necessary. "I can still smell fresh ink on this."

"It's a replacement." Allison took the card back. "I lost the other one in a tragic boating accident in France."

"Huh." The woman looked at Lydia. "You related to Lorraine Martin?"

Lydia snapped to attention, energy crackling in the air. Allison put her hand on Lydia's shoulder. The last thing anyone needed was Lydia going full banshee this close to the crossroads. "Why?" Lydia's demand was brittle.

The woman shrugged, getting to her feet. "I knew Lorraine and Maddy from way back," she said, heading towards a door in the wall Allison hadn't seen before. "You look a bit like her."

Allison squeezed Lydia's shoulder. "We can leave if you want."

Lydia breathed in through her nose. "No," she declared. "I want to see these motorcycles."

Allison sent a plea into the universe that this wouldn't be a complete disaster, and followed Lydia and the woman.

The doors opened into a very large, very crowded fenced-in yard. There were a collection of cars and motorcycles, with what looked like an old World War I prop plane gently rusting in the corner.

"Lachesis," the woman in the coveralls called out. From under a vehicle, another woman in a white coverall emerged, this one with light hair coiled up in a bun. "Visitors."

"It's past your time," the woman said to a point somewhere between Lydia and Allison.

"We got held up at the Starbucks," Allison agreed, because she was used to dealing with car sales people on a number of planets. You just rolled with it until a price was named. "I have three thousand dollars and need a motorcycle that's fast enough to get me out from under the noose." Lydia made a choking sound. "Can you help me?"

"Don't worry about the noose, dear." The blonde woman drifted east for a few steps, then stopped. "We'll find you something that will outpace your enemies."

"I changed my mind," Lydia whispered. "Let's go."

"We're okay," Allison whispered back. She patted Lydia's hand. "Come on."

They followed the blonde woman between closely packed cars. A tabby cat was lounging on top of a big black Chevy Impala, warming in the afternoon sun. The cat looked at Allison, and yawned.

Allison inhaled. The air was full of the scent of motor oil and metal, baking dirt, and possibilities. She felt a little giddy. Sure, there was something really weird going on with the two women – how had the one in the shop really made that connection between Lydia and her grandmother? And where was the blonde one taking them? But the mysteries only added to the spark of interest.

"Here," said the blonde woman as they turned onto a row of motorcycles. "You need this one."

"Why that one?" Lydia asked as Allison stepped up to the machine indicated. It was shiny black and silver under its coating of dust, its bones solid and whole.

"Because."

Lydia frowned. "Because why?"

The older woman sighed. "It's light enough to turn quick, the right size for your friend's height, and can get up to speed on asphalt far faster than it looks."

"Still street-legal?" Allison asked, crouching down to look at the engine and radiator.

"Everything we sell is legal," came a third voice. Allison glanced over the bike seat to see an older red-haired woman sitting at a workbench under an awning, tinkering with a sparkplug. "We value our repeat customers." For some reason, this seemed to entertain her.

Allison stood up. "Can I take it for a test-drive?"

"What, just like that?" Lydia demanded.

"I'll be able to tell if worth riding if I have twenty minutes alone with it."

"Are you just going to leave me here?" Lydia gestured around the yard.

"Do you want to come with me?"

Lydia stopped. She looked down at the bike, then to Allison, then to the three women standing around them. "I'll go say hi to the cat," she said, and marched off.

The woman from the shop shook her head. "Lorraine was never one for motorbikes, either."

"What's this going to cost me?" Allison asked, one hand already proprietary on the handlebar.

The three women exchanged a glance. "You're that girl who works with Brodie," said the woman at the workbench. It was not a question.

If these three knew Brodie the brownie, then odds were that they were also part of the supernatural scene. "I am."

"He says good things about you," said the blonde. "Says you run with the wolves."

"And here you are," added the dark-haired woman. "Looking more like old Talia Hale than anyone not related to her should be."

Allison tensed for a fight. "I don't look like Talia Hale."

"You know what I mean." The woman brushed dust off her coverall sleeve. "Thing is, this town could use a little stability."

"And you think I can help?"

The woman shrugged. "Brodie does. He says you already put some things to right."

"So you're going to sell me the bike because Brodie said I'm okay?"

"No." The dark-haired woman grinned, showing a gold tooth in the corner of her mouth. "We're going to sell you the bike for _money_ , and not ask for anything else."

Allison felt a tension escape her spine. "Let me take it for a spin to test it out, and you've got a deal."

"One condition," the dark-haired woman said. Allison waited for the other shoe to drop. "Before you head on out, you buy a helmet. Non-refundable."

Allison considered. "Deal."

The blonde clapped her hands. "A sale, and on a Thursday," she mused.

The redhead caught Allison's raised eyebrows. "Look, it's Beacon Hills," she said. "We do mostly weekend business, you know?"

Allison did know. Whether staffed by the supernatural or not, a small business didn't have an easy go of things.

* * *

The test drive was glorious. The bike handled like an absolute dream, cornering on a dime, braking reliably, all the things Allison expected. She wasn't able to test out the speed on city roads, but once she got this thing with Dupont settled, she was going to head north up into Montana to see how fast she could push it.

Allison drove back to the shop, parked in front, and went inside to pay for the bike. There, she found Lydia sitting on a stack of tires, her arms full of tabby cat, a black-and-white kitten in her lap and a creamy Persian draped over her knee.

"…and then I said to Lorraine, honey, lakefront property in Beacon Hills isn't the smartest. It's California, and there's a fault line right under that lake," the dark-haired woman was telling Lydia as she stacked jumper-cables on a shelf. "We get an eight-pointer, and all you're going to have is a shack next to a big hole in the ground."

"I don't remember her much," Lydia said, pressing her cheek against the tabby. The cat purred so loud that Allison could hear it from the door.

"Give it time," the woman said. "The dead all come back to us, in the end." She looked at Allison. "Take it or leave it?"

"Take it," Allison said. "Do you sell bike gloves?"

The woman snorted. "We sell everything. Just because you don't see it, doesn't mean it's not here."

After some back and forth around price, and more paperwork than Allison ever wanted to repeat, she and Lydia were out in the parking lot in the evening twilight, the latter still holding the tabby cat.

"You're going to have to let her go," Allison pointed out as she zipped up her leather jacket.

"I know." Lydia made a kissy face. The cat put her paw on Lydia's chin. "I didn't think I liked cats."

"These are special cats." Allison straddled her bike, relishing the feel of the machine under her.

"How?"

"Chop-shop cats are a whole different thing than junkyard dogs."

"I'm going to pretend I know what that means." Lydia set the cat down. It looked up at her, meowed, and slipped through a crack in the fence. "Are you really going to ride that home?"

"Yup." Allison pulled her hair back into a tight braid. "Are you okay to get home?"

"Of course, I'm driving."

Allison tied off her braid with the hair tie she'd used around her money. After buying the bike, the helmet, the gloves, and the licence plate and insurance from the decidedly seedy (and, possibly, seelie) salesman across the road, her net worth had dwindled to seven hundred and thirty-four dollars, folded neatly into her left pocket.

And she still had to fill up the tank.

"This part of town is weird," Allison said as she reached for her gloves. "There's a reason that we're not supposed to come down here after dark. How about I drive behind you until you get to the Ridgewood turn-off?"

"Fine." Lydia fidgeted. "We have _got_ to go clothes shopping for you."

"I get paid next Friday." Allison donned her helmet, flipping the visor. "Can we talk about this next week? I have to work this weekend."

"What about homework?"

"I can do it during work breaks."

Lydia looked as if she was about to say something else, but then she spun on her heel and marched over to her car without another word.

Allison started the bike and rolled it over closer to Lydia's car. Lydia opened her door and paused before getting in. "One of these days, you're going to tell me what's really going on with you."

"Possibly," Allison agreed. "Now, get moving. It's almost sunset. I'll see you tomorrow."

Lydia got into her car, closed the door, and after some tedious adjustment, started to back out of the parking lot. Allison slid down her visor. Once Lydia hit the road, Allison accelerated, keeping the bike steady underneath her.

This close to dark, there was a low thrum of unease out on the road. Allison kept her pace behind Lydia's car, but was able to see some of the early crowd gathering. There were a few bars and pawn shops, far from the city centre, thanks to old zoning laws, and behind them, blocked off to vehicle traffic now, was the old crossroads.

Allison spared the crossroads a glance when there was a break in the buildings. Already, some early takers were setting up their lawn chairs well back from the intersection, ready for the evening's action. Allison was pretty certain that no actual demon had been summoned to Beacon Hills since well before World War II, but that probably added to the enjoyment.

Allison had been in a city once where someone had successfully summoned a demon. Well. There hadn't been much of a city left, after.

Up ahead, Lydia was signalling to turn. Allison waited until the car was heading north, then accelerated down Belladonna Road, leaving the crossroads fervor behind.

Now that she had her bike, part of Allison just wanted to keep driving. She didn't have anyone bothering her, and having to pay attention to the road kept away the worst of the noise in her head.

She wondered how far she could get on seven hundred and thirty-four dollars.

Probably not far enough.

With a sigh, Allison slowed and hung a right. There had to be a place she could fuel up around here somewhere.

After five minutes, Allison pulled into a gas station. She parked in front of one of the pumps, then headed inside, prying off her helmet as she went. She had gotten so used to the protective wear of the future, light-weight, sturdy and responsive. Absently, she wondered if she could ask Tony to make her a Iron Man-type motorcycle helmet for her birthday. Would that even be street-legal?

She handed over one of her ten-dollar bills, got her receipt, and went back outside. There, her feet faltered. While she was inside, an SUV had pulled up to the pump on the other side of the island, a familiar-looking one.

It wasn't the vehicle that had followed her and Erica that night, nor was it Chris's car. But she had seen it far too often, at the house and at Hunter meetings, and Allison distantly wondered if she was in danger.

She glanced around. There were surveillance cameras, and bright lights everywhere. And, if everything went straight to hell, Allison could run.

Taking a deep breath, Allison walked back to her bike. While she tried to figure out what was going on, she could at least get what she'd paid for.

The driver's door opened, and Paul Morgan, one of Chris Argent's lieutenants, stepped out of the SUV. He did a double-take. "Allison?"

"Paul," Allison said evenly. She slipped the gas nozzle into the tank. "Good evening."

Paul stared at her. "You okay, kid?"

Allison was suddenly very tired. Paul and his family had been moving around with the Argents for years. His kids had babysat Allison before they went off to college. And now, Allison was trying to figure out how much of a threat Paul was to her.

She hated this.

"I'm fine." Allison glanced at the numbers ticking on the pump. "How's Claire?"

"She's fine." Paul looked confused. "Does your dad know where you are?"

"I hope not." Allison met Paul's eyes. "Seriously, are we really going to pretend that everything's okay right now?"

Paul sighed, running a hand over his goatee. "No, I suppose not." He moved to put his credit card into the pump. "Your dad's worried about you. A lot of us are."

"There are some new folks in town who aren't so concerned about my welfare, if I understand things," Allison said. Almost to ten dollars. "You'll forgive me if my attention is focused on them."

"Come on, kid," Paul said. "If you just stopped acting out, we could get them to leave town."

Ten dollars. Allison put the nozzle back on the pump. "Would you care to define acting out?" she asked, anger burning in her guts.

Paul's look was pure exasperated parent, and that he would look at her like that made Allison angrier. "You know." He pressed keys on the pay pad, sending tiny beeps out into the air. "You've been seen all over town with those kids." The last two words sounded like an epithet. "And at the ice rink with Hale?"

Allison pulled on her gloves. "There's a difference between acting out, and picking a side." She straddled her bike. "I picked a side, Paul, that's all this is."

The man frowned at her. "Whose bike is that?"

"As of an hour ago, mine."

"Since when can you ride a motorcycle?"

Allison affected surprise. "I got my motorcycle permit two years ago, Paul, I thought you knew that." She pulled on her helmet, started the engine, and was driving off before Paul could respond.

That had been stupid, Allison knew. When she saw the SUV, she should have left immediately. But now she knew that Chris's Hunters didn't have orders to take her down on sight.

Small miracles.

She drove around town for a while, to make sure she wasn't being followed, then pointed the motorcycle in the direction of the Stilinskis'.

It was past eight when Allison pulled up to the house. She dismounted and walked the bike to stash it beside Stiles' jeep, then headed into the house.

Only as she unlocked the door did Allison wonder how she was going to explain this to Noah.

The house smelled of meatloaf. Noah and Stiles were talking in the kitchen, so Allison squared her shoulders and went in that direction. "Hi," she called.

"We saved you dinner!" Stiles yelled immediately. "I couldn't wait, lacrosse nearly killed me."

Allison paused in the kitchen doorway. Stiles and Noah were both seated, halfway through the meal. "Sorry, I got caught up with Lydia," she said.

Noah paused mid-chew. "Why do you have a motorcycle helmet?"

Allison looked down. Damn it. She probably should have left that in the hall.

Stiles slid his chair back with a jerk. "Did you get a motorcycle?" he gasped, eyes wide. "Can I ride it?"

"Yes," Allison said. "And given the way your dad is looking at me, I doubt it."

Noah was leaning back, the beginnings of an authoritative frown on his face. "You bought a motorcycle," he stated.

"Yes." Allison set the helmet on the counter as she went to get some water.

"How?"

Allison focused on filling a glass from the tap. "I had some money."

"Where did you get it?"

Allison drank the water, trying to fortify herself for this conversation. Then she put the glass in the sink and turned around. "I took it from the apartment before I left."

Noah looked at her. "You stole it?"

A flash of rage jerked through Allison's torso. She let out a breath. "I did not steal anything," she said when she felt she could control her voice. "I took some of Chris's grocery money."

"How much?"

Between Allison and his father, Stiles sat frozen.

Allison settled her hands on the edge of the countertop. "Five thousand."

Noah's expression flickered. "You call five thousand dollars, grocery money?"

"Are you kidding?" Allison demanded. "Chris is worth millions. He has over two hundred thousand dollars in cash scattered around the house. This is nothing."

"Nothing?" Noah repeated. "Allison, what if Chris decides to file charges against you?"

"For this?" Allison exclaimed. "I know where all his bodies are buried; he wouldn't dare."

Noah stood up. "And if I say you have to give it back?"

Allison pushed off the counter. "Why, because it's an election year?" she demanded sarcastically.

"Don't," Noah said. "Don't throw that back in my face."

"If you say I have to give the money back to Chris, I'll give it back." Allison dug into her pocket. "While I'm at it." She pulled two hundreds and three twenties from the ever-dwindling stack. "Here." She slapped it onto the table. "For the school supplies."

Noah was getting red. "Is that it?" he asked, pointing at the money in Allison's hand. "Is that what you have left?"

"Four hundred and sixty-four dollars." She thought back, then pulled two dollar bills off and put them in her pocket. "I owe Jackson for lunch. Four hundred and sixty-two."

"From five thousand."

"Well, motorcycle."

"What about the knives up in your room?" Noah demanded.

Another flash of anger stabbed through Allison's belly. "I didn't steal those!" she practically shouted.

"She didn't, Dad," Stiles broke in quickly. "I was with her when she bought them."

Noah put his hands on the back of a chair. "So you had five thousand dollars when you got kicked out of your house, and the two big purchases you make are knives and a getaway vehicle," he said. "Do I have that right?"

"Sounds like it," Allison ground out.

"And you have four hundred and sixty-two dollars left."

"Um." Both Allison and Noah looked at Stiles. "Uh, school fees are due by Monday. It's two hundred this year."

Allison wanted to cry. Fuck high school, fuck _everything_ about being seventeen. "Right." She peeled two hundred off the stack, then hesitated. She wasn't the only one who was operating in junior year without any financial support. Isaac had so much more to worry about than paying for school fees.

Still, he had said that he'd take any of Chris Argent's money.

Allison pulled more bills off the fold, and put four hundred dollars on the table beside the money for the school supplies. The remaining sixty-two dollars looked very small in her hand.

"What's the other two hundred for?" Noah asked.

"Isaac," Allison replied. "Just… he's on his own."

"Jesus," Noah muttered. After a minute, he sat down and stared at the money on the table.

Stiles got up. "You gotta eat," he said to Allison as he reached for a potholder. "You look like you're five minutes away from snacking on my liver."

"I wouldn't eat your liver," Allison replied automatically. "Too many bones in the way."

"Thanks!" Stiles said sarcastically, pulling a plate out of the oven. "That was definitely reassuring and not at all worrying." He put the plate on the table. "Eat."

Allison sat down. It had been hours since lunch, and all she'd had was the coffee at the Starbucks. She was _starving._

"Where would you get five thousand from?" Noah asked.

Allison frowned at him, mouth already full of meatloaf. "Huh?"

"You said, if I said you had to give the money back to Chris, you would." Noah put his elbows on the table. "How?"

Allison swallowed. Asking Tony Stark for money was out, seeing as how she wasn't supposed to know he was her father. The Vasquez fortune was off-limits for similar reasons. However, there was a family fortune closer to hand, and while Derek would rather drive over her in the street than loan her a twenty, there was someone who Allison could ask for five thousand dollars.

The thought made her stomach twist. The only reason that she and Peter had made it work between them, in a future that would never happen, was that they didn't owe each other anything. They'd both had money, a modicum of power, and community respect. While Allison was technically Peter's alpha, that was something she'd never used over him.

But here, and now… She could ask Peter for the money.

And then she could owe him.

Allison wasn't sure what that power imbalance would lead Peter to do.

But… practically speaking, she could probably weather whatever Peter demanded of her. After all, he wasn't interested in hurting her. He'd probably just lord it over her until he got bored.

Allison moved some spinach around the plate. "There's someone I could ask."

"Someone who could give you five thousand dollars, just like that?"

She shrugged. "Chris isn't the only one who has money lying around."

"Who?" Stiles demanded.

Allison looked at him. "Does it matter?"

"The way you just clammed up?" Stiles eyes were dark and angry. "It matters."

Fuck. Allison put her fork down. "Someone with whom I am currently in accord," she said with precision. "And who I get along with as long as neither of us owes the other anything."

Stiles knew it was Peter, Allison could tell by the way he was getting angrier. "And if you suddenly owe him five thousand dollars?"

Allison could make a flip joke about working the money off while lying down, and would have if this had been her future Stiles. But this Stiles was seventeen and still so young in ways that kept surprising Allison.

She pushed her plate to the side and reached across the table to take Stiles' hands. "Listen to me," she said. "Him and me, it's okay. If I did owe him, it would just be living through a couple of years of irritating psychological barbs."

Stiles turned his hands in hers to squeeze. "I'm not okay with this," he announced. He squeezed her hands again before pulling away. To Allison's intense surprise, Stiles then yanked his wallet out of his pocket and tossed it onto the table in front of his father. "I've got six thousand in my savings account," he snapped, glaring at Noah. "You want the money, take it out of there."

"Stiles—" Allison began, just as Noah banged a fist down on the table, startling everyone into silence.

"Stop it," Noah said wearily. "I'm too old for this." He pushed Stiles' wallet back across the table. "Put that away." Then he pushed the stack of money Allison had laid out for the school supplies back at her. "You keep that, okay? I said I'd loan you the money until you had something stable going on. I meant it."

"No," Allison argued. Her stomach was in freefall and she didn't know what was happening. "No, I had the money and I should have paid for it—"

"Allison." Noah's voice was quiet. "Look. I know what you're going through. Or," he amended. "Some of what you're going through. And having your own wheels is a good thing." He smiled, and Allison's heart broke at the pain behind it. "I know getting a car when I was sixteen pretty near saved my life."

Stiles was looking down at his wallet, his leg bouncing under the table. Allison wondered how much he knew about what his dad had gone through, growing up.

"And then Stiles here." Noah clapped his hand on Stiles' shoulder. "He was practically fixing up the jeep for a year before he got his licence."

Allison knew that the blue monstrosity had been Claudia Stilinski's pride and joy, knew that Stiles had been adamant about keeping it going. And all of that knowledge had come to her in a future senior year that would never be. "Did you have the jeep before?" she asked.

"It was my mom's," Stiles said to his wallet. The pain in Stiles' voice made Allison feel like an intruder.

"Oh. I'm sorry."

Stiles shrugged.

Noah sat back. "I'm not asking you to give that money back to Chris right now," he said. "But if he comes after it, we will have to have that discussion, okay?"

Allison nodded at her plate.

"And one more thing."

Allison picked at the edge of the meatloaf. "What?"

"You're, uh." Noah cleared his throat. "You're seeing someone?"

Allison went still. Oh shit, not this. "Of course not."

"I heard what you said about getting the money. And from the way Stiles was talking, I guess that he knows who this guy is."

Allison leaned back, giving Stiles a warning look. "And?"

Noah exhaled. "Sometimes, when people get into rough situations, they can make some… decisions, that maybe aren't the best ones, especially when it comes to relationships."

"That's for sure," Stiles muttered.

"And I just want you to know," Noah soldiered on. "That if you ever need to talk to anyone about that, there's people you can talk to."

Allison squashed down the wild desire to push Noah on the point. "Thanks," she said instead. "I think."

Stiles sat up suddenly. "Okay, but—"

"No," Allison interrupted. "Stiles, whatever you're going to say about my love life, _don't."_

"But—" Stiles made a horrified face. "Oh god, are you in _love_ with him?"

"Oh my god!" Allison exclaimed. "No! It's a _saying!"_

"Time out!" Noah cut off the burgeoning argument. "Stop. Time to talk about motorcycle ground rules."

Allison settled back in her chair. "I'm a good rider."

Noah smiled. "I have no doubt that is true. So. Always wear your helmet. No trick riding. And Stiles is not getting on the back of your bike until I've seen you run through the motorcycle skills course at the station."

"Dad!" Stiles protested.

"Deal," Allison said.

"Oh, man," Stiles grumbled. "Hey, can we see it?"

"Yeah, it's outside."

Stiles bounced to his feet and was practically running to the door. That left Allison and Noah to stare at each other across the table.

"I'm worried about you," Noah said, standing slowly.

"Don't be," Allison said. "It's not going to do anyone any good."

"Still." Noah waited until Allison got up. "Where did you get this bike, anyway?"

"Lachesis' Autobody," Allison said. "Down on Belladonna Road."

Noah shook his head. "That place."

"They said all their stuff is legal," Allison told him as they headed towards the front door Stiles had left open in his haste.

"Yeah, they're legit. They were selling old cars down there back when I was a kid."

Allison looked at Noah. "And you seriously never suspected that anything supernatural was happening in this town until _last week?"_

"I thought it was a family business," Noah protested.

"Uh-huh." Allison walked outside to find Stiles sitting on the bike, grinning like a maniac.

"No," Noah said. "You are not driving that thing until you've had lessons. A _lot_ of lessons."

"But Dad," Stiles protested. "It's so cool."

Noah circled the bike. "They gave you this for four thousand dollars?"

"Three." Allison patted the handlebars. "It's old, but it runs well."

"Just like you, Dad," quipped Stiles.

"Ha ha," Noah deadpanned. "Just for that, you're buying your own helmet."

Stiles' eyes went round. "Can I get a helmet with, like, a wolf on it?"

"You can, but you're never wearing it on my bike," Allison said.

Stiles protested, Allison bantered, and Noah stood watching them. It felt like old times, and underneath it all, Allison couldn't help the ever-growing fear that she was going to fuck everything up with Stiles and Noah.

She couldn't lose them again.

* * *

Friday morning before school, Allison was trying to shove her lunch bag into her backpack when Noah came into the kitchen. "What happened?" Allison demanded when she saw his expression.

"Park service found another deer, like the others," Noah said. He kept his voice down. "It can't be more than a few days dead."

"Where?"

"In the mountains five miles west of Yreka."

"That's only half an hour from Beacon Hills." Allison and Noah looked at each other. "What are we going to do?"

"You are going to go to school," Noah said. He pulled on his uniform jacket. "I am… I don't know what I'm going to do."

"Send out a warning?" Allison suggested.

"That what, a wild monster is looking to eat people?"

"Make it boring," Allison said. "Say it's an escaped illegal pet tiger or something. Or someone was trying to breed a lion-tiger hybrid and so that's why the teeth look so weird. Anything that doesn't make it sound like you've drunk the cryptid kool-aid."

Noah rubbed his eyes. "We've got a weekend coming up, and people are out in those mountains."

"I know." Allison zipped her backpack up. Every part of her was screaming to suit up and ride to Yreka, to find the wendigo and kill it before it hurt anyone else.

Instead, she had to suffer through another day of high school.

"We'll figure it out," Noah said. "Everything okay for you today?"

"I hope so." Allison slung the bag over her shoulders. "History's a little weird. But math and comp sci keep me awake."

"Good."

Stiles thundered down the stairs. "Okay," he said as he burst into the kitchen. "Let's go. I'll get to school first so I can see what happens when you ride up."

"Nothing's going to happen." Allison pulled the zipper up on her jacket.

Stiles stared. "Are you kidding? You on a motorcycle in that outfit? The boys are going to riot in the streets."

Allison shuddered. "I don't care." She paused by Stiles' side to slap him on the back. He wheezed. "Nothing I do is in service to the male gaze."

"I don't know what that means."

"Look it up." Allison glanced back at Noah. "Good luck today."

"And to you." Noah raised his coffee mug in salute.

Allison slapped Stiles on the back again, and pushed past him out into the hall. "See you at school!" she called, and Stiles ran back up the stairs with a curse.

The morning air was bracing. Pulling into the school parking lot wasn't as outrageous as Stiles had predicted, although Allison did get a few weird looks as she parked the bike.

"Lydia wasn't kidding."

"Hi, Jackson." Allison pulled her helmet off. "How are you?"

"You actually did it." Jackson circled the bike. "What a heap of trash."

"Not all of us can drive a BMW." Allison removed her gloves and shoved them in the upside-down helmet. "And looks can be deceiving."

"That thing looks ancient."

Allison headed in the direction of the school, Jackson on her heels. "An argument could be made that I have a taste for older things."

"Okay, gross." Jackson caught up with her. "I talked to my parents about Isaac."

Allison was very careful to not let Jackson see her smile. "And?"

"My mom's thinking about it." And oh, how disgruntled Jackson sounded about the whole situation.

"Good." Allison took his arm. "Do you know what you're going to do your history project on?"

They talked about school for a minute until they separated at the stairs. Allison continued on towards the office. Mrs. Simms looked up as she came in. "Allison, good morning," the woman said with way too much cheer.

"Hi." Allison put her helmet on the counter. "I need a parking form. And I need to pay student fees."

"Here you go." Mrs. Simms handed Allison a piece of paper. "And your school fees have already been paid."

Allison's head jerked up. "What?"

"This morning," Mrs. Simms went on. "Sheriff Stilinski just called in with his credit card for the three of you."

"The three of us?" Allison echoed. What was going on?

"Yes. You, Stiles of course, and Isaac Lahey."

Allison clenched her jaw. That hadn't been what she wanted. She could take care of herself, and her pack, and Noah just swooping in… She made herself look down at the parking form. "Thanks for letting me know," she said as she scratched in the details for her bike.

"Of course." The phone rang, and Mrs. Simms was distracted. Allison finished filling out the form, put it in the inbox, and carried her helmet back out into the hall.

She felt weird. Accepting money from Peter would be one thing, even Stiles, but Noah… She knew he and Stiles were doing okay, financially. The house was paid for, and Noah's salary as sheriff was on the upper end of the Beacon Hills public sector spectrum. Noah could afford to drop six hundred dollars on school fees once a year.

But Allison didn't feel good about it.

When she'd been seventeen the first time, she'd been okay with taking the money Tony Stark had heaped upon her in what was probably guilt. After he died, he'd left most of his money to Morgan, but the literal billion dollars he'd left to Allison had been such a large number, she didn't think about it much, other than tapping into it to fund superhero activities, mainly armour and weapons.

But now, depending almost exclusively on the charity of others was a heavy stress that Allison didn't know how to deal with.

The warning bell rang. Allison kept walking. Well, there was always her fallback consideration: What would Captain America do?

Sam would have told her to buck up, take the money and focus on school, then just pay Noah back when she could. Bucky would have told her one of his _living through the Depression_ stories just to make her smile, and remind her that she could deal with anything life threw at her.

She could just imagine Bucky's face as he would say that, ending with a half smile, and a wave of grief crashed over her so hard she had to stop walking. She missed Bucky so much, and even if… no. Even _when_ she rescued him from Hydra's grip, he wouldn't know her.

Her Bucky was gone just as irrevocably as Morgan.

"Allison?"

Allison tried to compose herself before she turned around. Both Erica and Lydia were staring at her. "What?"

"Are you okay?" Lydia asked.

"She's not okay," Erica said immediately.

"I'm fine." Allison tried to smile. From the girls' expressions, it was not a success. "We're going to be late."

Erica hugged her books to her chest. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing anything can fix." Allison glanced at the hall clock, trying to figure out if she had enough time to get to her locker before math. Probably not. "Did Lydia tell you I bought a motorcycle?"

"Yes." Erica threw Lydia a dark glare, while Lydia looked smug. "I could have gone with you."

Oh, teenagers. Allison started walking, herding Lydia and Erica in front of her like recalcitrant baby chicks. "How about I show you the bike at lunch?"

Erica stopped glaring. "Okay."

"We're going to be late," Lydia pointed out. "See you in gym."

Allison groaned. Only four days into the school year and she already loathed gym class. Maybe Clint would bring Natasha back, that might be good for a few laughs.

* * *

The day passed without much incident, until about halfway through biology class. Sitting beside Isaac, Allison noticed that he was checking his phone between passes by Mr. Arthurs. After the first few times, Allison looked around the room. All the other wolves were doing it too, even Stiles.

 _That fucking group chat_ , Allison thought. Derek must be up to something, because none of the wolves appeared to be sending messages.

Allison did not miss the furtive glances everyone was sending her direction, either.

The class ended and the wolves were up and out the door before anyone else. Allison caught up with Lydia as the girl stacked her books. "What's going on?"

"I don't know, they're up to something," Lydia said, glaring at the doorway. "Jackson promised me that we'd go out for dinner and now he's gone."

"His loss," Allison said. "Look, go have a nice night at home."

Lydia rolled her eyes. "Are you in on this, too?" she demanded.

"Not yet, but I'm going to be."

From his desk, Mr. Arthurs said, "Girls. _Leave_. Go home. It's Friday afternoon."

Allison and Lydia vacated the classroom. Glancing out the windows, Allison could see Stiles' jeep already rolling out of the parking lot. She growled. Something was up, something bad.

"I'll call you tomorrow," Allison said. "I have something I have to do."

"Fine," Lydia sighed. "Leave me all alone." Still, she hurried after Allison to their lockers.

"You'll have a good night." Allison opened her locker to grab her backpack and helmet. "Just… maybe stay inside."

Lydia blinked at her. "Why?"

Allison dumped her notebooks into her bag and zipped it up. "Because it's Beacon Hills on a Friday night, and the pack just ran out of here like their tails were on fire." Allison dropped a kiss into the air in the general direction of Lydia's cheek. "Stay safe."

She booked it down the hall, nearly missing Lydia say, "But what about you?"

She didn't pause to answer.

On the way to her bike, Allison considered. No matter what the danger presenting itself might be, she needed to gear up. She had to go home first before she looked into secondary steps. Derek would either gather the pack at the train depot, or at his loft, both of which were an easy distance to her on her motorcycle.

She jammed on her helmet, pulled on her gloves, and hit the road.

On the drive home, Allison wondered what disaster was upon them. There was the wendigo threat, of course, but what else? She'd only been back in time for ten days, how much could have changed? The alpha pack didn't hit town until closer to Halloween, and then the mess with the Nogitsune was later in the year. Allison shuddered at the memory. She'd do anything to protect Stiles, and that problem was going to tax her to the limit.

But she'd figure it out.

By the time Allison got home, she was halfway into Alpha mode. She slipped into the house and went up to her bedroom, mentally preparing for the fight. She'd need weapons, supplies. The lack of body armour was a problem. She pulled on her thickest jeans, her sports bra, a shirt she'd didn't care about, and her leather jacket. Then she moved the mattress back to consider her weapons inventory, braiding up her hair for battle as she did so.

If the problem was the wendigo, Allison could have used a flamethrower or napalm. Something that large, in hand-to-hand combat… Allison dumped the contents of her backpack and loaded in her hatchet and a few knives. The bag clinked softly when she picked it up.

This was such a stupid idea. She was going in blind with hand weapons, no armour, and no backup.

And she had no other choice.

Allison took a deep breath. She had to do this. She had to protect people, both the civilians in town and the pack from whatever Derek would talk them into. In the worst-case scenario, if she actually died, the dead man's switch in Jarvis's servers would activate in a month's time, and Tony would have to do the heavy lifting to stop the Snap.

With one last look around the messy bedroom, Allison shouldered her backpack and went downstairs. She didn't have a choice. Alpha was the only superhero this town had, and Allison would do anything to protect her pack, her people.

As she was tying up her running shoes, her phone beeped. Allison frowned at the notification. Why the hell was Peter texting her?

_It's really a shame that Derek told the pack not to tell you about the meeting that's currently happening at the train depot about that thing we were talking about on Wednesday._

Allison narrowed her eyes. "What are you up to?" she said as she tucked her phone into her backpack. Peter was always up to something.

But at least she had more intel, now. The problem was the wendigo, and Derek had information that Allison needed.

Allison locked up the house, hoping that she would see it again, and went to get her bike.

* * *

Allison parked beside Stiles' jeep. She could already hear raised voices inside the depot, Derek and Stiles and others. Her eyes moved over the array of cars. Everyone was here, including Peter.

Allison considered what she was going to do. Before, she'd have walked in like she owned the place, because, technically, this was her town. She didn't see a reason to change now.

She paused briefly outside, slipping her backpack off her shoulders and stashing it under Stiles' jeep before going over to enter the building through a broken window, to avoid opening the door. Voices echoed in the vast room, covering up Allison's near-silent approach.

"We can't just go up there without a plan!" Stiles was yelling. "If this is the thing my dad's been tracking, it's been killing really big animals without anyone noticing!"

"We're not 'really big animals'," Derek snapped. "We're werewolves!"

"Yeah?" Stiles snatched up a book. "Does this look like it cares about werewolves?"

Allison circled the group, staying in the shadows. The others didn't appear at all eager to go wendigo-hunting. Erica and Boyd sat together on the couch, holding hands. Isaac was hunched on a milk crate. Jackson leaned nervously against a pillar. Scott, Stiles and Derek were standing in a triangle in the biggest patch of light, obviously in the middle of the argument. Peter was off to the side, watching the situation unfold with slightly malicious amusement on his face.

He was, of course, the only one who saw Allison. A gleam of entertainment flickered in his eyes before he went back to watching Derek.

"People are getting hurt," Scott said. "We should do something."

Stiles gaped at his best friend. "Okay, but…" He brandished the book, open to the illustration of the wendigo. " _We_ could get hurt."

"Do you have any other suggestions?" Derek demanded. Allison spotted a map draped over the workbench to the side of the group. She would be seen if she went there, but it couldn't be helped. "Any suggestions at all?"

Stiles put the book down with a thud. Peter winced. "How about we actually figure out what can stop this thing, before we go try to kill it?"

"Lydia said white phosphorus might work," Jackson said.

Derek swung around, brow furrowed. "How does Lydia know about this?"

Allison stepped out of the darkness, nearing the map. "I told her." Half the room flinched in surprise. "And there are regulations on civilian use of chemical weapons."

"What are you doing here?" Derek demanded.

Allison looked over the map. The sites of the previous attacks were marked in blue pen, information no doubt supplied by Stiles. But there was a new marking, just north of Beacon Hills, in bright red ink. "I heard you were hosting the social event of the season and thought I'd drop in."

She traced a line toward the red ink. She knew that area, knew how to get there on the mountain access roads, and knew how treacherous the terrain was. As hunting territory went, it was about as bad as it could get.

"Which one of you told her?" Derek demanded, his eyes flashing red as he glared around the room. No one spoke. "Answer me!"

"I did," Peter said after a moment, still amused.

Allison did a few calculations. She could get up there within an hour on the switchbacks, then the distance from the road. It was as good a place to start as any, given the scarce hours of daylight left.

"Why?" Derek demanded, incredulous.

"I wanted to see what she'd do."

"Allison…" Scott was starting towards her, his hand out, and oh god, did she not need a repeat of the weekend's flashback.

"No, you know what?" Derek said, intercepting Scott. "Allison, get out."

Allison lifted her head to stare at Derek. "I beg your pardon?" she said, voice dropping half an octave. Jackson hunched his shoulders.

"I said get out." Derek's eyes were still red. "I told you on the weekend and I will tell you again. This is pack business, and you are not pack. You're not anything. Get out."

Peter's eyes slid over to Allison.

Allison straightened up, very carefully. If she didn't have to go kill a wendigo to protect an entire town from its wrath, she would have walked over to Derek and slugged him, right then and there. But as it were, she had priorities. "Of course," she said, and smiled. Isaac made a sound of pain. "My apologies for the interruption."

She paced around the table, passing too close to Derek. He nearly snarled at her.

"And you might want to look into flaming arrows," she added, never stopping. She met Peter's eyes. His amused expression had faded, and she couldn't read what he was feeling. "Long distance fire can help."

"Are you offering your services?" Derek asked.

"No." Now that the only one who could see her face was Peter, Allison let the bemused façade drop. "Like you said, this is your problem. You handle it."

Peter frowned at her. Allison held his gaze for a heartbeat longer, then held her head high as she walked out of the building and into the late afternoon sun.

Let the pack squabble about weapons for a while. That would keep them off the mountains, and specifically, out of her way.

She had a target. Time to get moving.

Before she went, Allison took a moment to open the door of Stiles' jeep. She wasn't sure how Clint Barton or Natasha had been tracking her, but if they were operating along the same lines as Allison was with Dupont, she couldn't run the risk of taking her phone. The danger of being followed by Avengers was greater than accidentally running into Dupont and his crew. She tucked the phone, along with everything else in her pockets save for her licence and her keys, into a small inner pouch in Stiles' backpack.

Hopefully, if she died bloody up on the mountain, the licence would be enough for someone to identify her remains.

Allison closed the jeep door, retrieved her bag of weapons, and got on her motorcycle. She could plan while she was driving.

City streets turned to highway. Allison found the entrance to the service road tucked out of sight behind some brush, and had to get off her bike to walk it around the firmly closed metal gate. The service roads were a mix of half-hearted asphalt and treacherous gravel, and the going was slow.

Forty-five minutes later, she ran out of road.

She got off her bike, rolled it behind a tree on the extremely unlikely chance that anyone would pass by, then opened her backpack. She removed the hatchet and one knife, put her keys into the bag, and hid it under a log. She didn't want to lose her keys somewhere in the mountains.

Then she started climbing.

If she hadn't been on the alert for a monster, it would have been a lovely way to pass the afternoon. Allison climbed higher and higher, looking for what Derek had found. After about half an hour of nothing, she was starting to wonder if she had been tricked.

Then she caught the first whiff of decay, and nearly gagged.

Scent-memory was a strange thing. Allison was pulled back to her past, remembering the first time she'd faced the wendigo with Stiles at her side. Then, she had been a terrified kid, desperate to prove herself.

Now, this was just another day on the job for a superhero between gigs.

Grimly, Allison went to work.

The trail wasn't difficult to follow, even at a run. The ground had been marked, with scrapings on the trees, broken branches, up way too high for Allison's comfort. She passed animal remains, bits of a rabbit here, a mountain goat skull here, all very freshly dead.

As she ran, the sun sank steadily in the west.

As full dark settled on the mountain, she came upon a shallow valley with a stream meandering through it. It would be a nice spot for a picnic, Allison thought. If one could avoid looking at the very dead, very bloody, and still dripping deer carcass impaled on a tree halfway down the hill.

Allison let out her breath, falling into battle mode. The valley was deathly quiet, no animal or insect sounds. The only ghost of a noise was the water trickling in the streambed.

Allison transferred the hatchet to her right hand, holding the seven-inch knife in her left. It was here, she could sense it. The stench of decay and corruption moved like a miasma along the bottom of the valley.

Allison moved forward on balanced feet. Still, the valley was motionless. Allison tried to see into the dark places, but nothing.

Her heart beat steadily, the power of the alpha almost a rhythmic song in her head. This creature was on _her_ territory, threatening _her_ people. It was time for the wendigo to learn what happened to monsters like that on Hale pack land.

Taking a deep breath, Allison howled. This wasn't the muted playful sound she'd used with the kids at the park. This was a full alpha howl, wrapped up in power and anger. It was a battle cry, a sound pulling on the power of countless generations of werewolves. It was the sound of something dangerous, ready to protect what was theirs.

Out of the darkness came a high insubstantial scream, like wind rattling through bones in the trees. Allison barely had time to raise her hatchet before the creature flew at her, almost twice as tall as she was, sharp jagged teeth in a lipless mouth, the scarred empty sockets where its eyes had once been. It was hunger and starvation and rage, and it was so angry.

Allison  swung her hatchet as she dove to the side. The wendigo's reach was nearly double her own, and her blade only brushed its arm. Quicker than thought, the wendigo doubled back around and lashed out. Claws raked over Allison's thigh, slicing deep through cloth and muscle.

Allison choked back the pain as she brought her hatchet down hard, into the wendigo's arm. It fell back, that high scream filling the valley.

She scrambled to her feet, her injured leg nearly giving out. The wendigo darted away and into the shadows, and Allison turned to follow its path. In another instant, it dove at her from behind, slamming her to the ground. Claws raked her torso, digging into her back below her jacket, and Allison screamed, dropping her knife. The wendigo opened its mouth and pulled back for the final strike.

Allison gripped the hatchet in both hands, the handle slippery with blood and ichor. When the wendigo brought its head down to bite her, she pushed the blade up in an arc with all of her strength, slashing through the creature's neck in one blow.

The force of Allison's attack, combined with the sudden slackening of the wendigo's grip, carried Allison up and over. The wendigo fell onto its back, body convulsing as it died.

But Allison was taking no chances. She raised the hatchet and struck at the creature again and again, until it stopped moving, until its head was crushed in, until its spine was severed. Only then did Allison crawl away to a patch of unbloodied dirt.

It was over.

She had won.

The wendigo was dead.

She let the hatchet fall from her hand. The wendigo was dead and she hurt so much. In the faintest hint of moonlight, Allison could see the red-black blood soaking her jeans. She pulled at the fabric between the gashes, the raw flesh of her leg spongy under her fingers.

Oh god, she hurt so much.

With bloodied fingers, Allison unzipped her jacket to take stock of her other injuries. If she hadn't been wearing the leather, she knew that she would have been dead. Claw marks ran around her hips and up her back, but the blows hadn't gone too deep. Her leg had taken the worst of it, and even there, the wounds were healing up, the bleeding slowed.

She wanted to lie down and sleep. She wanted medical evac. She wanted Bucky.

Instead, Allison forced herself to get to her feet. The pain of standing on her injured leg made her cry out, but there was no one around to hear.

She didn't have any backup. She didn't have any help. She had to deal with this on her own.

She shucked out of the jacket and staggered over to the stream where she could finally, mercifully, collapse. Taking off her shirt, she dunked it in the water, using the wet fabric to wipe the blood and gore off her skin.

Overhead, a barred owl let out a low cry. There was movement in the air, as life returned to the valley.

Allison got up on one knee. The claw marks on her torso were healing. She scrubbed away the worst of the blood. Her leg still hurt quite a bit, which worried her. She could heal from anything, but she didn't know what the wendigo had on its claws before it attacked her. It didn't feel like poison, but if her leg was healing around dirt or gore driven into the muscle…

Enough. Allison rinsed off the shirt in the stream. She'd been injured in the field enough times to know the drill. Keep your mind focused. Don't think about the _what ifs_ until after you were safely back at base and could afford to fall apart.

She mopped at her face again, then wrung the shirt out and put it back on. She managed to hoist herself to her feet and turned to survey the scene. One dead wendigo, one dead deer. The deer, she could leave. Sure, impaled on a tree wasn't how most deer ended up, but it could be explained away.

The body of the wendigo, however…

Allison groaned. More than body armor, she missed the clean-up crews of the future.

 _Stop feeling sorry for yourself_ , Allison told herself firmly. There was a gravel patch halfway up the valley; she could just drag the body there and push rocks over it. No one would ever find it.

Still, it took her a few minutes to motivate herself into moving. Blood loss was making her a little light-headed, and after she buried the body, she had to retrace her steps to her bike, then drive home, and then, just maybe, she could go to sleep.

But first… she had a body to bury.

The glorious life of a superhero, she mused, and got to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End notes: I mean, it's Beacon Hills. It's entirely possible that the [Fates](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moirai) set up shop there to ply their trade in a post-automotive world.
> 
> Up next time: Stiles has a lot of explaining to do to a certain officer of the law. A _lot_ of explaining.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles finally has to come clean with his father about what exactly is going on in Beacon Hills. The aftermath of Allison's actions ripple out across Beacon Hills. And unsurprisingly, Noah Stilinski isn't thrilled about finding Derek Hale in Stiles' bedroom at three in the morning. Will Allison and Derek ever be in agreement? Join us to find out!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still making up details about the Hales wholesale. I wonder if I should add the ghost of Talia Hale as a character in this story, because she sure is haunting everyone.
> 
> Content notes: this chapter contains scenes of gore. Also, another Peter and Allison encounter.

### Stiles Stilinski

The pack meeting had finished and Stiles was just walking out of the train depot when the meaning of Allison's sudden and entirely uncharacteristically meek departure earlier that afternoon hit him.

"No," Stiles gasped, coming to a halt. Allison wouldn't… she couldn't have…

Had she gone after the wendigo _by herself?_

"No what?" Isaac asked. He, Erica and Scott were all heading to Boyd's car; Jackson having already peeled out of the lot.

"Uh." Stiles shook his head. The last thing he needed was Scott thinking that Allison might be in danger; that would drag Scott and by association Stiles' unprepared ass up into the mountain right that minute.

No, scratch that. The absolute last thing Stiles needed was _Allison going after the wendigo by herself_.

"I forgot to tell Derek something," Stiles said, technically the truth. "I'm going to go…" He pointed back into the building.

Isaac shrugged, already losing interest. Scott looked over the top of Boyd's car and said, "See you tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah, tomorrow," Stiles agreed. "Saturday afternoon, what a great time for monster hunting."

Erica shivered. "I kind of don't want to do that."

"Same." Boyd opened his door. "Can't we just send those Hunters up into the woods to deal with it? That would solve all of our problems."

"Probably," Stiles said brightly. "Bye now."

He was lucky that everyone still thought he was weird, because no one paid his behaviour any mind. Boyd was driving out of the parking lot before Stiles made it back to the building.

Where, to his intense dismay, he ran headlong into Peter.

"Where are you going?" Peter asked, stepping out into the early night.

"Did you know?" Stiles blurted out. "Is that why you let Allison know about the pack meeting? So she'd go after the wendigo?"

Peter's frown turned into incredulity. "Wait, you only just _now_ realized that was what she was doing when she left?"

"You knew?" Stiles exclaimed. "And you let her go alone?"

Peter's eyes hardened. "If she'd wanted anyone to help her, she would have asked."

Stiles gaped and flailed for a moment. "She's—She's—"

Peter crossed his arms over his chest. "Allison is what?"

That snapped Stiles' jaw shut. There was no goddamned way that Stiles was telling anyone, and especially Peter, that Allison was an alpha. "She's on her own," Stiles said instead.

Peter shrugged. But the nonchalance seemed forced. Stiles narrowed his eyes at the man. "I chased her over a mountain," he said. "She's fast. Maybe even fast enough to come out of this one alive."

Stiles stared. "How are you like this?" he demanded. "She's—you're—"

"Allison's not my anything," Peter said. "Would you get out of my way?"

"No!" Stiles stepped left to get more in Peter's path. "I don't know exactly what the hell you two are doing with each other, but I thought it might matter to you that she's out there on her own, maybe in danger!"

Peter let out an exasperated breath. "Stiles, I'm going to give you a little free advice about women, okay?"

"No. Not okay."

"When a woman like Allison says that she's going to handle something herself, that is very rarely an invitation for you to butt in and make a mess of things." Peter uncrossed his arms. "Especially when that mess might be your intestines spread over the mountainside."

"But she—"

"Did not ask for help." Peter's eyes flared blue. "If she had wanted even a _shred_ of assistance, she had a whole room of werewolves to ask." He stepped forward, getting uncomfortably close to Stiles. "And she _did not ask_."

"But…" The anger in Stiles' head was coalescing into a ball of ice in his throat. "What if she doesn't…"

He couldn't finish the sentence.

But fucking Peter Hale could. "If she doesn't survive?" he said, not even wincing. "One of you rabble will probably find her body up in the mountains tomorrow."

Stiles wanted to hurt Peter really, really bad.

"But I still give her a fifty-fifty chance," Peter went on. He reached into his pocket for his car keys. "Hell, I tried to kill her twice last week and she wasn't even winded."

"I hate you," Stiles said. "So much."

"And yet, I remain unmoved." Peter pushed past Stiles, almost knocking him off his feet. "If you do see Allison again, tell her to text me."

Stiles was saved from having to come up with a suitably devastating rejoinder when Derek emerged from the building. "Why are you still here?" he asked.

"Are you talking to me or Peter?" Stiles asked.

"You."

"I…" Stiles trailed off. What could he possibly say? Allison had expressly told him that Derek couldn't know that she was a human alpha. And would Derek lift a finger to go help Allison? He was being pretty terrible towards her when he thought that she was just a human hanging around the pack.

Meanwhile, Derek's scowl was deepening. "You what?"

"I—"

Suddenly, Derek's head snapped up. He moved past Stiles, out into the open, away from the building. Stiles could see that Peter was doing the same thing.

"What—" Stiles began, but Derek's upraised hand stopped him.

Derek and Peter were silent and tense for nearly half a minute. Then, slowly, Peter turned around. In the faint illumination from the distance streetlights, Stiles could see that Peter was spooked. "That was…" Peter said.

"Fuck." Derek ran his hand over his face. "That is the last thing I need."

"What?" Stiles demanded. "What happened?"

Peter and Derek looked at each other. "There's a werewolf howling up in the mountains," Derek said heavily. "An alpha. It was a challenge."

"Why would anyone do that so far outside of town?" Peter asked.

Derek put out his hands, an angry gesture. "Do I know?"

Stiles' heart was beating so fast he could taste it. An alpha in the hills, howling a challenge. And Stiles had heard Allison howl pitch-perfect at the sheriff's department picnic.

What was she doing? Had she found the wendigo?

Stiles bit down on his knuckle. It didn't matter. There was nothing at all that Stiles could do to help Allison. Not a goddamned thing.

"Stiles, go home," Derek ordered. "Stay inside." He stalked over to his car. "Fuck, everyone needs to stay inside."

Peter looked at Stiles as he walked to his own car. He didn't say a thing, but Stiles could see the worry on the man's face.

Good. If he'd let Allison go up into the hills on her own after the wendigo, then he deserved to fucking well worry.

Derek gunning the engine of the Camaro snapped Stiles out of the hamster wheel of his thoughts. He scampered across to the jeep, practically dove inside, and was driving off in another moment.

What the hell was he going to do?

It wasn't like he could just go up into the mountains to find Allison. The spot where Derek had discovered the mountain goat remains that morning had been a trek for a werewolf, and now it was dark and Stiles was just a slow, fragile human without even a flamethrower. He didn't know what else to do except to go home and wait for someone to get there, be it Allison or Dad or—

Oh.

Oh no.

Dad.

Dad was going to _kill him._

Never mind that Dad didn't know about the supernatural or the wendigo. But Stiles had let Allison go off on her own in a town that had malicious Hunters after her.

If Allison came home in one piece, Dad was still going to rip his head off.

Stiles wouldn't really blame him.

And if Allison didn't…

If she didn't come home…

Stiles coughed around the ice settling in his chest. He didn't get it. Allison hadn't even really been his friend the previous year, just Scott's somewhat terrifying girlfriend. But since she'd showed up at his house that first night, beaten up so badly, so tired, so _resigned_ , she'd fallen into a place in his life that he hadn't realized was empty.

She was his friend, and he didn't want her to get hurt.

But holy crap, if she'd thought she knew where the wendigo was, why didn't she ask for help?

The drive was far too short. Any hopes Stiles had that Allison had just given up and gone back to the house after leaving the pack meeting were dashed when the jeep's headlights turned upon an empty driveway.

At least Dad wasn't there yet.

Stiles pulled the jeep up and parked, turning off the engine. He couldn't face going inside, so he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his messages. Several on the group chat, asking about the wolf howling they'd heard. Scott on a direct message, asking the same thing. Stiles texted him back, _I didn't hear it what did it sound like?_ because it was far easier to lie to Scott when Scott wasn't listening to his heartbeat.

There were no messages from Allison.

Stiles bit at his lip as he went to his contacts. He had to call her. He had to find out where she was, if she needed help, if she'd just thrown up her hands and gone over to Lydia' and—

A phone rang in his backpack.

Stiles looked down at the bag on the floor of the passenger side. It wasn't zipped up. He always zipped his backpack up before putting it in the jeep.

A cold sweat broke out over Stiles body as he dove for the bag. It took him a few moments of rooting around, but he finally located Allison's cell phone, along with her other personal stuff - library card, school ID, lip balm, a twenty-dollar bill, two pads which Stiles threw against the window once he realized what they were, and a tiny pencil stub.

It was that last item that made Stiles stare. She had completely unpacked her jacket pockets into his backpack…. But why? Why was she trying to travel so light?

She hadn't left her driver's licence, or her keys. So did that mean she was planning on coming home?

Stiles checked the phone. It was locked, but her notifications screen showed five messages from Lydia, and one from Dad.

Dad.

Stiles didn't know what he was going to tell Dad.

Slowly, painfully, Stiles put all of Allison's stuff back into the bag. Then he got out of the jeep and trudged up to the front door. He was just putting his key in the lock when headlights bounced over the house. It was Dad, already home.

Stiles didn't know what to do. Should he wait for Dad? Go into the house, through the back door, and keep going? Pretend he'd lost the ability to speak?

He hesitated too long. Dad was already getting out of his car. "Everything okay?" he called.

It took Stiles a moment to get his mouth moving. "Sure thing." He unlocked the door and went inside. When he turned on the hall light, there was no sign of Allison's helmet, and no sound in the house.

She really wasn't here.

Dad came stomping up the steps. "What a week," he said, closing the door behind him and taking off his jacket. "Where's Allison? Out with her friends?"

"Uh."

Immediately, Stiles knew he'd messed up. Dad turned around. "Stiles."

Stiles shook himself. "Yeah, Dad?"

"Where's Allison?"

"Uh, around." Stiles gestured port-side. "Not around here, but she's around."

"Okay." Dad was still watching Stiles. "Maybe I should call her and ask when she's planning on getting home."

"No!" Stiles yelped, and it was the absolute wrong thing to do. "I mean, she told me she'd be home in…" Oh no, he couldn't say that, because what if Allison never came home? "She's dealing with stuff."

Dad blinked. "Stuff," he repeated.

"Yeah."

"What kind of stuff?" Dad went on. "Something to do with school? This new boyfriend of hers?"

Stiles shrugged. He finally had the brilliant idea to get his feet moving, so he headed down the hall towards the stairs. "She didn't say."

"And you took that at face value?"

"Of course, Dad." Stiles kept going, up the stairs, but oh god, Dad was right behind him. "You know how private Allison is."

"Yeah, and I also know that you don't know the meaning of that word."

At the top of the stairs, Stiles peeled left into his room. "I'm trying to be mature, Dad, having a new roommate is a…"

He stopped talking, because Dad hadn't followed him in. He'd just kept walking.

Stiles dropped his backpack and flung himself into the hall to see Dad standing in the open door to Allison's room, not moving.

Something was wrong. Something was so wrong.

Stiles dashed down the hall to look over Dad's shoulder. No Allison, but the mattress had been flipped up against the wall, and all of Allison's pretty knives were on display against the bed frame slats.

Wait.

Not all of them.

Stiles ducked under Dad's arm. He hadn't been mistaken. There were gaps in the row of knives, and Stiles couldn't see that shiny hatchet Allison had spent so long sharpening.

With finality, Stiles knew what that meant.

Allison had gone up after the wendigo, all on her own, with only a hatchet and a few knives as backup.

He was never going to see her again.

Without a word, Dad was suddenly gone. Stiles ran after him. "Dad, what are you doing?"

Dad didn't answer. He went into his own bedroom and Stiles followed, watching as Dad opened up the gun safe.

"Dad, Allison wouldn't take…" Stiles trailed off.

"No." Dad closed the safe. "No, Allison didn't take any of my guns." He stood up.

Stiles had never really been scared by his father. Dad had never smacked him around, and although there was a lot of yelling around the house, most of that was irritation and exasperation, hardly ever real anger.

But now, Dad was really, _really_ mad, and that scared Stiles.

"Where is Allison?" Dad asked.

"I don't—"

"Stiles."

The word had been quiet, but Stiles flinched. "I—"

"Did she go after the thing that's been killing those animals?"

Stiles didn't know what to do. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked away.

"Stiles, did she?" Dad was moving across the floor now. "Did Allison go after the wendigo?"

Stiles' world yawed on its axis. Dad had just called the creature by its name, no joking, no hesitation. Did he know about the supernatural? Allison had suspected he did, but could he know about this?

"Stiles!"

Stiles jumped. "Come on, Dad, wendigos aren't real." His voice stuttered at the expression on his father's face.

"Was anyone with her?" Dad asked, this cold anger starting to heat up.

"No, uh." Stiles coughed. "She was…"

"She was what?"

Stiles braced himself. "She was on her own, the last time I saw her." He took a step back. "No one who… I mean, anyone who might have gone with her… didn't."

"You let her go after this thing on her own?" Dad demanded.

"I didn't know!" Stiles exclaimed. "She just showed up, looked at the map, and then took off! I never thought she'd go on her own until—"

"Until when?"

"Until I did." Stiles scrubbed his hands over his face. This was a disaster. And when Stiles found himself in a disaster, there was always one sure-fire side-effect, and that was that his mouth wouldn't stop. "Since when do you know about wendigos?"

"Since Allison told me on Thursday while you were messing around on her bike." Dad pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Have you tried calling her?"

"It's…" A ringing sound could be heard down the hall. Stiles jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "She put her phone and stuff in my bag."

Dad ended the call. "You saw her put her phone in your bag and you didn't think anything was wrong?"

"I didn't see her do anything!" Stiles objected. "My backpack was in the jeep."

"And where were you?"

"I was…" Stiles tripped over his own words as he tried to stop talking. He couldn't tell Dad about the train depot, because that would lead to Derek, and the other werewolves, and Scott, and oblivion. "Inside."

"Inside," Dad repeated. "Was this where Allison saw the map?"

"Probably, you don't see a lot of maps outside."

"What was on this map?"

"Directions. Lines. Elevation markers."

Dad took a step towards Stiles. "Can you drop the bullshit for five minutes? Allison might be in danger."

"Oh, she's definitely in danger," Stiles said, then winced. Dad looked murderous. "Someone found where another animal was attacked this morning. Allison saw where that was."

"Another animal attack?" Dad repeated. "Where?"

"Five miles northwest of town."

"And this _someone_ didn't think to call the police? Or the parks' service? Or anyone?"

"No, because we—they…" Stiles' tongue twisted in his mouth. "Might have been planning to take care of it themselves."

Dad turned away, pacing over to the window. He was deathly silent for a long time, and Stiles wasn't sure if he was glad he couldn't see Dad's face.

"When?"

"When what?"

Dad turned around, and for the first time in a long time, Stiles couldn't read his father's expression. "When was this someone going to go after this thing? Tonight? Do I have more kids up in those hills after dark?"

"No, not tonight."

"So, when?"

"Tomorrow."

"Did Allison know this?"

"I don't think so."

Dad turned his phone over in his hand. "Go downstairs."

"Dad?"

"You heard me." Dad looked at him. "Go downstairs and wait for me."

"Uh, okay." Stiles edged out into the hall, walking slowly.

He could hear Dad saying over the phone, "Allison's gone off the grid. Do you have eyes on her?" Then, "For how long?"

Stiles craned his neck to hear. Who was Dad talking to? Who might be watching Allison, that Dad would be talking to? Certainly not the creepy Hunters, right?

"No, no idea. Let me know if you hear anything." Silence, then Dad's footsteps sounded against the carpet. Stiles booked it downstairs.

He dashed into his customary chair in the kitchen just as Dad walked down the stairs. The man passed by the kitchen, into the living room, then was back in a few minutes. He had a whiskey bottle in his hand, which he thumped on the table before sitting down.

"What's that for?" Stiles asked.

"Well." Dad leaned back. "It's for me, either when Allison comes home safe and sound, or for when I get a phone call I really don't want to get."

Stiles hunched over himself. "Dad, Allison will be fine."

Dad huffed out what, under better circumstances, might have been a laugh. "You don't believe that any more than I do."

Stiles picked at the denim over his knee. "Who did you call?" he asked. "Who's following Allison?"

Dad turned the bottle towards himself. "No one's following Allison."

"Who was on the phone?" Stiles pressed.

"That's none of your business."

"Oh, so you can have secrets but I can't?"

It was the wrong thing to say. Dad looked up from the whiskey bottle to Stiles. "Do you want to talk about keeping secrets?" he demanded. "Do you want to start with werewolves, Stiles?"

Stiles pushed his chair back, _danger danger_ beating rapidly in his chest. "Did Allison tell you about them?"

"Actually, no, Allison has been extremely careful to avoid telling me exactly who in this town is a werewolf," Dad snapped. "Not that it's hard to figure it out."

"Then I don't know what you're talking about," Stiles bluffed.

"She didn't have to tell me anything," Dad said. "Knowing there are werewolves in town makes a lot of things make more sense. And if werewolves are real, that opens up a lot of possibilities and explains a lot of things that happen in Beacon Hills."

Stiles bit at his thumb.

"And do you want to guess how many of those things that happen in Beacon Hills, happen around you?"

"Hey, I'm human," Stiles said. His head was whirling. If Dad knew about the supernatural, there wasn't anything Stiles could do to keep him safe. "I'm just in proximity… often."

"Am I supposed to take comfort in that?" Dad demanded. "That my seventeen-year-old son just happens to be in proximity to all the terrible things that happen in this town?"

"I can take care of myself!" Stiles protested.

"What, by making plans to go up after a wendigo tomorrow night?" Dad exclaimed. "Or are you going to try to tell me that you're just going to let Scott and them go up there on their own?"

Stiles glared at his father. "Scott isn't a werewolf, Dad," he said. Because he was not throwing Scott under the bus on this.

"Just like Erica Reyes isn't one?" Dad got up. He stomped over to the cupboard. "Like Derek isn't one? Like whatever happened with Jackson Whittemore at the end of school last year wasn't related?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to tell me the truth for once in your life!"

"No." Stiles was almost as surprised as Dad was. "No, Dad, I can't. Because I'm not putting anyone in danger."

Dad pulled a glass out of the cupboard, went to the fridge for the orange juice, and came back to the table. He sat down, radiating exhaustion.

"That's what Allison said, too." He poured out some juice. "When I asked her who in town might be… Might be." He took a sip. "Said she'd only tell me if there was some danger that I might be able to help with. Otherwise, she'd deal with it."

Stiles' leg was bouncing under the table. He tried to keep his knee still, but that just made it worse. "She thinks she has to protect everyone."

"Yeah." Dad rubbed his forehead. "Did she know that you were planning on going monster hunting?"

Stiles looked down at the table. "Maybe."

Dad sighed, a long and tired sound. "You know what I don't understand?"

"What?"

"Why here?" He took another swig. "Why Beacon Hills?"

Stiles shrugged. "I asked, but I don't know if anyone knows."

"Asked who?"

"People."

"Derek?"

"Dad, Derek may be people, but he wouldn't know anything about this."

Dad poured himself more juice. "What about Laura Hale?"

Stiles nearly choked. "Uh, what?"

"Was Laura a werewolf?"

Stiles had an almost-full-body-flashback to finding the upper half of Laura Hale's body buried up by the Hale house, wolf one moment, human corpse the next.

"Because in the conversations I've been having with Allison, she's been implying pretty heavily that Talia Hale was a werewolf."

Stiles looked down.

"Here's what I can't understand," Dad went on. "That fire. I was never able to understand why no one was able to get out of the house. They were all awake and not drugged, that's what the coroner said."

Stiles closed his eyes. He felt sick, thinking about the fire. About being trapped and unable to get out, watching everyone you loved burn to death.

Stiles really didn't like Peter, but he kind of understood a bit of the way the man was.

"Mountain ash." The words were out of his mouth before he even realized he had spoken. He opened his eyes. Dad was looking at him, curiously. "Kate… Kate Argent lined the house with mountain ash. Werewolves can't get across it. The Hales couldn't get out."

Dad put the glass down, looking horrified. "Oh god," he muttered. "Everything I hear about that woman gets worse."

"Yeah."

"None of the Hales could get out?"

Stiles looked at his hands, thinking furiously. Did he care if Dad realised Peter was a werewolf? Probably not, but there might be blowback onto Derek.

"Because I was kind of wondering how Peter Hale went from looking like Freddy Kreuger to someone ten years younger than he should, practically overnight."

"Plastic surgery," Stiles blurted out. "You know rich people in California swear by it."

"Talia always looked young, too." Dad rested his elbows on the table. "I guess that's a supernatural side-effect?"

Stiles shrugged.

"Guess the rest of us just got to make due with old age." Dad shook his head. "Not that anyone in the Hale family ever makes it to old age."

"What do you mean?"

"Talia and Peter's parents died when Peter was, what, thirteen? Talia took him in after that."

"Do you know how…" Stiles' voice trailed off, because among all the things he didn't know about Derek, anything about his grandparents was on the list.

"It looked like a car crash," Dad said. "A bad one. It was before my time, but after the fire, I looked up the old records. There was hardly anything left of the bodies." Dad hauled himself to his feet. "Something bad must have happened."

"It's Beacon Hills, Dad," Stiles said. "Something bad's always happening to the Hales."

"Yeah." Dad got another glass out of the cupboard and came back to the table to hand it to Stiles. "It's got to be rough, living with that."

"Derek seems to be doing okay," Stiles said, which was a complete and utter fabrication.

"I can't imagine," Dad said. "Losing his entire family except his sister, then her dying as soon as she got back into town." Dad was looking at Stiles, but Stiles steadfastly refused to make eye contact. "I hope Derek has friends now that can help him out."

"Derek's not exactly the friendly type," Stiles said after swallowing half a glass of juice. "He's more of a lone wo—" Stiles choked himself off. "A loner. Derek's a loner."

"Right."

Stiles poured the last of the juice into his glass. "Are you still mad at me?"

Dad frowned. "What?"

Stiles hunched over the table. "Upstairs…"

Dad muttered something to himself. Then a hand rested on Stiles' shoulder, a gentle grip. "I'm not mad at you about this, Stiles."

"But." Stiles swallowed against the ball of ice in his throat. "I didn't stop Allison."

"It was not your responsibility to stop Allison." Dad squeezed Stiles' shoulder, then let his hand drop. "I should have known she was going to do something like this. I was mad at myself, and at…" Dad leaned back in his chair. When he spoke again, it was deliberate. "I am mostly mad at the people who made Allison the way she is."

Stiles dared to sneak a peek at his father. "Like, um. Who?"

A flicker of that cold anger crossed Dad's face. "The Argents."

"Okay." Stiles scratched at the tabletop. "I kind of hate them too."

They sat like that for a while in silence. Then Dad cleared his throat. "We ought to make some dinner while we wait for Allison to get home."

Stiles' stomach cramped and he felt the words coming out of his mouth, words he didn't want to say. "What if she doesn't?"

Dad cleared his throat again. "I've got someone at the station keeping an ear out for any sign of Allison or her bike," he said. "And. Well. If she's not home by first light, we'll head up to that place you say someone saw trace of the wendigo."

Stiles nodded. "Are you… mad at me?"

"I already said—"

"No, I mean that I didn't tell you about… that I didn't tell you. About supernatural stuff."

Dad sat back. "I was. At first. Then I started thinking about all the bad stuff I keep finding you around, and I couldn't figure out what happened to make you not trust me."

Oh god, and just when Stiles thought that he couldn't feel any worse. "I do trust you," he blurted out. "But how could I keep you safe when everything in this town is such a disaster?"

"Hey," Dad said, standing up. "Come here."

Stiles let himself be hauled up by the collar, and into a hug.

"You don't have to worry about keeping me safe," Dad said into his ear. "It's my job to keep you safe."

Stiles closed his eyes and hugged Dad as tight as he could. "That's what Allison said, and now look where we are."

Dad ran his hand over Stiles' head. "Yeah." He let Stiles go. "Yeah."

"So." Stiles straightened his shirt. "I'll tell you what she told me about the wendigo if you ditto that."

"Sure thing." Dad took a step back. "While we make dinner, okay?"

Stiles nodded, even though he was pretty sure he'd never be able to swallow a bite. "Dinner. Check."

* * *

It was close to ten o'clock when a key turned in the front door lock.

Stiles, who had been nodding off over his history textbook in the kitchen, was suddenly the widest awake he had ever been in his life. Across the table, Dad looked up from his pile of case files. They stared at each other, not moving.

The door opened, then closed. Stiles was about to spring to his feet, when the odd sound of _step-drag, step-drag_ started down the hallway. An indescribable fear stabbed through Stiles, and he suddenly wanted to be anywhere else.

What if something had happened to Allison?

What if it _wasn't_ Allison?

Dad pushed back from the table, one hand going to the service revolver that he hadn't removed from his belt when he got home. "Allison?" he called.

"Sorry I missed dinner," came Allison's voice, but it was wrong. Too thin, too rough. "Got busy."

Then Allison turned into the kitchen, and Stiles' brain stuttered. That first night at the house, she'd looked beaten up, but realistically so; bloody bruise on her cheek, bruised wrist, various bruises and marks on her arms and shoulders.

But now, Stiles looked at Allison, and he saw a Halloween costume. Because she couldn't really be walking around that pale, with dark circles sunken beneath her eyes. The washed blood stains on the t-shirt underneath her jacket had to be fake. And the wave of red-brown liquid that soaked the front of her jeans, with the fabric ripped showing too-large-to-be-claw-marks and angry red flesh, couldn't be blood.

Because if it all was, Stiles didn't know how she was still alive.

Dad was on his feet. "Allison?" he demanded, hand still resting on his gun.

"Hi," Allison said, stepping around the table, limping so badly Stiles wondered how she was able to stay upright. "Just need some water. I'm fine."

Something popped in Stiles' mind and all of a sudden he was seeing the terrible, horrific reality. This wasn't a costume, wasn't a game. All that blood, all that hurt, was real. "Allison?" he whispered.

Allison didn't seem to hear him. As she headed to the sink, she slipped her arm through the strap in her backpack, and the bag fell to the floor with a metallic thunk. Stiles jumped.

"Allison, what happened?" Dad asked. He moved around the table to kick the backpack out of the way.

Allison fumbled with the tap. "I got it," she said, and her voice was almost too tired to hold that note of triumph. "Before it got me."

She didn't bother with a glass, just cupped her hands under the flow and drank. Stiles could see blood dried on her hands, along with patches of black goo, and he gagged on his own spit.

"Allison." Dad stepped forward. "How about we get you a cup?"

Allison finished drinking, then stared at her hands. "Why?"

"Because you need to sit down."

Allison blinked, swayed, then leaned over the sink and threw up all the water she'd just drunk.

"Easy," Dad said. His hand hovered over her back. "Easy. It's okay."

Allison spat. "No blood," she said, sounding a little surprised. "That's good."

"How about you sit down and we'll get you some water?" Dad suggested, sounding a little desperate. Allison let Dad take her elbow and guide her to the table. She collapsed onto a chair, her eyelids fluttering a little as she focused on Stiles. She frowned.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked.

Stiles' mouth moved, but no sound came out.

"He's worried about you," Dad said. "Can we take your jacket off?"

Allison responded by leaning over to let Dad push the jacket down her arms. "I think the claw marks all healed up," she said, twisting in the chair. Stiles leaned over to see as she pulled up the hem of her shirt. Along her lower back and sides, thin red scars lay below a dried wash of blood. She seemed faintly surprised, tracing along one claw mark with a finger.

"Was this the wendigo?" Dad asked, kneeling at Allison's side. He pressed down on one of the scars.

"Yeah." Allison watched as Dad poked along the marks. "I normally heal faster than this."

"Maybe you lost too much blood." Dad pressed against one spot on Allison's back that still looked a bit raw, and Allison hissed.

"Maybe the wendigo had something in its claws," she said. "Are they poison?" She looked at Stiles, and he was struck afresh by how drawn she was. "Was there anything in the book?"

Stiles shook his head.

"Stiles, get some gatorade," Dad said. "Now."

"I can get it," Allison said, but Dad caught her as she tried to put her hands on the table.

"Stiles isn't doing anything. Let us help you."

Allison subsided, and Stiles was on his feet, wrestling with the fridge door. He yanked out all five gatorade bottles and carried them over to the table, spilling them in front of Allison.

"Stiles," Dad said, annoyed, and that was just familiar enough to yank Stiles back from the brink of a total mental breakdown.

"She might have a flavour preference!" Stiles pointed out. "What goes best with a wendigo's bodily fluids?"

"Fruit punch," Allison said. "Thank you." She put her hand on Stiles' arm. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," Stiles said automatically, his throat closing a little. Allison was staring up at him with so much relief that he didn't know what to do. "I mean, no, absolutely not, but yes."

"Good." Allison let him go, and reached for the red bottle.

"How about you drink some of that," Dad said, "And I'll just take your pulse."

"Why?" Stiles asked.

Allison wrestled off the sports drink lid, then let Dad take her left wrist. "He's checking for hemorrhagic shock." She took a few gulps of gatorade, then waited. It seemed to stay down. "I'm not feeling dizzy, Noah."

"Humour me." Dad turned Allison's arm over and pressed two fingers against the inside of her elbow. "I should take you to the emergency room."

Allison threw him a cold glare. "You could try."

"Allison, I'm serious."

"So am I."

They stared at each other for a moment. Then Dad said, "If you pass out, we're going to the ER."

"Fine, because I'm going to have to be unconscious to let you take me in," Allison retorted with a shadow of her usual energy. "Stiles, get me the salt. And a lime."

"Why?"

She looked at him.

"I mean, it's a valid question," Stiles asked, reaching for the salt and pepper shakers on the sideboard. "Slugs? Margaritas?"

Allison took the salt from him, ignoring the pepper. "I don't suppose you have any tequila?" she asked Dad. He gave her a disappointed expression. "Relax, this is an old home remedy."

Stiles went back to the fridge. "We got lemon juice," he announced, emerging with a brilliantly yellow plastic lemon.

"Give."

Stiles gave. Then he and Dad watched as Allison poured a generous pinch of salt into the gatorade bottle, squeezed in some lemon juice, capped the bottle back up, and gave it a shake. Then she unscrewed the lid, took a sip, and shuddered.

"Vile?" Stiles asked.

"Incredibly." Allison sipped again. "Now I just drink this until I feel well enough to throw the bottle through a window."

"Sounds wonderful."

Dad rubbed his eyes. "Can I take a look at your leg?"

"I guess." Allison turned in her chair so her injured thigh was exposed to the light. "The claws went deep."

"I thought you said that you can heal quickly when you're cut down to the bone," Dad said as he pulled a pair of scissors out of the junk drawer.

Stiles stared. Because when the hell had Allison said _that?_

"Quick is relative." Allison gulped at the sports drink. "I mean, I got back down here in one piece, right?"

"We'll get to that in a bit." Dad knelt down again. "Mind if I ruin these jeans?"

"You don't think I can make this the new fashion?" She put the bottle down. "I'll do it."

Dad handed over the scissors. He and Stiles watched as Allison peeled bloody fabric away from her leg, snipping at the stiff denim as she went. It wasn't bad, Stiles had just decided, as she almost had her whole thigh exposed. The scars still looked raw, but not _deep._

Then Allison pulled on a strip of fabric, and it didn't move. She pulled a little harder, and her flesh moved along with it. When Stiles realized that it was because Allison's leg had healed _around_ the fabric, grey streamers swam in front of his eyes and his stomach heaved. He bolted down the hall to the bathroom, just barely making it to the toilet before he threw up.

"Stiles?"

Stiles' stomach jerked again as Dad came into the small room.

"It's okay," Dad said, his hand on Stiles' back. "You're okay."

Stiles heaved, spitting what little dinner he'd eaten into the toilet bowl. "Go back to Allison," he breathed, tears hot in his eyes. "I'm fine."

"Well, I'm not," Dad said. "That was the grossest thing I've seen in a very long time."

"Allison needs you."

"Allison told me to come after you." Dad patted his back gently. "Not that I needed her to tell me that."

Stiles spat again, then leaned back on his heels. "I hate this, I hate this so much," he said, wiping his mouth with a wad of toilet paper.

"Me too." Dad got up. "But I think this might be the worst of it." He gave Stiles a wet hand-towel. "Come on, wipe your face and we'll go back to see what Allison needs us to do."

"I could always throw up on her," Stiles muttered, but he scrubbed at his face as ordered. Dad put his arm around Stiles' shoulders to walk him down the hall.

When they got back to the kitchen, what Stiles saw made him nearly throw up again. Allison was bent over her leg, a knife in one hand, the strip of bloodied denim in the other. Stiles could only watch as Allison dug the unforgiving blade into her thigh, a stream of blood bubbling up from the abused muscle as she pulled the fabric free.

"Now I'm really going to throw up on you," Stiles said, as Dad grabbed a dish towel.

"If I let this heal into my leg, I'll have a whole lot bigger problems," Allison said, dropping the strip of cloth over her knee before pressing the wound closed.

"I'll tell you what." Dad knelt down to hold the towel to Allison's leg. "I am not even going to ask how you know that."

"I can guess," Stiles said. He was ignored.

"I think that was the worst of it," Allison said, letting Dad take the knife away from her. "I thought something felt wrong."

"Okay." Dad looked at Allison. "Is there anything else you need to do before I start asking questions?"

Allison considered. "Stiles, can you get some wet paper towels? I want to get the blood off my leg."

"Sure, why not add to my trauma?" Stiles asked, but he did as he was told.

Ten wet paper towels later, resting red and bloodied at the bottom of the garbage pail, Allison's thigh was looking less like a horror movie and more like a functioning limb. The scars were still red and angry, but the edges on all but one slash were healed together.

Two of the scars held black hints under the flesh, but even Allison wasn't sure if that was dirt, bruising, or, as she put it so delightfully, supernatural ichor. She didn't appear too worried, so Stiles just packed that information up to fuel his nightmares, and kept his mouth shut.

Finally, Allison sat back in her chair, exhausted. Dad tossed the bloodied towel into the sink, then washed his hands, took a mug out of the cupboard, and walked back over to the table. "So." He sat down, and reached for the whiskey bottle. "And pardon my language, Allison, but _what the fuck."_

Allison shrugged. "I told you." She took a swig off her sports drink. "I took out the wendigo before it hurt anyone else."

"Because of something you saw on a map, in a place that may or may not have been populated with werewolves?"

Allison paused. Stiles bit his lip. "What exactly did Stiles tell you?" Allison asked Dad, turning her eyes on Stiles.

"Very little." Dad poured out a healthy amount of alcohol. "Mostly, he kept trying to lie to me about who he was with and what he was doing." He put the lid back on the bottle. "And he was doing it badly, because he was so goddamned scared that you were going to die."

Allison jerked her head around. "I had it under control," she said.

"You did?" Dad gestured with the mug. "You come home with over half of your body ripped apart, blood everywhere, and you call that control?"

Allison moved her head to the side, and everything about her changed. Stiles went from being scared for her, to just being scared. He couldn't breathe.

"Let me tell you what happened tonight, Noah." Allison put her hands on the table. Her eyes were wide and steady. "I learned that several of my friends, my very young and untrained friends, were talking about going up after a creature that had been slaughtering large animals and humans for weeks. Not wanting to spend the next month mourning the people I care about, I decided that I would take care of the problem myself."

She sat back, reached under the table to her backpack, and pulled out the hatchet. She dropped it onto the table with a thud, making Stiles flinch. The blade, which had been so bright and shiny the last time Stiles saw it, was now rounded and dull.

"So I took myself, and my little axe, and I went hunting," Allison said. Dad was staring at her, whiskey mug frozen halfway to his mouth. "Do you know what I found? Animal corpses, ripped into shreds in its wake. When I finally found this monster, it moved faster than anything I have ever seen, and it wanted me dead." Allison took a breath. "What do you think would have happened if any of the kids had been up there with me?" She leaned forward. "What if Stiles had been with me?"

Noah put the mug down.

"That is why I went up there by myself," Allison carried on. "Because there is no one else in this town, _no one,_ who is fast enough or trained enough to be able to have done anything against the wendigo but slow me down."

"Not even Derek?" Dad asked.

A strange smile curled up the corner of Allison's mouth. "Derek," she said deliberately, "Is trying desperately to be the person he thinks his mother would have wanted him to be. And he doesn't know what he's doing."

"What does that mean?"

Allison let her fingers trail over the hilt of the hatchet. "Ruling in peace time is very different from being at war. Talia kept the peace in Beacon Hills. Kate brought war. And now the Hales are dead. And Derek is…" She touched the head of the hatchet. A large black patch stained the metal. "Derek's a good man. After everything he's been through, he's still a good man." Allison looked at Dad. "But he's not a soldier. And neither are any of the wolves. They're just kids."

"You're a kid too," Dad said.

"I'm not," Allison said. "Not anymore. And maybe not ever. And if I can do any single thing to keep my friends safe?" She moved her hand from the hatchet to cover Stile's wrist, sending a zing through his spine. "If I can do anything to keep Stiles safe? What would you do?"

Dad put his hand over his mouth. "Don't ask me that."

"I don't have to." Allison sat back, taking her hand away. "Because I know the answer." She reached for another bottle of gatorade. "I told you that I'd take care of the problems you couldn't."

"Would Talia Hale have taken on a wendigo by herself?" Dad asked.

"Fuck no," Allison said. She took a long swallow. "But there were four adult werewolves in that house, five if you include Laura. From what I hear, they solved problems as a group."

"And you went up there alone."

Allison sighed. "Yes, I went up there alone," she said. "It was a fair fight. One of it, and one of me."

"And if I tell you that you can't do that again?"

Stiles tensed, waiting for Allison to explode, but she just sat there. "I won't listen to you," she said evenly. "But I will promise you that anything I do, I do it to keep people safe."

Dad reached for the mug. "I guess I don't have a choice, do I?"

"Probably not."

"I have two conditions," he said. "One, if something like this ever happens again, you call me before you go anywhere."

"Why, to talk me out of it?"

"Partly. But also I might have information that you don't." He gulped at the whiskey. "And I want to know what's happening, in case I can help."

Allison stared into the gatorade bottle. "I'll try," she said after a minute. "There might be a situation where I don't have the time. But I'll try."

"Thank you." Dad put the mug down. "And two."

Stiles and Allison waited.

"Don't go into a situation you don't plan on coming out of."

"Huh?" Stiles demanded. He looked between Dad and Allison. "What does that mean?"

Allison was back to staring at Dad with a steady, even gaze. "He's telling me not to go in on a suicide run," she said. "Do I have this right?"

"You do," Dad said.

Allison shook her head. "Don't worry about that. I have too much to do to die anytime soon."

"Okay, well, now _I'm_ worried," Stiles exclaimed. "What does that mean?"

"Stiles, I don't want to die," Allison said. She looked down at her hands. "I like being alive." She picked at a spot of dried blood on her palm. "When I go out and do what I do, I always mean to come back alive. You have to know that."

"Okay." Stiles ran his tongue over dry lips. "Promise?"

"I promise." Allison kicked his ankle under the table. "And you have to promise me that you will do everything you can to stay safe."

There was something in her eyes that made Stiles' stomach hurt, that made him miss his mom so much. "I promise," he said.

"Good." Allison turned those dark eyes on Dad. "I have a condition of my own."

"Let's hear it."

"Stop treating me like a child."

Dad stared down into the depth of his mug for a long time. Stiles wondered what he was going to say, what he was going to do.

Finally, Dad looked up. "Okay."

"Wait, just like that?" Stiles blurted out.

Allison and Dad turned near-identical expressions of annoyance on Stiles. "I think this," Allison hefted the hatchet, "Isn't just like that."

"Stiles, get Allison some of the leftovers out of the fridge," Dad said. He pushed the whiskey mug away. "I need to call into the station."

"Did you put out a bulletin on me?" Allison asked.

"No, just called a friend."

"Tell them I'm alive, okay?"

Dad stood up. "Will do." He went out into the living room.

Stiles also stood. "Do you want anything to eat?"

"In a bit."

Stiles rubbed his hands together. "I didn't know you were going after the wendigo," he blurted out. "When you left the depot."

Allison gave him an odd look. "You weren't supposed to know."

"But Peter knew. And he didn't help you."

Allison shook her head. "I've never fought on the same side as Peter. I know he's fast, but I don't know what his reflexes are like in a real fight. I couldn't risk him being up there and getting hurt."

Stiles rocked on his toes. "Peter said that if you wanted help, you'd have asked for it."

Allison went back to the gatorade. "Peter's smart."

"And you don't want him to get hurt."

"No." Allison pulled her hair over her shoulder. "I don't want Peter to get hurt."

"Because you care about him."

Allison stared at Stiles, unmoving, for a very long time. Finally, she bit at her lower lip. "I can't explain why, but Peter is important to me. So yeah, I guess I do care about him."

"Do you think he cares about you at all?"

A shadow moved over Allison's face. "Probably not." She put her elbow on the table. "I'm probably just a distraction to him, something he can poke at to keep himself from being bored for a while."

As much as Stiles hated the idea of Allison being involved with Peter Hale, the idea that she had actual _feelings_ for the man while he was just stringing her along was even worse.

Still, though, Stiles couldn't forget the worry on Peter's face when he'd spoken of Allison going up alone after the wendigo.

"You don't need him," Stiles said. "You could dump him in a heartbeat."

"I know." Allison picked at the label on the bottle. "But I don't want to. Not yet."

Stiles rubbed his face. "He said that you should text him, if you didn't die." He put his hands down to see Allison frowning at him. "We had a conversation after the pack meeting. Just before he and Derek heard an alpha howling in the woods."

Allison winced.

"Was that you?"

"In my defence, I was trying to defeat a ravenous cannibalistic monster," she said.

"How did you learn how to do howl like that? Is that an alpha thing?"

"It's complicated," was all Allison said. "Don't tell Derek. Where's my phone?"

"Upstairs."

She groaned. "Can you get it for me? I think if I try to stand up, it might be a bad idea."

Stiles made an annoyed sound at the ceiling, but left the kitchen. He passed the living room, where Dad was talking in hushed tones, and went upstairs to get Allison's phone out of his bag.

She had just opened her third bottle of gatorade when Stiles returned. "How much of that are you going to drink?" he asked, dropping her phone onto the table.

"Keep drinking until you want to throw up, that's the rule after blood loss," Allison said. "That, and red meat. So much red meat." She unlocked her phone. "How do you feel about hamburger and steak every day for the next week?"

"Okay." Stiles pulled out his own phone and scrolled through the group chat. Wild speculation from Jackson and Isaac on the wolf howling, increasingly worried questions from Erica on how to fight a monster, and the occasional one-word reply from Derek.

Allison's phone pinged. Stiles glanced up to see her staring at the screen, a small smile hovering on her lips.

She looked… happy.

Stiles' heart sank. She was probably texting Peter, and he was making her smile like that, and everything was such a fucking disaster.

Annoyed, Stiles opened up a new text to Derek. _If I tell you that we don't have to go monster hunting tomorrow, what will you say?_

Derek's reply was instantaneous. _What the hell are you talking about?_

_What if I tell you that someone found and killed the wendigo?_

The typing bubble showed for a long time on the screen, long enough for Dad to come back into the kitchen. "How's everything?" Allison asked.

"Good." Dad walked to the fridge. "Stiles, I told you to get out the leftovers."

"I, uh."

"I'm not really hungry," Allison said, putting down her phone at last. "I think I'll just finish the sports drink and go to bed."

Dad came out of the fridge with the leftover meatloaf. "Not hungry at all?" he asked, taking the lid off the container and holding it within reaching distance.

Allison snatched the container out of Dad's hand, a slice of meatloaf already halfway to her mouth before Stiles could react. "Okay, maybe a little," she said around a mouthful.

"We've also got some of that chicken from Wednesday," Dad said. "Want that?"

Allison, who had shoved another hunk of meatloaf into her mouth, gave a thumbs-up.

"Coming right up."

Stiles' phone buzzed. _Tell me what you mean right now did you go into the mountains do I have to come up there and kill you myself?_

Oh, Derek. _It's a long story and anyway someone killed the wendigo so we can all go to the movies tomorrow. Or go bowling. Do you go bowling? That's like howling with a b instead of an h so it's twice as fun._

"Now," Dad was saying, sitting down with the shredded chicken. "Tell me exactly how you killed the monster."

Allison swallowed. "The usual," she said before cramming a handful of chicken into her mouth. "Decapitation."

Stiles winced. This was going to be interesting.

Allison woke up disoriented to a pitch-black room. What was going on? Why was she awake? And why did she feel like she'd been run over by a truck?

The last, she knew the answer to as soon as she tried to move. Her thigh muscles were on the edge of cramping up as they healed, and she really, _really_ had to pee.

But that wasn't all. On the edge of her hearing, she could make out male voices, sniping at each other in the still house. Stiles, she knew, and close association brought her to identify the other easily enough.

Allison sat up, looking at the clock. Why was Derek in Stiles' room at three in the morning?

She was too old to handle these sorts of shenanigans.

She needed to get up, needed to go to the bathroom, but the idea of moving any more than she already had made her feel like passing out again.

She should probably go drink the rest of the gatorade, keep building up her fluids.

A particularly loud whisper from Derek reached Allison's ears. He had said something about reckless girls, and she growled, her eyes flashing red in the privacy of her room.

Derek had exactly zero moral ground on which to stand when he called people reckless.

She was just trying to figure out how to sneak out to the bathroom without Derek hearing her, when footsteps sounded suddenly in the hallway and a door opened. "What the hell is going on?" came Noah's voice.

"Dad!" Stiles yelped, and that got Allison moving. She stood up, fell down on a suddenly cramping leg, then hauled herself upright and was out and moving down the hall as Noah demanded, "What the hell is Derek doing in your room at three in the morning?

"I can explain all this," Stiles stammered. Allison practically crashed into Stiles' open doorway, taking in the scene before her. Illuminated by Stiles' tiny bedside lamp, Derek sat frozen on Stiles' bed, while Stiles was in the middle of the floor, thankfully wearing pants, between Derek and Noah.

Allison relaxed slightly. At least no one was naked or bleeding.

Noah, on the other hand, did not seem to be taking Derek's presence well. "Then explain," Noah said to Stiles. _"Now."_

"Hi Derek," Allison called from behind Noah, and all of a sudden, Derek's attention was on her. He got to his feet in a slow uncoiling of anger. Allison's heart sped up. She hadn't forgotten what Derek had said earlier that night in the train depot, and part of her was still longing to punch Derek across that chiseled jaw of his. "How's tricks?"

"Did you go into the woods by yourself?" Derek demanded, brushing past Stiles. Noah stepped between him and Allison.

"Of course I did," Allison retorted. She put her hand on Noah's arm to push him aside. "What does it matter? Eight hours ago you were telling me to go fuck myself and now that I solved your wendigo problem for you, you're calling me reckless? Pick a direction before you give yourself whiplash."

Derek went still when she said the word _wendigo_ , then his eyes slid over to Noah.

"You know what? Fuck this," Allison said. "Go back to fighting about why Derek snuck in Stiles' window again, I don't care."

She turned to leave the room, when out of the corner of her eye she saw movement. Without even thinking, she spun towards Derek, grabbing his reaching hand and body-slamming him into the wall. He tried to push back, but she just shoved him against the wall again before staggering back. Derek looked too stunned to even think about moving.

Allison took a deep breath, trying to stay upright. "I prefer no touching," she said as calmly as she could.

"Understood," Derek said.

He didn't rush her again, so she figure that the fight was over, or at least postponed. "Feel free to continue arguing," she said, taking a step back. Her leg buckled and she nearly went down, but Noah caught her around the waist.

"Allison…"

"I'm good." Allison straightened up and pulled away. Noah let his arm drop. "Give me a minute."

Then, with more speed than grace, Allison booked it down the hall to the bathroom.

She could hear the arguing start back up again as soon as she left the room, but she didn't care. She hid out in the bathroom until a collection of footsteps moved down the hall, towards the stairs. Allison gave it another minute, then went after them.

The light was on in the living room, so Allison reluctantly headed in that direction. She found Derek and Noah squaring off, with Stiles sitting on the couch between them. He was trying to argue some point, but neither Derek nor Noah were paying attention.

"…am I supposed to think, finding a twenty-three-year-old man in my teenage son's bedroom?" Noah was demanding.

"I came here to talk to him, and that's all," Derek pushed back.

"At three in the morning?"

"Some things can't wait!"

"Dad, nothing happened," Stiles said. "Derek's, like, the world's biggest no-touch zone."

"Thanks, Stiles," Derek said sarcastically. "Stop helping."

Allison shook her head. Why were men so dramatic? She crossed the room, walking right between Derek and Noah, to collapse on the couch beside Stiles. She put her arm around his shoulders in what might have been a petty possessive move, and was smugly rewarded when Stiles leaned against her side. "It's okay, Noah. Derek would never do anything untoward with Stiles."

"What does that mean?" Noah asked. "And did you know about this?"

"About what?" Allison patted Stiles' arm. "That Derek and Stiles are friends? Yes. That Derek has a habit of sneaking in Stiles' window to hold whispered conversations in the middle of the night? Of course not."

"Oh my god," Stiles whispered against Allison's shoulder.

"Can we save the questions about Stiles' virtue for another day?" Allison continued. "Let's talk wendigos."

Derek's glare could have stripped paint off a wall. "What did you tell him?" he asked, jerking his head towards Noah.

"She told me that she decapitated a twelve-foot-tall monster," Noah said, his arms crossed over his chest. "With a hatchet."

Derek looked between Allison and Noah with growing confusion. "What do you know?" He glared at Stiles. "What did you tell him?"

"I know about a lot of things in Beacon Hills," Noah said. "About werewolves, and some of the monsters who pass on through town."

Derek's glare shifted to Allison. She held it with as much alpha power as she could muster without her eyes changing colour. Stiles pressed more closely against her. "I told Noah about the wendigo," Allison said. "And I told him that I took care of the wendigo because there is no one in this town who has anywhere near the skills or training to have had a chance against that thing."

"How?" Derek asked. "You're human. Explain to me how one human girl had a chance against something that did _that_ to those animals?"

Allison smiled. "Come on, Derek, you saw me in the warehouse up on that grate. You really think that I'm just human?"

"If you're not human, then what are you?"

Allison's smile grew, and it hurt deep in her chest. "It doesn't matter," she said, taking her arm from around Stiles' shoulders and sitting forward. "The only thing that matters is that I'm going to protect this town from the things Noah can't. You and everyone else can stand down."

"The last time I heard something like that from someone like you, I was included in the things that this town needed protecting from," Derek said.

Allison took in a breath. She stood up, carefully putting weight on her leg. It held. "You're right," she said. "And I'm sorry."

Derek turned to pace across the room.

Allison took pity on him. She remembered being twenty-three, and then she'd had Stiles and Tony and everyone. "Derek, the whole world is changing," she said. "Aliens in New York were only the first catalyst. We're going to start seeing more strange things, and soon – how many more superheroes do you think are going to come out of the woodwork? And when people start realizing how many inhumans are among them?"

"What's an inhuman?" Stiles interrupted.

Allison glanced over her shoulder. "Someone with abilities outside the range of a normal human. Not supernatural."

"Like a shapeshifter?" Noah asked, his expression one of deep concentration.

"Depending on the shapeshifter," Allison said. "And I know that's not the answer you want, but it depends on so much."

"And what are you?" Derek demanded. "The way you are. Are you one of these inhumans?"

Allison shook her head. "No, I'm old-school."

Derek ran his hand through his hair. "Whatever you are, you put my people in danger by telling the Sheriff about us."

"I didn't tell Noah anything about werewolves," Allison snapped. "And I wouldn't have told him anything about the supernatural if I didn't know that he would do anything to keep innocent people safe."

Derek's lip twisted up in a snarl. "Did you also tell him about your family?" he spat. "About what people like you do to people like me?"

"I know about the Argents, son," Noah said.

Derek whipped his head around. "Do you?" he asked, and he was bleeding so much pain. "Do you really?"

"He does," Allison said, holding her spine straight. "He knows what Kate did."

"Yeah," Derek almost barked. "The fire."

"Allison told me about the mountain ash," Noah said. "About how your family couldn't get out of the house."

Something crossed over Derek's face, and Allison had to hold herself steady. She'd known what Kate had done to Derek, seduced him, tricked him into giving up information that had directly led to everyone's deaths.

If hadn't really occurred to her until just this moment that Derek was now the same age as Kate had been, when she'd gone after a fifteen-year-old boy.

"Stiles," Allison said. Stiles stood up. "Come here."

The teenager shuffled a few steps closer to Allison. "What?"

She pushed him toward Derek. "Go punch Derek in the arm or something."

"I'm not going to punch Derek," Stiles said. "Maybe I'll insult his hair or something. Talk about his bad taste in shirts. Wonder why on earth he won't let us order Thai takeout."

Derek was looking very steadily at Stiles, and Allison was relieved to see that some of the tension around his eyes was fading. "I don't like the smell of fish sauce."

"You say that now." Stiles balled up his hand and hit Derek's arm with a mock blow. Derek gave Stiles his usual glower. "See, there you are."

Allison turned to limp back to the couch. She caught Noah eyeing her. "Are you okay with talking about your family?" he asked.

"Why not?" Allison sat down. "At this point in time, they're more likely to try to kill me than Derek, which is a special sort of fun." She waved that away. "Whatever Chris is up to, I don't know. I'm more concerned about the other Hunters in town."

"And that's where I come in," Noah said to Derek. "I made a deal with Allison. She tells me about things that fall under human law. That includes these Hunters."

"I don't like it," Derek said. "They come after my people all the time."

"You know what I don't like?" Noah asked. "The idea that Stiles felt he had to lie to me for a year in order to protect people. I need you to let me do my job, and keep this town safe, all right?"

Derek looked away.

"Let's talk it through," Noah went on. "Say someone goes after Erica."

Allison let out a low breath that might have been a growl. Derek glanced at her, then back to Noah. "I don't think Allison likes that idea."

"Neither do I. Erica's a teenage girl. Someone goes after a teenage girl in my town, I stop them."

"Even if that teenage girl is a monster?"

Allison wanted to smack Derek. Was he _trying_ to fuck everything up?

"Doesn't seem like Erica's a monster," Noah said. "She might be a little different than other teenagers, but she seems like a good kid."

"And if she slashes someone up by accident?"

"Derek, would you shut up?" Allison demanded.

"No, it's all right," Noah said. He looked at Derek. "These werewolves of yours, they had to learn control, right?"

"Yes," Derek said.

"And have they?"

Derek shifted his jaw. "Yes."

Allison leaned forward to put her elbows on her knees. "Derek's pack have incredibly good control," she said. "They're young, but they are very controlled." She gave Derek a warning glare. "They can't fight worth a damn, and they have no defensive skills, though. That's why this town needs me."

"Here we go again," Stiles muttered.

"As a matter of fact, yes," Allison said. "I went after the monster because it needed to be taken out. It was killing indiscriminately, and it was getting closer to populated areas." She rubbed her healing thigh absently. "I don't know what it started off as, or how it became the way it ended up. But there was nothing left of it but anger and pain." She considered. "And really big teeth."

"How did you kill it?" Derek asked.

Allison raised her eyebrows. "It attacked me and I chopped its head off."

Stiles winced.

"I hid the body," Allison said. "Mostly. It was dark and I was a little out of it, but I'm pretty sure it's under cover."

"Great." Derek rubbed his eyes. "I'll go up there in the morning to see."

"Good." Allison pulled up the leg of her basketball shorts to press down on a particularly painful spot on her leg. "Maybe you can get the deer down out of the tree."

Derek looked at Stiles. "I don't know," Stiles said. "I wasn't there."

"What happened to your leg?" Derek asked.

Allison hesitated. Whatever was happening with Derek, she didn't really feel like flashing him some thigh. But, what the hell. "The wendigo also had very long claws." She pulled her shorts up, exposing her entire leg.

"Eeyuh," Stiles said, turning away.

"Knock it off," Noah said. "When Allison got home, that leg of hers looked like ground beef."

"It's doing better," Allison said. The angry red marks had mostly faded, but the skin on her thigh was pale pink and tender. There was some visible scarring still, and those dark markings under the skin remained. "The claws went pretty deep. I'll be stiff for a day or two, but I'm fine."

Derek approached the sofa. He reached out a hand, then hesitated. "Can I try something?" he asked.

"If you can do it without touching me, yes."

The room was tense as Derek stretched out his hand, fingers splayed, and held it out over Allison's leg. His hand span covered half her thigh.

The wendigo's claws had slashed her from groin to knee.

"Shit," Derek muttered. He took a few steps back. Allison moved her shorts back into place.

"And that is why I didn't want the wolves going up after it," Allison said. "Case closed. Everyone can go home now and go to sleep."

"That's a good idea," Noah said. He fixed both Stiles and Derek with an iron glare.

"Dad, nothing happened," Stiles said again. His protests were starting to sound a little tired.

"I'm glad to hear it." Noah gestured with his head. "Everyone who lives here, back upstairs. Derek, I'll walk you out."

Derek looked as thrilled as could be expected. "I'll talk to you tomorrow," he said in Stiles' general direction.

"Always an optimist," Stiles said. He held out his hand to Allison. "Come on. Piggyback?"

"I have to get something else to drink." Allison limped into the kitchen, Stiles on her heels. Once they were out of sight of Noah, Allison put her finger to her lips. Stiles gesticulated wildly, but quietly.

Allison could hear Noah and Derek going down the hall. "Is this the part where you threaten to shoot me for putting Stiles in danger?" Derek asked.

"No," Noah said. "Here's the part where I tell you that you are never to climb in my son's window again. If you want to see him, come in the front door."

Oh, now that was an interesting turn of events. Allison grabbed at Stiles and hauled him in to relay the conversation.

"You don't have a problem with me and Stiles being friends?" Derek asked.

"Friends? No. Anything else? Well." Noah cleared his throat. "Stiles is seventeen. I want you to remember that."

"I will."

"The only thing I will have a problem with," Noah continued, "Is if you deliberately put Stiles into a dangerous situation, and then walk away."

Allison could practically feel Derek's anger wafting down the hall. When she told Stiles what Noah said, the boy tried to jerk away, to go after his father, but Allison held him still.

"I would never do that," Derek hissed. "Never."

"Good," Noah said. "Then you and I aren't going to have a problem." He coughed. "How about you come over for dinner tomorrow night?"

"Dinner," Derek repeated. "Here."

"Yup."

"Okay." Derek paused. Then, sounding as awkward as Allison had ever heard him, asked, "Should I bring anything?"

"Text Stiles about it," Noah said. "Tomorrow."

"Okay." And then the front door opened, and Derek left.

"What?" Stiles demanded of Allison. _"What?"_

Allison let Stiles go. "Dinner party, I guess." She limped over to the fridge. "I can pick up some stuff on the way home from work."

Noah walked into the kitchen. "I thought I told you two to go upstairs."

"Dad," Stiles said. "How can we eavesdrop from upstairs? And _dinner_?"

"Yes." Noah put his hands on the back of a chair. "I figure it's high time for me to get to know Derek Hale a little better."

Allison bit her lip as she opened yet another bottle of gatorade. If she'd been Stiles, she would not have liked how Noah was looking at her.

"Now, since you're obviously not going back to bed, you can stay here and we can have this conversation right now." Noah looked over to Allison. "Would you mind giving us some privacy?"

"Of course," Allison said demurely, and exited stage left.

She could hear everything, of course. She left her bedroom door open and sat on the mattress in the dark, sipping at the sports drink as Noah lit into Stiles for thinking it was acceptable to let a grown man into his bedroom in the middle of the night, and what was he thinking, and was he at least being safe?

Allison nearly snorted gatorade through her nose at the wounded seal noises Stiles was making.

As Stiles protested his honour, and pointed out that Derek thought Stiles was nothing more than _irritating, Dad, seriously_ , Allison rubbed at her leg. It had been a good day. She'd battled the monster, and made it through mostly unscathed. Not every fight ended like that.

Allison took in a deep breath, and raised the plastic bottle to the sky. "Another day, another fight," she said, mentally toasting the people she had fought along side over the years.

Then she sighed, and lowered the bottle. She missed them all so much, the ones who had died, and the ones she had left behind in travelling back to the past.

 _I'll save you all,_ Allison promised. _Everyone I can_.

* * *

The next morning was rough. Stiles was still in bed when Allison headed off to the sheriff's station for her six-hour shift. She dropped into Noah's office to look at his maps, and they figured out that Allison had most likely run the wendigo to ground at a spot half an hour's walk from the main highway. Too close to town for Allison's comfort.

"Are you going to be home for dinner?" Noah asked, shrugging into his jacket.

"Do I have another option?" Allison asked.

"I'd prefer you were there. It would give me something to focus on when Stiles starts."

"When Stiles starts what?"

Noah gave her a look.

She guessed she deserved that. "I'll be there. Do you need me to pick anything up?"

"Groceries?" Noah reached into his pocket. "How much food do you think the three of you will eat?"

Allison raised an eyebrow. "Me, Stiles, and Derek?"

Noah paused. "Yeah." He pulled a few bills from his wallet. "If we run out of food, we can always call for pizza, right?"

"I see you've had teenagers in the house before." Allison took the money. "See you around six."

"Right." And Noah vacated the office with a little too much speed.

"Weird," Allison muttered. She was pretty sure she knew where he was going. She just hoped he wasn't going alone.

Since she didn't see Natasha around the station, an obvious inference could be made.

With a sigh, Allison headed to the archives.

She spent six hours organising paperwork and didn't even pass out once. Brodie was in fine form, expounding on how no one in Beacon Hills had any idea how to submit their case files properly to the archives. Allison listened and nodded as she tried to reconstruct the notes from a cold case file based on how the paper had ripped at the top of the page.

As the clock ticked over to four, Brodie came up to her table. "There's talk around town that someone killed a monster in the hills up north last night," he said without preamble.

Allison stacked files into a box. "Is there?"

"Yes."

"Is that good or bad?"

"I suppose it depends on the kind of monster."

Allison put the lid back on the box. "I heard some talk around town that it might have been a wendigo."

Brodie blanched. "St. Marnock preserve us," he muttered. "It's dead?"

"That's what I hear." She carried the box back to its spot on the shelves. Returning to the worktable, Allison saw Brodie giving her an considering look.

"Are you all right?" he asked. "You're walking funny."

"I slept badly." Allison gathered up her jacket, backpack and phone. "See you tomorrow."

"Bah." He batted at the air. "Go."

She escaped the station and staggered out to her bike without running into anyone who wanted to talk. A quick check of her phone produced a shopping list from Stiles (he had included garlic bread on it three times), a panicked question from Erica about how to handle a job interview, and a lamentation from Jackson on their history homework. Allison replied to the latter two, and was left scrolling down her past messages, her eyes landing on the most recent texts from Peter.

Allison considered. It was four o'clock. She could swing by Peter's place to thank him for the research materials, then get to the grocery store and home in good time for dinner. She didn't have to stay long. She could just go in, say thank you, and leave.

Yeah, right.

Allison quickly tapped out a message to Peter asking if he was home, then pocketed her phone and headed out. The afternoon drive across Beacon Hills was almost too quick. After parking her bike, Allison trudged up the steps to Peter's front door.

Peter opened it without much delay. "You look like hell," was his opening volley.

"I feel like hell. Can I come in?"

Peter sighed. "Can I even stop you at this point?"

"If you don't want me here, I'll leave."

They looked at each other for a moment, then Peter stepped back. "To my surprise, your presence isn't the complete disaster I would have expected," he said. Allison slipped into the apartment, putting her helmet and backpack down. Peter closed the door. "Derek told me that you went after the wendigo last night and it nearly ripped you apart."

"That's a good summary." Allison unzipped her jacket.

"He left out the part about the motorcycle."

"I got a motorcycle." Allison kicked out of her boots. "Are you going to yell at me about any of this? Because I have spent too many of the last sixteen hours getting yelled at for doing what was necessary to protect people in this town and I'm sort of over it."

Peter frowned. "Why would I yell at you? If you took care of the monster, that means I don't have to deal with it."

"Thank you." Allison pushed a strand of hair off her forehead. "I wanted to thank you for all your help with the research on this. It really helped."

Peter's frown deepened. "You came over here to thank me for that?"

"Yes. What else would I have come here for?"

Peter tilted his head. "Allison."

Even though he was being slightly sardonic, the sound of her name in his mouth made her shiver. "Peter?"

"Allison." He took a step closer, slipped his hands under her jacket to rest on her waist. "What do you want from me?"

Allison put her hands on his shoulders. It was the first time in days that she'd been touched with gentleness, instead of a result of violence or pain. She let out a breath. "This might sound weird."

Peter's eyebrows went up.

"Can you just hug me?"

For a moment, Peter stared at her. Then he moved closer, embracing her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and held on. Standing there in Peter's apartment, just the two of them, just for a moment, Allison felt _safe_.

It was probably for the best that she had her face buried against Peter's neck, because she couldn't stop the alpha rising, seeking comfort from one of her own. Allison may have accepted that this Peter wasn't the same man she had spent decades with, but the alpha wanted what she wanted, and she wanted Peter.

"You're shaking," Peter murmured in her ear.

"Delayed reaction." Allison didn't move. "Or blood loss. Or both."

Peter kissed her hair. "Do you want to take this over to the couch?"

Allison breathed in. "Okay." She reluctantly pulled back. "Really, though, I can leave if you have something else to do."

Peter cupped her cheek with his hand, thumb soft over her skin. "There is something I have to do, but I need you here for it."

Allison smiled in spite of herself. "Oh really?" She let herself be led over to the couch, where, to her surprise, Peter let her go and made his way over to the bookshelf. She took off her jacket and tossed it over a chair. "What, more research?"

"Of a kind." Peter returned with a book, then collapsed onto the couch and held a hand out to her. Allison curled up on his lap, relaxing as he put one arm around her shoulders. "I have questions."

Allison nudged the book. "Why do you need an encyclopaedia of supernatural beings?"

"As a starting place." Peter opened the book to the front. "Are you an aerico?"

Allison sighed. "You're not going to find me in that book, Peter."

"That sounds like something said by a supernatural creature with an entry in this book." He turned a page. "How about an agathodaemon?"

Allison reached for the buttons on Peter's shirt. "What's that?"

"A Greek spirit of the vineyard. What are you doing?"

Allison undid another button. "Entertaining myself." She shifted down lower to kiss Peter's chest. His breath hitched. "But feel free to carry on."

"Right." A page turned. "Are you an ajatar?"

Oh, she knew that one. "No, and rude." Allison scraped her fingernails down Peter' side. He bit back a gasp. "How many more of those do you think you can get to before I go down on you?"

"Uh." Another page turned as Allison reached for Peter's belt buckle. "Are you an alseid?"

"No." Allison ran her hand over the front of his trousers, cupping his dick through the fabric. "Anything else?"

Peter let the book drop to the floor. "That's enough for one day." He reached for her, pulling her into a kiss. Allison moaned into his mouth as he slid one leg between hers, pressing up. She kept stroking him, wishing that they were already naked.

After a while, Peter broke away, gasping for air. "How do you do that?" he breathed.

"Do what?" Allison asked, staring down at him. She was breathing a little hard herself.

"Kiss me like that."

"Am I doing it wrong?"

Peter shifted his legs out from under Allison and, in a fluid motion, stood up with her in his arms. "No." Allison clung to his shoulders to keep her balance. "And that's what's so strange."

"What is?" Allison whispered.

He just looked at her for a moment. Then he said, "Can I take you to bed?"

"Yes."

Still looking at her, Peter carried her effortlessly over to his bed. He put her down carefully, then stripped out of his shirt and pants before joining her. "How long can you stay for?"

"About an hour." Allison pulled her shirt off. "Do you have any ideas about what we can do in an hour?"

"I have some suggestions." Peter unbuttoned her jeans and pulled them down her legs. Then he stopped.

"What?" Allison asked, unfastening her bra. "Did you change your mind?"

Peter absently yanked her jeans off. He was staring at her thigh. "What happened?" he asked.

Allison ran her hand over the fading claw marks. "The wendigo," she said. "I thought Derek told you about this."

"He did." Peter put his fingers over the marks. "I didn't think… how badly were you hurt?"

"It wasn't too deep." Allison caught Peter's hand. "I don't think it got down to the bone."

Peter looked up. His eyes glinted blue with a hint of the wolf. "Not too deep," he repeated.

"Hey." Allison lifted Peter's hand to kiss his palm. "I'm okay."

Peter pulled her onto his lap, her legs folding around his hips. "You could have died."

"But I didn't." Allison kissed him again, a press of lips hardly more than a shared breath. "I did what I had to do."

Peter's hands slid around her back. "I would have gone with you." The wolf had faded from his eyes, leaving the man behind. "If you asked."

Allison ran her fingers through his hair. What she was about to say, needed to be said carefully. "When I go out on my own, the only thing I have to worry about is what I'm hunting." She kissed him again, her tongue soft against his. "When I'm with someone else, my first priority has to be keeping them safe."

"I can protect myself," Peter said, bristling as she knew he would.

"I know." Allison shifted in his lap, the feel of his body under her sending shivers through her. She'd never wanted anyone like she wanted Peter, right in that moment. "I know that, probably more than anyone else in town." She curled her fingers around the back of his neck. "And I still wouldn't be able to stop myself from trying to keep you safe."

"Me." Peter ran his hand up her ribs. "After everything I've done to you?"

Allison tightened her thighs around his hips. Peter gasped. "Yes." She caught his lower lip in her teeth for the briefest of moments before whispering into his mouth, "I need you inside me, Peter."

A moment of stillness, then Peter moved, rolling Allison down onto the bed, pulling at her underwear, his mouth on hers. These stolen hours they had together might be brief, but Allison was going to savour every single moment.

* * *

Allison was humming to herself when she unlocked the front door to the Stilinski house. She could hear Stiles inside, hear the television and some music all mixing together, and the comfortable familiarity of it all made Allison smile.

"I'm home," Allison called, closing the door. "Stiles?"

"Living room!" Stiles called.

"I got groceries for dinner." Allison headed towards the kitchen. "When's Derek going to get here?"

A thump and a crash, and Stiles yelled, "I don't know, in like half an hour?"

"Good, I'm starving." It had taken a large part of Allison's iron willpower to not stop halfway home and shove the loaf of French bread into her mouth. "Where's Noah?"

"I don't know, out."

Allison listened, but there was no additional movement from the living room. "Are you dying?"

"No, I'm talking to someone."

Allison unpacked her bag. She'd picked up ground beef for hamburgers, some steaks, bread and some vegetables, all of which she dumped on the counter before pulling the last item out of her bag.

Bucky had had some very strange food habits, half of which he blamed on the Depression, the other on his family's heritage. Sam, who had grown up in Harlem in the eighties, had usually been grossed out by the things Bucky put in his mouth. Allison, on the other hand, could usually be dared into eating anything.

And the traditional Barnes family recipe to recover from blood loss was one of those things Allison loved, and made Sam gag.

Allison pulled a blade from the knife block as she unwrapped the packet of butcher's paper. Inside lay half a pound of raw beef liver, a deep and shiny red. Allison sliced a thin strip off the liver and shoved it into her mouth, chewing. The taste wasn't bad; slightly plastic like most supermarket meats. She'd have to find out if there was an organic butcher in town.

Slicing off another strip, Allison put it into her mouth, and turned around to find Stiles standing behind her. "Uh, what are you doing?" he asked.

She licked blood off her fingers. "Eating."

Stiles blinked. "What?"

"Liver." She cut herself another chunk. "Want some?"

"No." Stiles blinked some more. "Where did you go after work?"

Allison bit down. "Peter's," she said with a full mouth. It was almost comical to see Stiles' eyes bug out of his head. "And then to the grocery store!"

"Oh god," Stiles said, collapsing into a chair. "I thought—"

"What, that I'd finally lost my temper with Peter?" Allison shook her head. "Please. Peter's liver isn't what I want in my mouth."

Stiles made a small sound in his throat. "Allison."

She should really stop teasing him. "What?"

"I want you to know something."

Allison ate the last of the liver. "What?"

Stiles was looking at her with intensity. "I want you to know that when I grow up, I'm going to be a rich man."

She stopped and looked at him. "Okay?"

"And one day, I'm going to convert all my money into bills negotiable in 2012," Stiles went on. "And then I am going to find someone to build me a time machine, and I am going to come back in time to _right now_ and I am going to give you all that money if you promise to _never talk about Peter's penis again_."

"That's not how time travel works, Stiles." Allison shook off the memory of all that she knew of time travel, and of the Snap, and in falling back in her own timeline. "If you want me to shut up about Peter, all you have to do is ask."

"Great!" Stiles exclaimed. "Please, never talk about Peter again."

"Okay."

"Why do you like him, anyway?"

Allison thought about giving Stiles the same answer as she'd given Derek, but that might make the boy actually die. "I enjoy his company."

Stiles appeared baffled. "Why? He's terrible."

"I appreciate his sense of humour." Allison retrieved a mixing bowl. "Plus," she added, looking over her shoulder, "He has a wicked tongue."

Stiles stared back at her, then slowly slid down in his chair.

"You asked."

"And I regret it!"

Stiles phone beeped. He hauled himself up to look at it, and Allison went back to getting the hamburger patties ready. She started humming _We'll Meet Again_ , one of Bucky's old wartime standards. She wondered why she was thinking so much about Bucky that afternoon.

"Derek's going to be here in a minute," Stiles said. "He's bringing potato salad."

The mental image of Derek Hale grimly making a potato salad made Allison smother a laugh. "Then I need to shower. Come finish this."

"Why?"

"Because." Allison washed her hands. "I don't think Derek will appreciate it if he gets here and I smell like I've been railing his uncle all afternoon."

Stiles shuddered. "Oh _god_ , can werewolves smell that?"

"Yes."

Stiles groaned. Allison went upstairs for a quick shower and a change of clothes. When she descended the stairs again, it was to find Stiles making a salad, with the meat laid out and ready for dinner.

"What did you do all day?" she asked, going to the fridge for butter.

"I picked up Erica for more research at Lydia's."

Allison turned around. "What? Why?"

Stiles shrugged. "Lydia had some stuff she wanted to look into. No big deal."

Allison would have known Stiles was lying, even if he hadn't been trying to hide his face from her. "Did she find what she was looking for?" Allison asked.

"Not yet." Stiles threw tomato slices into the salad bowl. "Erica has a job interview on Tuesday after school at that steakhouse."

"She texted me about it. How does she feel?"

"As nervous as a werewolf in a room full of rocking chairs." Stiles shoved a sliver of carrot into his mouth. "Mrs. Martin was trying to give her some advice at lunch."

"Sounds like you three had a full day."

"It was okay." Stiles' shoulders were relaxing. "It's weird, how Erica and Lydia get along better when you're not there."

"Thanks, Stiles."

"That's not what I mean."

"I know." Allison started preparing the garlic bread. "I just wish that being seventeen wasn't so difficult."

"You'll be eighteen soon."

"Tragically, it doesn't magically get any better."

The front door opened. "Stiles? Allison?" Noah called. "I found Derek out on the front step."

"That's what happens when you tell him he can't climb in my window," Stiles yelled.

"Not funny," Noah said. He and Derek appeared in the doorway. Derek had a Tupperware container in his hands and a glare in his eyes. "Are we ready to eat soon?"

"As soon as someone turns the grill on," Allison said. "Derek."

"Allison." The man put the tub on the table. "Are you okay?"

Telling Derek how incredible her afternoon had been was tempting, but she made herself shrug instead. "Why?"

"I went up into the hills with…" Derek glanced over at Noah. "A couple of friends."

"And?" Allison pressed.

"We found where you fought the wendigo." He shifted uncomfortably. "You did a shit job at hiding the body, by the way."

Stiles made a hissing sound in Derek's direction. "Not that Derek knows anything about hiding bodies!" he said to his father. Noah rolled his eyes.

"I take it that was you that moved the body?" Noah asked. "I got up there around eleven with a friend. We saw the blood pool, and all the animal remains, but couldn't locate any body."

"Yeah, we moved it." Derek sat down. "I thought… the book made it sounds like a wendigo would have been just a tall person, but that thing we found was over twelve feet tall."

Stiles stopped chopping cucumber.

"Or, well, it would have been if its head was still attached," Derek amended. "What did you do? The body was nearly in pieces."

The familiar anger from that morning was back. "I hit it with a hatchet until it was dead," Allison said. "Then I kept hitting it because sometimes, things with an intact spine can keep going after their head comes off." She put the bread onto a baking sheet. "What, you thought I was making this up?"

"Maybe I hoped you were." Derek rubbed his eyes. "How did you do that?"

"Don't start with me on this again," Allison said.

"No, I am serious," Derek said. "I couldn't have done that by myself. I don't even know if—" His voice caught. "I don't know if my mom could have done it."

The kitchen was silent. Allison slowly put the baking sheet on top of the stove. "I told you," she said. Everything about this conversation was making her tired. "Fighting things like the wendigo, that's what I was made for. Your mother…" She settled back against the counter, because if she'd had to be careful with Peter earlier, that was nothing compared to this conversation. "From what I've heard around town, Talia was a diplomat. I'm the opposite."

Derek's eyes flicked up. "I don't know. You're talking a pretty good game."

Allison shrugged. "Diplomats usually start and end with words. My way usually has more knives involved."

Derek looked down at his hands. "I don't know if Mom would have been able to handle this."

"Yes, she would have," Allison said. "Because she wouldn't have been so stupid as to go in after it alone."

"Are you hearing yourself?" Noah asked.

"Trust me." Allison glanced at the man. "People have been telling me my whole life how stupid I am." She shook her head. "Can we just move on and have dinner? I'm re-growing a pint of blood. I need a hamburger. Preferably five."

"I'll turn the grill on," Stiles said, and went out the back door.

Noah pushed off the counter. "I have to go get this holster off," he said. "Then we're going to talk a bit about all the other weird stuff going on in this town." He left the room.

This left Derek and Allison staring at each other. "You smell like Peter," Derek announced, because apparently he had as little filter as Allison did.

"And?" Allison challenged.

"If you kill him, I'm going to have to kill you."

Allison shrugged. "Sounds fair. What about if he kills me?"

Derek's eyes gleamed. "Then I'll have to subject him to a lecture about how disappointed I am in his self-control."

"Glad we understand each other." Allison went to get plates out of the cupboard. After a moment, Derek got up to help her. "Whatever possessed you to climb in Stiles' window last night?"

"He told me that you killed a wendigo, it seemed like something I should question him about." Derek carried the plates to the table. "I don't like this."

"What?"

"You." He put the plates down. "Being involved with my pack."

"I see them every day at school, Derek."

"That's not what I mean." Derek rested his hands on the back of a chair. "Mom always told me and Laura, don't tell anyone what we are. Don't trust any human."

"That's still good advice," Allison said. "But there's always an exception to the rule. You made an exception for Stiles."

Derek rolled his eyes. "That was all Scott and Peter's fault."

"So much is," Allison agreed. "Noah is a good person to have on our side."

"I hope you're right."

"I'm always right," Allison said. "Now, take this stuff out to Stiles and make sure he doesn't burn anything."

She sent Derek outside and was cleaning up when Noah reappeared, changed out of his uniform. "How's everything?" he asked.

"Fine." Allison tossed the rag in the sink. "All right, what did Natasha think? I assume she was the one with you."

"She was. It was her opinion that the amount of blood on the ground was enough to exsanguinate three full-grown men," Noah said. "I didn't tell her that you contributed to the mess."

Allison blew out a breath. "Thank you."

"She's going to figure something out," Noah said. "She already suspects that something is a little different about you."

Allison absently pulled her hair over her shoulder. "Honestly, I'm less worried about Natasha's curiosity than I am about Dupont finding out what I'm up to." She shook her head. "I'll make it work."

"Natasha also had a helpful bit of advice for me," Noah said. "She said that she'd like to thank whoever cut down the monster."

Allison eyed him. "And?"

"And she's right." Noah looked back at her. "Thank you."

Allison dropped her gaze. She was forty-six years old, and she still went weak at the knees when shown the slightest hint of fatherly approval. Her therapist would have had a field day with that one.

"You saved a lot of lives," Noah said. "It was good work."

Oh hell, now she was actually tearing up. What the fuck was wrong with her? She took in a deep breath. "Glad I could help."

She was saved from any further embarrassment by a shout from Stiles. "Hey, I need barbecue sauce!"

"No, you are not putting any sauce on those hamburgers!" Derek protested.

"Shall we go separate those two?" Noah suggested, then winced.

"Don't worry about Derek," Allison said on her way to the fridge. "He'll never do anything to hurt Stiles."

"You're sure of that?"

"He's in possession of the last functioning Hale brain cell, so yes."

"Do I want to know what that means?"

Allison turned around with a smile on her face. "Absolutely not."

Noah did not appear reassured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I figure that the reason Allison is thinking so much about Bucky, is that somewhere halfway across the globe, someone's just brought the Asset out of cold storage...
> 
> Next time: You know that trope where you start trash-talking someone and the person you're talking to gets a horrified expression on their face and you realize that the object of your ire is standing right behind you? Anyway, next chapter starts with Allison trash-talking Captain America in history class. See you next week!
> 
> Research notes:
> 
>   * [Aerico](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aerico)
>   * [Agathodaemon](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Agathodaemon)
>   * [Ajatar](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ajatar)
>   * [Alseid](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alseid)
> 



	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha and Clint theorize on what the hell is Allison's deal, and come up with some screamingly inaccurate theories. In school, Allison starts trash-talking Captain America to her history teacher, only guess who's stopped by Beacon Hills High on his cross-country tour of enforced cheer? Steve Rogers, that's who. Later, Steve gets a mysterious message warning about some dangerous shenanigans inside SHIELD, with a strongly worded suggestion to hoof it down to Malibu where Tony Stark is Up To Something...

### Natasha Romanoff

Natasha sat on the bed in the little rented apartment, looking over her case files while Clint caught up with Laura and the kids over a secure video-call, and wondered exactly how she had lost control of the situation.

Everything about Operation: Silver Spoon was a disaster.

And everything had started out so well, too. Natasha and Clint had landed in Beacon Hills, easily dropping into their respective roles. True, part of that was due to the disturbingly high mortality rate for both sheriff's deputies and high school teachers in the town, but it gave them an excuse to appear without any notice.

Noah Stilinski had been a refreshing change in a contact. He was smart, pragmatic, realistic, and more interested in protecting a teenager than scoring the glory of finding Tony Stark's lost child.

Everything had been working just as Natasha planned it, until the day after Noah took Allison home. After that, Noah had closed off with Natasha about what Allison was up to, how she was doing, who she was doing it with. He was protecting Allison against something Natasha couldn't see, and that change bothered her.

Allison bothered her, too.

Natasha wasn't sure what she had expected in Tony Stark's child. Hell, until she saw Allison, she hadn't been sure that the girl was Tony's daughter. But Allison… she had Tony's eyes, his expressions, and, disconcertingly, his attitude. Hearing Allison taunt drunks on the street that first night was like hearing Tony belittle his enemies in a fight. And how she'd treated the overdose victim in the station on the night of the full moon had been a lot like Tony's brand of cynical solicitude.

It made no sense.

Nothing about Allison made any sense.

Natasha still didn't understand how Allison's bruises from that first night had faded so quickly. The girl couldn't be a werewolf; the trick of her birth saw to that. But there were other things that could lead to rapid healing. And those possibilities, combined with the girl's strength and agility in the sparring match with Natasha at the school, had completely changed the game.

Where the hell had Allison learned to fight like that?

A movement in the other room made Natasha blink out of her thoughts. She went back to poking at the files, wishing vainly that they might give her some idea what to do next.

That sparring match. Natasha had expected to face off against a normal seventeen-year-old girl. But Allison was faster, stronger, quicker than a regular human. If Natasha didn't know Allison couldn't be a werewolf, she'd have thought that was the answer. The unexpected nature of that fight had nettled Natasha into making a rash move – she'd gone against the teenager with a classic Black Widow move.

And Allison countered like the Winter Soldier.

Not just like she'd seen the move somewhere. Allison had flowed through the motion like the man himself, the speed, the strength… and the amused gleam in her eye, just like he had done with Natasha, countless times.

That was when everything changed.

Because if Tony Stark's daughter had been trained by the Winter Soldier…

The world had just become far more complicated.

A thud. Natasha looked up to see Clint dropping onto the couch. "Stop it," he said.

"Stop what?"

"Stop thinking so loud. You're giving me a headache."

Natasha sat back. "How's everyone?"

"Fine." Clint rubbed his face. "I think Cooper's a bit pissed off at me for missing his first week at school."

Natasha was silent. Ever since the incident with the Tesseract and Loki, Clint had been having doubts about the superhero gig. She wasn't even sure that he knew what he was thinking.

"I mean, legit." Clint ran his hand through his hair. "The kid's growing up normal, it's normal to be pissed at your old man for missing out on important shit in your life, right?"

"Can this be a segue into talking about Allison?" Natasha asked.

"Yes, thank fuck." Clint sat up expectantly. "What's up?"

"Certainly not the calibre of your commentary." Natasha cracked her neck. "I have feelers out, to see if the Winter Soldier was active in France this summer."

Clint groaned. "We're really going to have to crawl down this rabbit hole, aren't we?"

Natasha gestured slavically. "According to their passports, the Argents didn't leave France all month."

"Allison could have met someone who'd trained with that boogeyman."

Natasha put her elbows on her knees. "It wasn't like that," she said. "It's not the move, it's how it was done."

Clint was staring at her. He knew her better than almost anyone on earth, and he had to know what she was saying. "You're sure." It was not a question.

Natasha moved her jaw, wishing she could soften the blow of what she was about to lay before him. "Just like you'd know if it was someone Trick Shot trained."

Clint didn't move. "Copy," he said after a minute. He got up, went over to his bow case, and came back with an arrow to fiddle with.

Natasha looked back at her files. "With this, and that site Stilinski took me up to yesterday…" She shook her head. "What the hell is up with Allison?"

"Let's walk it through," Clint said. He cleaned under his nails with the tip of the arrow. "One. Tuesday. The sheriff gets word that something's killing animals up north. So the logical step in his mind is to hand it to the untrained station intern to start making phone calls."

"Said intern finds some hits," Natasha picked up the thread. "Stilinski starts making calls. At this point, there's no hint of a connection to Beacon Hills."

"Wednesday. No progress. Thursday. Stilinski calls in to the station around eleven."

"Asking for details on any large events up in the surrounding areas over the weekend," Natasha confirmed.

"Friday."

"Parks service calls in a dead deer, five miles north of Yreka at six in the morning. Dispatch calls Stilinski at home."

"Do you think he told Allison?"

Natasha considered. She had seen Noah and Allison together at the station, how the man had taken to handing her information in much the same way as he did his deputies. More than that; he listened to her in a way that was very rare for an older man in a position of authority to do to a teenager.

"Yes," Natasha finally said. "When he came in to work, he got Ibarra and Strong to circulate some wild animal warnings around town."

"Friday, daytime."

"Nothing." Natasha tapped her fingers along the front of her knee.

"Friday, nighttime."

"Around seven, Stilinski calls me asking if we have eyes on Allison. We do not. Around ten, he calls back to let me know is Allison home, and to stand down."

"Saturday morning."

"Stilinski reports into work, looking remarkably collected for someone who was missing a kid for a while the previous night. Apparently he spent some time talking to Allison, then he leaves, calls me on my day off, and we go for a hike in the woods to the aftermath of slaughter." Natasha wrinkled her nose at the memory of the stench from all the rotting animals in that clearing. "No sign of any monster, though."

"How was Allison doing on Saturday morning?"

"I talked to Callahan. He said Allison looked like she'd been brought back from the dead. He thought it was a massive hangover."

Clint twirled the arrow between his fingers. "He was talking metaphorical resurrection, right?"

"He was." Natasha hauled herself to her feet. "You know, the symptoms of blood loss can mimic a hangover."

"You said that the blood on the ground looked like it had come from three people."

"I know what I said." Natasha walked over to the kitchenette. She was frustrated, and she wanted junk food. "I don't know." She pulled a bag of chocolate chips out of the cupboard. "I know that I can lose more blood than the average person."

"Yeah, but." Clint pointed the arrow at her. "What happened to you lasted your entire childhood. Allison had literally one month in France. Not equivalent."

Natasha shoved a handful of chocolate into her mouth. "Steve got the super-soldier serum in an afternoon."

Clint's expression morphed into one of complete incredulity. "Allison did not get super-soldiered!" he exclaimed. "Like, even if someone had managed to recreate the serum, which even Bruce couldn't do, they're not going to test it out on some random teenage girl!"

"Not even if they knew that that girl was Tony Stark's daughter?"

They stared at each other. "Nat," Clint said finally. "I trust you more than any human being on this planet, and that includes Laura, _do not tell her_. But this is fucking _bonkers_."

Natasha threw a chocolate chip at him. "You don't think I know that?"

"No, like, insane." Clint tucked the arrow behind his ear like a pen, and went to the cupboard. He retrieved the red vines. "Are we really going with super soldier?"

Natasha shrugged. "She's not a werewolf. She was born like me. Maybe…" Natasha sighed. "Maybe somewhere along the way, someone realized that girls like me can withstand things that would kill a normal person."

Clint shoved three red vines into his mouth, the ends sticking out like tentacles. "That's fucking depressing."

"Tell me about it." Natasha ate more chocolate. "You know the only silver lining in all of this?"

"No."

"I'm pretty sure that Stilinski knows. That Allison told him, at least some of it. And when he got all closed-mouth… he's doing that to protect Allison."

"Good." Clint bumped his shoulder against Natasha's. "At least someone's looking out for the kid. You know, seeing her in class…"

"Yeah?"

"This is going to sound weird. But she keeps the peace."

"How so?"

"She…" Clint twirled a red vine. "So, there was this time when Whittemore and Reyes started posturing. Like, full-on teenage werewolf bullshit. And then Allison popped up, and they both kind of melted."

"Did she yell?"

"No, she just looked disappointed in them." Clint chewed. "Then Reyes tucked herself under Allison's arm, and Whittemore pouted until Allison hugged his shoulders, and then they were all right again."

Natasha sighed. "Teenage werewolves are the worst."

"God, yes."

"She is a bit older than they are."

"Don't talk to me about Allison's age, that's the barrel of a gun I've been staring down all week."

Natasha budged closer to Clint. "How do you think Tony's going to take all this?"

"Um, badly?" Clint dug into the bag in Natasha's hand. "And I say that all flip, but if it was…" He shoved chocolate into his mouth beside the red vines.

"If it was Cooper or Lila," Natasha finished for him, "You'd burn the world down to get them back."

Clint chewed for a while. "Isn't that what Stark did, after everyone thought the baby died?"

Natasha sighed. "This is all so messed up."

"So are we hoping that Allison isn't Tony's Stark's kid or what?"

"I don't know." Natasha turned around to dig into the cupboard. "I say we keep operating as if she is. I'm still trying to figure out how to get her DNA to test against the samples in L.A."

"Can't you just ask Stilinski to help?"

"I could." Natasha pulled out an empty cookie bag. "Why are we so gross?"

"We were both raised feral."

Natasha tossed the empty bag onto the counter. "Come on. You're going to buy me dinner."

"Why me?"

"Because your cover makes more money in this town than I do."

"Isn't that a bit of social commentary?" Clint grabbed another red vine. "So what's on tap this week?"

Natasha hauled Clint over to the door. "The next stage of my plan goes into effect."

Clint groaned. "You know this is going to cause a riot at school, right?"

"I won't have to be there to witness it." Natasha plucked the arrow out from behind Clint's ear. "Look, if Allison is somehow under the influence of shady people, then introducing her to Earth's first Avenger will be a great opportunity to mix things up."

"You just want to get Steve Rogers back into the fold."

"Fury does." Natasha pushed Clint outside. "Steve riding his motorcycle around the country and signing autographs is all well and good, but how much longer do you think that things are going to stay quiet? The man needs to come in from the cold. That he was willing to take my call on this was an indication that he's thinking the same thing."

Clint conceded the point. "The other possible outcome is that he hands in the shield for good and takes up teaching in Beacon Hills."

Natasha shuddered. "God, could you imagine?"

"After the week I've had, I can imagine anything." Clint sauntered down to the car. "You want me to bug the history classroom before tomorrow?"

Natasha gave Clint a look. He saluted.

"Anton's?" Clint asked.

"Why do you like that place?" Natasha climbed into the car.

"Their fries taste like they make them back home."

"That's all the lard."

"You know it."

They continued the banter half-heartedly on the way to the restaurant. Not that she would ever tell Clint, but Natasha wasn't sure that bringing Steve Rogers into the mix would solve anything to do with the Tony Stark problem. Whatever Allison might do in class, or whatever Steve himself might bring to the table, Natasha didn't know.

She also didn't really care. In her experience, when things started veering out of control, one of the most efficient ways to course correct was to blow up the car and deal with the aftermath.

And dropping Steve Rogers into Beacon Hills was as close to a metaphorical hand grenade as Natasha could manufacture under short notice.

Allison hated Mondays. She hated Mondays more when she was recuperating from blood loss. Worst of all, she hated recovering on Mondays with _gym_ first thing.

She hadn't even bothered to change, just hauled herself into the gymnasium, parked herself by the wall, and glared at Clint, daring him to make a scene.

He ignored her completely.

Computer science was boring. Allison considered tapping into Jarvis's servers, but she couldn't muster the energy to talk to the AI. Maybe, after she finished her shift at the sheriff's station that afternoon, she could borrow Stiles' laptop to check in on how things were going.

So, it was with low energy and even lower patience that Allison hauled herself into history. The teacher was looking oddly giddy, which, maybe she was anticipating lunch. Allison sure as hell was.

"Settle!" Ms. Collins called. Allison waited until Scott was sitting down beside Stiles before she thumped into a desk behind Jackson. The boy looked at her, annoyed. She raised her eyebrows, and he turned back around. "All right, class, today we're going to have a very special treat."

"Nap time?" Greenburg asked.

"No." Ms. Collins fluttered her hands a little nervously. Allison didn't pay it any mind. The woman was new to teaching, and her anxiety had been on display the previous week. "We're going to talk about the intersection of American history with current events."

Allison wiggled her pencil out of the spiral of her notebook. She wanted to make some notes on a cold case Noah had her looking into at work and ignoring her way through history class was a good place to start.

"So, today, we're going to get into a discussion on the subject of Captain America as a role model for today's youth."

The pencil snapped in Allison's hand. "Oh god," Allison said, dropping the pencil onto the desk in disgust. _"Really?"_

"Do you have a problem with Captain America, Miss Argent?" asked Ms. Collins stiffly.

Allison ran her tongue over her teeth, the mere mention of Steve Rogers triggering her _fight or spite_ response. " _Captain America_ has been a propaganda tool of the American government since the Truman era," she said. In front of her, Jackson was sinking lower in his seat. "What did they have to lose? They thought he was dead. Nothing's easier than profiting off the back of a dead war hero. Take the poster child of American gumption in the war and slap his image on whatever the government wants to do today. GI education bill? Cap says go back to school. The Korean police action? It's what Cap would have wanted."

"Please stop," Jackson whispered.

"The only reason that they didn't trot out Cap's ghost in the fifties more was that Margaret Carter walked into the Oval Office and threatened to tie Eisenhower up with his own suspenders if he pulled any of that crap." Allison flopped back in her chair. "Captain America isn't a role model, not after being used as a patriotism muppet for almost seventy years. Steve Rogers? That's a different story. But Captain America as he stands right now? Lame."

Ms. Collins was staring at Allison with something close to horror on her face, and Allison couldn't understand why.

Then, coming completely out of left field, came a voice Allison hadn't heard in years. "How is Steve Rogers a different story?"

Around her, everyone turned around, whispers scattershot around the room. Allison sat, frozen, wondering if she was hallucinating, if she was having a blood-loss-induced stroke.

Because of all the things within the realm of possibility, _having Steve Rogers magically appear in her history class in Beacon Hills as she insulted him_ was not one of them.

Slowly, Allison turned around.

It was Steve Rogers, all right, but Kris Kringle on a kite, he was a fucking _child_. Everyone else had looked young after she came back in time, but Steve…

Steve hadn't lost the world yet.

Everything she had disliked about Steve, how he'd fought with Tony, how he'd abandoned Bucky… This Steve had not yet made those choices.

Allison breathed out, all her remembered anger at Steve fragmenting. In her original timeline, Steve had walked away, handing Sam the mantle of Captain America, and saddling Bucky with the burden of being left behind.

This Steve was still walking towards danger.

She had to remember that.

"Captain Rogers," Allison said evenly. "Or do you go by Mr. America these days?"

"I'm just Steve," the man said. He appeared amused. "And you?"

"You can call me Steve too."

"Allison," Stiles hissed. At his side, Scott was staring up at Steve with shocked awe. Well, she supposed that the biceps did that.

"Fine." Allison leaned back in her seat, giving Steve the once-over. If Captain America version 1.0 wanted a superhero character analysis, Alpha could pitch in with the best of them. "Let's talk about Steve Rogers."

Stiles whimpered.

"Steve Rogers, circa 1941. The textbooks all say he was a proud patriotic young man, but they left out the part where he was an advertising agency artist by day and a rabble-rouser and labour activist by night."

The first flicker of real surprise crossed Steve's face, and Allison felt a stab of vindictive pleasure. And it was terrible. She steadied her direction.

"He had so many health problems that it was a miracle he made it out of bed in the morning, and in a pre-war America with a eugenics movement that was the envy of Nazi Germany, his very existence was a fuck you to the world at large."

Steve shifted his weight, leaning his shoulder against the classroom doorframe. The amusement from earlier was gone, replaced by serious consideration. There was even some brow furrowing. "You make Steve Rogers sound like a bit of a wet blanket."

Allison clicked her tongue. "Steve Rogers was twenty pounds of fight in a five-pound bag," she said. "He never met an underdog he didn't stick up for. Drove his best friend crazy."

There was just the tiniest reaction from Steve, a brief tightness around his eyes. "What do you know about Steve Rogers' best friend?"

"Bucky Barnes," Allison said, and giving voice to Bucky's name stabbed pain down her spine. "A good, all-American boy." The words were bitter on her tongue. She knew everything about Bucky, how carefully his family had hidden their true heritage, how the Barnes family in 2012 were still in Brooklyn, still careful, still hiding in plain sight. "Bucky's sister Rebecca used to say that Bucky spent half his childhood running around after you, keeping you from getting killed."

"Becca ain't wrong," Steve said, a tiny hint of his Brooklyn accent creeping into his words. "What else?"

Allison's jaw ached, talking about Bucky. "About him, or about you?"

The stress in Steve's eyes gave Allison fair warning. He'd only been out of the ice for a few months. Had he been able to grieve Bucky's death? What would it do to him when he realized that Bucky had been living, tortured, through during all those long years?

"Let's stick with you," Allison said before Steve could respond. "So, it's 1943. Bucky goes and gets himself drafted, while you get a 4F. Bucky goes off to basic training, while you illegally keep trying to enlist, just one of many crimes for which a revisionist history now lauds you."

"I just wanted to do my part," Steve said, a slight hint of amusement returning.

"Oh, it all plays into the bad boy mystique," Allison said. Stiles put his head into his hands. "The history books all say that you found your way into the SSR reserves at the Stark Expo in New York, which lacks a tiny bit of credulity, but we'll save the gritty details for the biopic. Needless to say, add some weird science, fueled by real desperation at how the Axis powers were gaining a global foothold, and Steve Rogers pops out of Howard Stark's vita-ray toaster oven much as we see him today."

"I don't know," Steve said. "I think I had better hair back then."

Allison pulled one knee up to her chest. "The world knows the rest of the story. You became Cap. They gave you a shield, and after you rescued the 107th from a Hydra base in Italy, they let you do whatever you wanted."

"Well, now, that's just not true." Steve came fully into the room and perched on the table. Everyone was staring at him. "They didn't let me do what I wanted, but I found that it was easier to ask for forgiveness than permission."

Allison cocked an eyebrow. "Did you ask for forgiveness when you formed the first integrated unit in the American army?"

Steve grinned suddenly, lighting up his face. "No, I did not," he said. "I never figured that I needed to ask forgiveness for doing what was right."

"Spoken like a true American hero," Allison retorted.

"Never liked that term, much." Steve pulled something around from where it hung on his back. A large, circular backpack. Oh crap, of _course_ he had the shield. Allison's hands cramped with wanting to hold it again. Original Steve had handed it off to Sam Wilson in 2023, and Sam had held onto the mantle until he retired from superhero life, passing it along to Bucky as the new Captain America.

The shield was Bucky's, but half the time in the field it had been in Allison's hands.

She wanted it back so badly she could taste the vibranium on her tongue.

"I grew up in Brooklyn," Steve went on as he unzipped the bag. The oh-so-familiar red and blue gleamed in the light. "The only hero a lot of New Yorkers got time for is a sandwich."

Allison rolled her eyes. That was one of Tony's zingers, Bruce Banner had told her years from now.

"All I ever wanted to do was to help people." He pulled the shield free, hefting it with dramatic ease. Allison was pretty sure half the class, including the teacher, swooned. "I never wanted to fight anyone, but someone had to stand up to the bullies."

Allison tapped her fingers against her desk. "I mean, who doesn't want to fuck up Nazis?"

"That too," Steve said. "Sure was glad when I came out of the ice that at least that problem was gone."

Allison let out a breath. She wished she could go back to a time in her life when she, too, thought that Nazis and Hydra were a problem left far in the past. "I do have one question, Mr. America."

He didn't miss a beat. "What's that?"

Allison smiled. "Did you really teach the Queen of England how to hot-wire a car?"

His sunshine smile returned. "No ma'am." He paused for a beat. "Princess Elizabeth was in the motor pool. _She_ taught _me_ how to hot-wire a car."

Giggles flowed around the classroom at that. Ms. Collins seized on the interruption and said, "Captain Rogers, perhaps you could come up to the front and we could continue with a bit of reminiscence on your time in the war."

"Honestly, from what I've seen, my time in the war's been picked apart by nearly every historian over these last sixty years," Steve said. He sauntered up to the front of the room, shield in his hand. Every eye followed him… Every eye except Stiles', who glared at Allison until she threw up her hands and turned around. "Frankly, since waking up, it's been wild to see what's changed, and what hasn't."

"What kinds of things have surprised you about how life has changed?" the teacher asked.

Steve leaned against the front desk. "The food's a lot better, this far out from the Depression and rationing. The first time I tried kimchi, that was a good day." He pretended to consider, as if Allison didn't know he had his little notebook of new-fangled inventions in his jacket pocket. "Vaccines are a special treat. You have no idea how many kids used to die from polio and measles, back when I was growing up."

"Do you miss anything?" a kid called from the back of the room. Allison looked down at her hands, a sudden stab of missing Morgan digging under her ribs. These kids didn't know what it was like to lose your whole world, didn't know how it ripped away everything you were.

But Steve never faltered. He must have been getting that question a lot. "I miss the people," he said. "Friends. The guys in the Howling Commandos." He did not mention Peggy Carter. "Can't really say I miss the music, because I can get that anywhere, and modern music, there's a whole lot there to listen to. But I miss the dancing."

Allison's eyebrows went up. Bucky had always been extremely clear how Steve had no sense of rhythm and couldn't dance worth a damn, even after the Serum.

"My grandfather used to say life was a lot better back then," said another kid. "He said this town's really gone to the dogs since the war."

Allison didn't even bother looking around to see who it was this time. "Life is all right in America," she said, absently picking up her pencil half. "If you're all-white in America."

Dolores, one of the drama kids, snorted out a laugh at that. Steve's eyebrows went up. "It's from West Side Story," Dolores said. "Classic musical outlining the hurdles encountered by teenagers of rival ethnic groups in New York in the fifties."

"I'll check it out," Steve said, pulling a little notebook from his jacket.

"While you're doing that," Ms. Collins said, "Maybe we can talk a little bit about—"

"Aliens?" Stiles blurted out. Allison was impressed that he had been able to hold the question in for so long. "Please? _Please?_ Aliens in New York?"

"Where else are aliens going to land?" Allison asked. "New Mexico?"

"Come on, Ms. Collins, please," Stiles begged. There was a thump, which suggested that he'd fallen out of his seat. "There's like a hundred World War vets still around. Who else has fought aliens?"

 _Your gym teacher and one of your dad's deputies_ , Allison said to herself.

Ms. Collins stared at Stiles. "Fine. If Captain Rogers wants to talk about aliens."

Steve looked nothing but relieved. "I know, right?" he said to the class. "I grew up on science fiction. I actually listened to the War of the Worlds radioplay live while I was working, that was some neat sh—" He stopped, looking sideways at the teacher. "Neat stuff," he amended.

"Okay, but real aliens," Danny said. "Why were they here?"

Steve rolled his shoulders. "They were a preliminary invasion force," he said, which, Allison was pretty sure was still classified information. But it was on his head. "I'll be frank, I've seen a lot of rough stuff in the war, but nothing could have prepared me for seeing aliens appearing over Manhattan."

Steve talked, handling the eager interruptions from the teenagers with aplomb. Even Ms. Collins appeared to get into the swing of things.

This left Allison to sit and watch the proceedings, and wonder. Why the fuck was Steve Rogers in Beacon Hills? Why in her classroom? The obvious reason was Natasha Romanoff. But why? What end could Natasha possibly gain by having Steve Rogers show up here?

She could pretty much rule out any influence around Tony Stark. Because Tony didn't really trust Steve much, not this early on, and Steve didn't have a good enough of a poker face to hide that level of manipulation.

So why?

Allison drew a little triskelion in her notebook. There was always the possibility that Natasha was fucking with her. And if Allison had to be honest, that was fair. Allison had been fucking with Natasha a bit over the last week. The fight in the gym, the tease that she'd worked with some of Natasha's former associates. Maybe Natasha was fed up and wanted to push the situation.

If that was the case, however, someone should have briefed Steve better. The man was currently outlining the Chitauri attack patterns with a little too much enthusiasm. Allison could see that some of the kids were getting a bit bored with battle talk, so when Steve paused to breathe, she interjected with, "What are the rest of the Avengers like?"

"Oh, they're great people," Steve said without missing a beat. "Meeting Thor was a gas. You never really think you're going to meet a thousand-year-old alien from the legends of old, but he was a good guy to have in a fight."

"What about Tony Stark?" Stiles asked eagerly. Oh, right, Allison had almost forgotten the boy's massive crush on Iron Man, before he met the man the first time. And then…

Well. Tony had not made the best first impression on either Stiles or Allison.

Steve's face twisted in a complicated way. "Stark's a real stand-up guy." For some reason, his eyes flicked to Allison. Her heart sank. Oh crap, had Natasha told Steve about her? "Honestly, I think meeting Tony Stark was the biggest adjustment of coming out of the ice."

"Why?" Scott asked.

"Because Tony Stark is an asshole," Allison said. She drew a teardrop descending off one arm of the triskelion.

Steve crossed his arms over his chest. "Care to elaborate on that?"

Allison let her head tilt slightly to the side. She was tired, and she couldn't see a way clear through the tangle of subterfuge surrounding her. "Tony Stark is a product of the modern era," she said. "He's beyond rich, with absolutely everything in the world laid out at his feet, and the only reason that Manhattan isn't a smoking hole in the ground right now is that he can find a solution to completely impossible problems."

"Like what?" Steve challenged.

"The first Iron Man suit, he built that out of scraps of metal in a cave in Afghanistan when he should have been dead twice-over from a chestful of shrapnel," Allison said. "The problem with Tony Stark is you can't just cancel him, because he's the kind of guy you need in your corner when the next wave hits. But he's still a jerk."

"You know what's good about that, though?" Steve asked.

Allison frowned at him. "You tell me."

"All that dickish behaviour, all the talk?" Steve was looking straight at Allison. "Half of that he does to distract everyone while he reinvents the rules of engagement. It's verbal slight of hand."

"What about the other half?" Allison asked.

Steve scrunched up his nose. "That's him being an asshole."

"Kind of like Stiles," Scott whispered. Then he yelped as the sound of a fist against an arm reached Allison.

"What about Black Widow?" Danny asked. "Is she an alien too?"

Steve grinned. "No, she's as human as I am," he said.

"Did you have problems working with a woman?" asked the kid from the back who had talked about the good old days.

This wiped the amusement away from Steve. "Absolutely not," he said. "I know it's gotten a bit lost in the history of the war, but women were fighting just as hard as men back then."

"Yeah, but like, not in _battle."_

"Lyudmila Pavlichenko had 309 recorded kills as a sniper in World War II," Allison said before Steve could react. She didn't bother turning around. "Without the women fighting in the Resistance across Europe, the Nazis would have had a far easier time. Female code-breakers in England helped save millions of lives. Just because you don't see them in action movies doesn't mean women didn't save the world."

"Miss Argent, you have an untapped fountain of knowledge of military history," Ms. Collins said. "I didn't know you were interested in World War II."

"I'm not," Allison said, and looked back down at her notebook.

"What about the Hulk?" Jackson asked. "Big green rage monster, that can't be good." Allison could practically taste the bitterness in the air. Without looking up, she leaned forward to put her hand against Jackson's back.

"Hulk is a good guy," Steve said. "Appearances can be deceiving."

Jackson scoffed. "He beat up Harlem."

"Things would have been a lot worse if he hadn't been there."

Jackson moved again, so Allison put her hand around his arm and squeezed. He stayed there, leaving Allison to half-listen to Steve's attempt to rehabilitate Bruce Banner's alter ego.

She couldn't understand the patterns at play here.

She didn't understand why Steve was in Beacon Hills. She couldn't see why Natasha and Clint would bring him to town. The last time she'd lived this week, Steve had been nowhere near California. He had been up north in Washington state before looping back through Montana to head east to re-join SHIELD.

Hell, on occasion, Allison had wished that Steve had been in California, especially that winter when the Mandarin attacks started to cascade across the country. So much death and destruction, and only Tony and Rhodey were on the scene to deal with it. Allison had almost lost her father and all because none of the Avengers were available to help.

Bruce, Allison could understand, as the Hulk's skill-set wasn't ideal against terrorists. Thor was on Asgard doing Thor things. But Natasha and Clint and Steve had been totally MIA. Yeah, sure, they were also SHIELD agents, but that didn't mean they couldn't—

Allison's mind stopped dead, frozen in a moment of absolute clarity, twenty-six years too late.

Natasha and Clint and Steve were SHIELD agents. In 2012, SHIELD _was_ Hydra. There were a few higher-ups who were clean, like Nick Fury and Maria Hill, and so many of the ground staff who had died so needlessly in the Battle of the Triskelion.

But far too many were Hydra, and suddenly all of the discordant pieces of the pattern slotted into a perfect, horrifying order.

Hydra had to be behind the push on Extremis. If Killian hadn't been killed by Pepper Potts before he stabilized the Extremis virus and AIM taken down so publicly, Hydra could have capitalized on having an indestructible army. If Killian's plan to take out the President hadn't failed, the American government would have been taken over by Vice President Rodriguez.

Allison had never been able to track how a man with thirty years of public service could have thrown away his _country_ for the promise of helping his daughter re-grow a leg. But if Rodriguez was Hydra…

That meant Tony wasn't just walking towards Aldrich Killian and a few dozen Extremis soldiers.

He was walking towards all of Hydra, and he had no idea.

Slowly, Allison sat back. At the front of the class, Steve was still talking. Steve, one of two men living who had stood against Hydra. And Bucky was Hydra's prisoner.

Allison mentally wiped the clutter off the worktable in her mind. It was time to start clean. It was time for a new plan. Step one of that plan? Get Steve and Tony together, and get them looking at the real picture.

It was time to take the fight to Hydra.

### Steve Rogers

Steve had never been more relieved in a classroom as when one of the kids asked if they could get a picture with the shield. He wasn't cut out for public speaking, not when he had to watch what he said so much.

When Natasha asked him to drop into a history class to talk for a bit, he hadn't thought it would go like this.

Still, he pasted a smile on his face as the teenagers all crowded around.

Well, not all of the teenagers. The girl who'd started off the class by verbally dissecting Captain America, the one who reminded Steve so much of Howard Stark, was sitting at her desk, writing something in her notebook. She'd been doing that for the last ten minutes, and Steve was itching to know what had pulled her attention away.

"Scott, come on!" hissed a dark-haired boy. "Hi, I'm Stiles." The boy held out his hand, and Steve shook it. "This is Scott."

Another dark-haired boy shook Steve's hand, a giddy look on his face. "My mom has all your films," he said.

Steve winced. "Ah, yeah, you know. War effort."

"They are pretty bad," Stiles agreed. "But, you know, formative."

"How about a picture?" the teacher suggested wearily.

"Right!" The two boys crowded in with Steve for a shot, each of them taking a turn holding the shield. Then another set of kids came up, and Steve mentally moved on.

The girl, he noted, was still writing.

After far too many photos, the bell rang. The crowd reluctantly thinned, shooed out of the room by the teacher. Only the girl and Stiles remained.

"Lunch time," said Ms. Collins. The girl stood up, her notebook in her hands. Stiles stood at her shoulder. "Yes, Allison?"

The girl stared up at Steve, her dark eyes more like Howard Stark's than ever. It was a challenge, daring Steve to rise to the occasion. He found himself wondering more and more about this girl.

How had she known so much about him and Bucky, anyway?

"I wanted to thank Captain Rogers for such an interesting lecture," she said.

Steve's eyebrows went up. "I was going to say the same thing to you. How'd you hear that bit about Peggy Carter and Eisenhower, anyway?"

"Primary sources," Allison said. "I trust that you weren't offended by my historical interpretation of the Captain America problem."

Not _I hope,_ but _I trust._ "And if I was?"

Allison turned her head slightly, a faint smile on her lips. "You weren't."

The teacher sighed. "Allison."

"Right." Allison held out her notebook. "Can you sign this?"

Steve looked at the paper. She had drawn a little box on the page, inside which she had written _Allison can do what she wants_. There was a little line under that, with Steve's full name and military rank in tiny print below.

"That's not legally binding," Steve said as he took the offered notebook.

Allison shrugged. "Who's worried about legalities?"

Stiles frowned at her. "You work at the sheriff's station."

Allison waved her hand as Steve signed the page. "Details."

"You _live with the sheriff._ "

Steve handed back the notebook. "Do you want a picture with the shield?" he offered.

Allison looked at the shield on the desk, a tightness around her mouth that Steve couldn't credit. "My phone doesn't have a camera," she said after a moment.

"Mine does," Stiles jumped in. He looked at Allison. "Or maybe it doesn't."

"No, it's…" Allison swallowed. "I'd like that. Thank you."

Steve picked up the shield and handed it over. Allison put her notebook on the desk before taking the shield, her fingers wrapping around the metal edge in almost a caress.

Then she did something Steve didn't expect. She slid one hand through the leather straps inside the shield, while with the other she tugged on the strap to adjust the grip.

No one did that. No one except Steve.

Even Bucky hadn't bothered to adjust the grips.

Allison held the shield tight against her body, covering her centre mass. She moved like she had held a shield before, and suddenly Steve really, really wanted to know why Natasha had called him here in the first place.

"All right," Allison said. She edged closer to Steve. "Ready?"

Stiles had his phoneup, the tip of his tongue sticking out of his mouth. "All right, on three."

Steve looked at the camera and hoped his smile didn't look too dopey. Allison flashed a peace sign with her free hand.

Stiles lowered the phone. "Okay, that's a good shot."

Allison turned, bumping against Steve as she did so. "Sorry." She slipped her hand out of the shield grips. "You know, if you ever want to hang up the mantle, give me a call, I'll take it on."

"You'll be Captain America?" Steve asked, taking the shield from her.

Allison's eyebrow went up. "Do you think I need to prove my acting chops on a USO tour first?"

"Point taken."

"And now," Ms. Collins said. "Lunch."

"Mr. America," Allison said, grabbing her notebook and Stiles. "Come on, Stiles."

"Why are you being so weird?" Stiles asked as he was hauled out the door. Steve did not hear Allison's reply.

Ms. Collins turned to Steve. "I'm really sorry about that," she said. "Allison is a little…"

"She's a character, all right," Steve said with a disarming smile. "And I should be sorry, just dropping by like this. Like I said, I was in town."

"No, it was good!" the woman said. "You certainly got the students thinking about how history is a living thing." She blushed. "I know you have to go, but would you mind dropping by the staff room first? I don't think half my colleagues will believe that you were really here unless they see you in person."

"Of course." Steve retrieved his bag to pack the shield away. "Have you been teaching here long?"

"This is my second week," Ms. Collins said.

"Do you like history?"

"No," she said bluntly. "But I needed a job and Beacon Hills wasn't hiring any more music teachers."

"I hear ya," Steve said. He slung the shield over his shoulder. "I felt the same way when I got the job at the ad agency. You gotta pay the rent."

"Yes." Together, they walked out into the hall. Only a few whispers met them. The staff room was just down a corridor, and in they went.

The principal, who Steve had met when he arrived at the school, was on his feet and shaking Steve's hand, guiding him deeper into the room. Introductions were made around, with more handshaking.

Someone asked Ms. Collins, "What class did you subject Captain Rogers to?"

Steve didn't understand why the woman flinched. "The juniors."

The man snorted. "So you met our resident wild animal."

"Don't call her that," interjected the principal.

"You know who I'm talking about." The man, who Steve was really starting to dislike, looked at him. "Argent."

"Allison?" Steve said with an air of deliberate obtuseness. "She had some really interesting insight. Smart kid."

The man narrowed his eyes. "More like a smartass."

"You don't like her because she knows more about biology than you do, Arthurs," said an older man with an Eastern European accent. He walked up to Steve and held out his hand. "We heard many stories about you, growing up."

Steve took the man's hand. "That's got to be a bit weird."

The man smiled. "No more weird than for you to hear it, yes?"

"It's sort of like the Spanish Inquisition," came a familiar voice. Steve looked over to see Clint Barton, dressed in athletic gear. "No one ever expects Captain America. Hi. Clint Barton. Gym."

"Steve Rogers," Steve said, pretending he didn't know Clint. Natasha had told him that Clint was undercover at the high school, so he was prepared.

"You in town for long?"

"No, I have to be heading out in a few minutes," Steve said, seizing on the opportunity.

Clint shrugged. "Glad you could stop in. Sure would have been a hoot when I was a kid, having a real-life superhero in town."

Steve looked at him. Clint looked back.

"Anyway," said the principal. "I want to thank you again, Captain Rogers, for coming here. We hope that you've enjoyed your peek into the modern American school system."

It was rehearsed, and Steve obliged with his own canned speech of thanks. He shook hands again, and managed to get out of the school before the lunch period ended.

Natasha owed him _so much_ for this.

Steve made it back to his bike intact. He didn't really have anywhere to go, and was wondering if he could meet up with Natasha to figure out what was going on, as he shifted the shield around on his back. As he did so, something crinkled in his jacket pocket.

Steve put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a small square of folded paper. He sighed. This had happened more than once on his trip across the States, someone slipping their phone number into his hand, or memorably, his back pocket.

He should just chuck it away. But he wasn't sure when the paper had been introduced onto his person, and if it had been a student, well, maybe Steve should let Clint know.

Annoyed, Steve unfolded the paper, and everything changed.

 _Hey Steve_ , the note read and it was Bucky's handwriting, that was how Bucky had started every note, every letter to him over twenty fucking years and it wasn't possible because Bucky was dead, someone had done this and put it in his pocket and Steve hadn't even seen them do it.

So angry he could hardly breathe, Steve kept reading.

> _Hey Steve, we got a problem. You should head on down to Malibu and dig Tony Stark out of his basement. He's working on a problem without all the intel and could use that lumpy potato you call a head. While you're there, ask Stark if his old man had any files on Armin Zola – and what Zola was doing in SHIELD after the war._
> 
> _Can you trust an organization built on the back of HYDRA? Romanoff and Barton are clean, so's Fury and Hill. If you ever meet a motherfucker named Rumlow, watch your back._
> 
> _The one person on earth you can trust isn't HYDRA is Tony Stark._
> 
> _The world's in danger and you never signed up for taking on HYDRA twice in one lifetime, but you're the only one left who knew Zola._
> 
> _The drive to Malibu normally takes eight hours. You can be there in seven. Clock's ticking._

That was it.

Steve wanted to punch a tree. What kind of sick joke was this? Crazy talk about Hydra in Bucky's handwriting, in Bucky's voice?

If this wasn't a joke, Steve didn't know what he was going to do. He wasn't even supposed to be in Beacon Hills. If someone had followed him here, somehow gotten close to him, to try to run him into a trap…

To what end? The only thing the note told him to do was to go to Tony Stark's place. Why? Would someone be lying in wait along the highway? If they wanted to take him out, why not just get him in the classroom, or while he was in the staff room?

Or in the parking lot, standing out in the wide open, gawping over the note.

Steve's skin crawled. He felt like he was being watched. Moving quickly, he stuffed the note back into his pocket, got on his bike, and peeled out of the parking lot and onto the streets.

The feeling of being watched faded, but that just left a whole mountain of anger in its place. At times like this, Steve could understand how Bruce could explode into the Hulk.

The worst thing was, Steve could hear Bucky's voice in his head, asking all the questions Steve needed answered. _Who put that note in your pocket? Who coulda known what my handwriting was like? It was never anything pretty, the teachers always whined about reading my homework. They loved yours, all precise like your ma's. It was a dirty trick, making you think about me._

"Sure was," Steve muttered, accelerating towards the interstate on-ramp.

_Gotta say, though, if there's Hydra in the future, someone's gotta stop 'em._

"And why does that someone have to be me?"

_The world needs saving, and if I can't do it, maybe you can._

Steve's eyes burned in the rush of highway air. What he wouldn't give, to see Bucky one more time.

But you could never wish back the dead. Bucky had been dead for almost seventy years. Most of the Howling Commandos were dead. Peggy was in an old-age home, and didn't know him most of the time. He didn't have anyone except the Avengers and SHIELD.

And if there was the slightest chance that there was even a single Hydra agent in SHIELD in 2012…

Damn it, but the fucking note was right. Of all the people on earth who couldn't be Hydra, Tony Stark was pretty close to the top of the list.

Here we go, Steve thought grimly, and drove on.

* * *

An hour outside of Sacramento, Steve wondered if Clint could have been the one to stick the note in his pocket, but dismissed that out of hand. What would have been the point?

Another hundred miles, and Steve had to pull into a filling station to gas up. While he was waiting in line to pay, his phone rang. It was Natasha.

"Whatever happened to calling me after you left the school so we could go for milkshakes?"

Steve coughed. "Something came up. I had to head out."

"Where are you?"

Steve's hackles went up. "On the way to Las Vegas. Why?"

"Just wondering." A pause. "Clint said that you met a particularly interesting character today."

Steve frowned. "You want to tell me what you mean by that?" he asked. "Or why you suggested I swing by the school in the first place?"

"I was planning on doing that face to face."

"Then I guess I'll have to take a rain check."

"I guess so. Have fun in Vegas." The line went dead.

More than a little irritated, Steve paid for his gas and left.

He made it to Malibu in seven and a half hours, thanks to rush-hour traffic in Santa Clarita. He rolled up to Tony Stark's mansion, with its massive gate and ugly modern design, and the desire to punch something returned.

"May I help you?" came a disembodied voice from a small metal box by the gate.

"Yeah," Steve said. "Steve Rogers to see Tony Stark."

"Do you have an appointment?"

Steve glared at the little red light. "Someone faked a letter in my dead best friend's handwriting to tell me to come talk to Tony about Hydra. That's my appointment."

A moment's pause. "Please, come in." The gate rolled open, and Steve drove into the compound. He took a moment to straighten his hair and hope he didn't have any bugs in his teeth, before the front door opened, framing Pepper Potts.

"Captain Rogers," Pepper said as Steve approached the door. "We weren't expecting you."

"Ma'am. I wasn't expecting me, either."

She led him into the house. The living room had a stunning view of the Pacific Ocean, which Steve made a note to admire properly once everything was less of a shit-show. "Tony's just on his way up," she said.

"Thanks." Steve slung the shield off his back, resting the bag against the couch. "Really, I'm sorry for dropping in on you. It's just…" He exhaled. "You ever see something that hits you like a baseball bat to the head?"

"Metaphorically, yes." Pepper went to the bar. "If you spend enough time around Tony, it happens fairly frequently."

"What happens around Tony?" drifted in the approaching voice of Tony Stark. "Hey, Captain Crunch, what's snapping? What did you tell Jarvis about Hydra?"

As Tony finished climbing the stairs, Steve was struck by how tired he looked. Then, on the heels of that thought, was how much he looked like his father as a young man… just like the girl Steve had met earlier that day.

"Someone slipped me a note that looks like it was written by my friend Bucky Barnes," Steve said. "There was a lot of bullshit in it about Hydra. Do you have any family up north in Beacon Hills?"

Tony stopped moving, his eyes blazing. From the bar, Pepper gasped.

"What are you talking about?" Tony demanded, anger radiating off him in a way Steve had last seen on the Helicarrier. "What is this game? Did Natasha send you?"

"No, but Natasha was there." Steve was getting more confused by the moment. "Tony—"

"Okay," Pepper said, suddenly between the two men, her hands up and out. "A lot of words just happened and everyone is going to explain themselves quickly and calmly."

"Pep—" Tony tried.

"Quickly and calmly!" Pepper interrupted. She turned to Steve. "You start."

Steve moved his head to shake all the details into place. "I was riding around upstate, when Natasha called me and asked if I'd do her a favour and drop into a high school history class."

"In Beacon Hills," Pepper said.

"Yeah. She didn't exactly say why, I figured I'd get the details after. That was the extent of the mission briefing."

"Was Allison there?" Tony demanded. He was jittering. "Was this about Allison?"

"You know her?" Steve asked. Tony threw his hands into the air and stalked across the room without answering. "She looks kinda like you. More like your dad, actually, but—"

Tony spun around, face white. "Don't say that," he spat.

"Steve," Pepper said. "There are times when we give the topic of Howard Stark a pass around here."

"Well, now is not the time," Steve said. "Especially when I get this shoved in my pocket." He pulled out the wrinkled note.

"Okay," Pepper said. "Steve, from the top."

"But how do you know Allison—" Steve tried.

The expression on Pepper's face shut his jaw. "You go first, and then we will tell—"

"No, we won't!" Tony called.

"We will tell you what we know," Pepper finished. "Go."

Looking back down at Bucky's handwriting, Steve returned to his story, detailing the visit to the classroom, with emphasis on his interactions with the dark-haired girl.

As Steve finished with the details of Allison's exit from the classroom with her friend, Tony was rubbing his hands together. "I can't tell what I like more," he said. "The part where she called you lame, or that she thinks I'm a superhero."

"She also called you an asshole," Steve reminded him. "And a jerk."

Tony waved that away, in a gesture that was eerily similar to the one Allison had used that afternoon. "Quiet, Mr. America, I'm enjoying this."

"Then I found this note in my pocket," Steve went on. Pepper stepped forward to take it, and Steve found he was reluctant to let it go, even if it was a fake. "It's, uh. That's Bucky's handwriting. I'd know it anywhere."

Pepper read the note, a frown growing on her face. "This is more than a little alarming," she said, holding it up for Tony to see. He scanned it without touching. "Allison did say that you should get in touch with Steve about Extremis."

"So you do know her," Steve said. "What is she, a cousin or something?"

Tony flicked his eyes up to Steve's face. "How much do you know about me, Cap?"

"Obviously not enough."

"One of the interesting things about living your life in the public eye is that people think that everyone remembers everything," Tony said. He wandered over to the bar, where he pulled a bottle of juice out of the mini fridge. "The tricky part is when you encounter someone who bobs up in the ocean, a complete blank slate, and no one thinks to tell the ice cube all the dirty details of what he's missed."

Tony's movements were agitated. Steve kept his mouth shut. Howard used to be the same way, when everything was going to shit in the war.

"So. One of those things you probably didn't get around to reading on my Wikipedia page is that I had a fiancée once. And she got pregnant, and we were going to have a girl." Tony took a swig of juice and made a face at the bottle. "Then someone killed Clara and cut the baby out of her body."

Steve swallowed. Pepper put her hand over her mouth.

"They said it was a wild animal attack and I believed them, because why would anyone make that up?" Tony went on. "That was almost eighteen years ago. Then last week, someone hacks into Jarvis's servers and it was… her. It was Allison."

"Did she… is she…" Steve trailed off, not sure what he was asking.

"I don't know," Tony said. "She looks…" He shook his head. "She looks like Clara, like _exactly_ like Clara, and every time I see her it's like something's going wrong in here." He tapped the arc reactor in his chest. "But the things she says, what she knows… A seventeen-year-old girl I've never met cannot know what she does."

"About what?"

"About Tony," Pepper said. "She knows too much about Tony. And about things happening in the world."

"You think she's a plant?"

"I don't know," Tony said.

"Do you think she's your daughter?"

Tony looked at the bottle in his hands. "I think," he said deliberately, "That she knows too much. And I do not think that is going to end well for any of us."

Steve rubbed his hand over his face. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Tony drank more juice. "We're superheroes, we don't have time for that shit." He headed towards the stairs. "Come on, Cap, let's get moving."

With a glance at Pepper, who shrugged, Steve picked up the shield and headed after Tony.

The workshop was amazing. Two Iron Man suits in various stages of completion stood by the far wall, while dozens of holoscreens were running around the main area. "This is the future," Steve muttered.

"Something like it." Tony snapped his fingers. "Jarvis?"

"While you and Captain Rogers have been catching up," said the same disembodied voice from the gate, "I have been working." A scan of the letter appeared to Steve's right, five times the original size. "There are samples of Sgt. Barnes' handwriting in the national archives, and I have completed an analysis on the note."

"And?" Tony sat on a rolling stool, scooting over to a workbench. Pepper made her way across the floor to perch at his side.

"While the handwriting does appear similar to the eye, there are enough variances in a few key aspects that I can confirm that this is not the work of Sgt. Barnes."

Steve felt his jaw tick. "I could have told you that. Bucky's dead."

"Yes," Jarvis said. "But that I had to employ processing power to make the analysis tells me that whoever did write this note, was very familiar with Sgt. Barnes' writing."

Steve exhaled. "This is all bullshit," he muttered. "Sorry, ma'am."

"No, it's bullshit," Pepper agreed. She took the juice from Tony. "Okay. Possibilities on who wrote the note?"

"Natasha or Clint," Tony said. He looked sidelong at Tony. "You know Clint's up there too, right?"

"Yeah, I saw him in the teacher's lounge," Steve said. "Do you know what mission those two are on?"

"I'm betting it has to do with note-writer possibility number two. Allison."

Off to their left, a new screen appeared. "Sir, there has been a new posting on Stiles Stilinski's social media account," Jarvis said. Up popped the picture of Steve and Allison, the shield on Allison's arm. The lighting wasn't great, accentuating the dark circles under Allison's eyes.

"What the _fuck_ ," Tony breathed. He glared at Steve.

"I know, she holds the shield like a pro," Steve said. "Does she have any fight training or anything?"

"That is not what I mean." Tony pushed his hair back. "She looks like she's been up for days."

"The resemblance between you two is more pronounced than usual," Pepper said. "Steve, Tony's a little bit jealous—"

"I am not!" Tony snapped.

"He hasn't even talked to Allison yet."

Steve frowned. "Then how…"

"Jarvis talks to her, I just lurk in the background," Tony said. He stared hungrily at the picture. "Jarvis, any comments?"

The screen moved to show several comments, one saying that Steve smelled like a mountain lodge candle, another suggesting that the writer would like to climb Steve like a tree. One comment offered Allison the use of her concealer. None of the comments or replies appeared to be from Allison herself.

"Does she have an account on this website?" Steve asked.

Tony put his hand over the arc reactor. "Grandpa, I didn't think you knew what the internet was."

"Tony."

"She does," Jarvis said, "But all of her accounts have been inactive since the start of the summer."

"Is that out of the ordinary?" Steve asked. He really needed to spend some time figuring out the internet.

"For a teenager? Hell yeah." Tony shook himself. "Jarvis, have you heard from her at all?"

"Not since last week, sir."

"What is going on?" Tony said to himself.

"All right," Pepper said briskly. "On the to-do list, we need to dig into your dad's files on SHIELD to see if there's any mention of this Armin Zola."

"And the SHIELD database I hacked on the helicarrier," Tony said absently. "He was Hydra, right?"

Steve thought about Zola, the memories resting on a bed of cold anger. "He was recruited by Schmidt to design weapons for Hydra in the thirties. He was as Hydra as they come."

"We'll start there," Pepper said. "And while that's going on, Tony, can you read Steve into Extremis?"

Tony turned his head to look at her.

"That's what people say, right? Read someone in?"

Tony kissed Pepper's hand. "How much do I love you?"

Pepper rolled her eyes. "Rhodey's coming down tomorrow, he managed to get some personal leave."

"That's Colonel James Rhodes?" Steve asked. He remembered that bit of biographical information in the file on Tony handed to him by Nick Fury.

"That's my boo," Tony said. "Actually, he outranks you, doesn't he?" Tony seemed to find that idea hilarious.

"Sir, a preliminary scan of the Stark files show no record of Armin Zola," Jarvis said. "But many of the paper files delivered here by Fury and Coulson have not yet been converted to digital."

"I can tackle those," Steve said. He itched for action.

"Sure, get a few papercuts." Tony turned around to stare at the picture of Allison, still up on the wall. He sighed. "What the hell are we going to do about you?"

Pepper cleared her throat. "We could just ask Clint and Natasha what's going on."

"We could," Tony said mildly. "Or, we could remember that they're up in Mayberry undercover, watching someone who might be the daughter kidnapped out of my fiancée's cooling corpse, and never thought to bring the matter to my attention."

Pepper flinched. Steve couldn't believe how heartless Tony was being; if it had been Peggy…

"Sorry," Tony said, turning his back on the photo and hooking his fingers in Pepper's shirt. "I don't know how to deal with this."

"I know." Pepper cupped his cheek with one hand. "I know how hard this is for you. But you don't have to keep trying to distance yourself from Clara like that. It's okay."

Tony closed his eyes and Pepper put her hand on the back of his head and Steve wandered over to look at the Iron Man suits for a few minutes.

If it had been him… if he'd come back from the war and married Peggy and they'd been going to have a baby, and if someone had killed Peggy and taken the baby, and years later Steve had found out the baby might be alive…

How the hell could anyone deal with that?

Steve ran his thumb over the Iron Man mask. It looked like Tony had found a way to cope.

"Hey, Cap!" Tony shouted. "You can come back over, all touching emotional moments are over."

Steve turned around. "All right. What's the plan?"

"If it's going to be another all-nighter, I need dinner," Pepper said. "Hungry, Steve?"

"Always."

"And you're going to eat too." Pepper touched Tony's arm. "I'm going to go get food, and you and Steve are going to sort out any lingering issues."

"No, we need grown-up supervision," Tony objected, but Pepper was already walking out of the room.

"You're both adults," Pepper called back. "Act like it."

"Her faith in us is touching," Tony grumbled. He hauled himself to his feet. "Jarvis, close screens." Around them, the screens all faded out.

"How do we do this?" Steve asked.

"Like superheroes," Tony replied. "We get the job done. Somehow."

"Even if things point back at Allison?"

Tony picked up a wrench. "In her favour, everything she throws at us, it's all bad shit that needs stopping."

"But?"

"But how can she know about any of it if she's not hip-deep in the muck?"

Steve let out a sigh. "Tony, she's a kid. If she's in danger, we'll save her."

Tony was looking at him. "You're in?"

Steve shrugged. "Driving around the country was the only excuse I could think of to avoid going back to SHIELD. It's about time I picked up the shield again for a good cause."

He held out his hand. Tony eyed it for a moment, then crossed the floor to shake it. "Do you have those little speeches planned, or is that just something that flies off the top of your head?"

"You spend a lot of time on the road, you get to thinking."

"Right." Tony went back to his workbench.

"So, what's this Extremis thing Pepper was talking about?"

Tony sighed. "A possible terrorist threat within the United States that may implicate the Vice President."

Steve stopped. "Are you joking?"

Tony's expression was the same one Allison had that afternoon, a mixture of challenge and exhaustion. "I never joke about treason. It's like the only thing I won't joke about, which says something."

Steve's guts felt cold. In just one afternoon, his entire world had been flipped upside-down again. Hydra. Terrorists in America. Treason in the White House. And behind it all, Bucky's ghost floated just out of reach.

Steve took a deep breath. "All right. Let's get to work."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2012: Nazis, domestic terrorism, and treason – what an outlandish fictional scenario!  
> 2019: *looks directly into the camera*
> 
> Fun fact: [Lyudmila Pavlichenko](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lyudmila_Pavlichenko)


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noah comes home late and finds a red-eyed monster in his living room. Allison ends up at the sheriff's station where she discovers the homicide file on one Clara Vasquez. A wellness check at the hospital leaves Allison face-to-face with Melissa, who has been making assumptions. And what the hell is with the ghost wolf up at the Hale house?
> 
> This and more, on the next installment of _As Beacon Hills Turns…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So all of the wise Wakandan sayings Allison has in this story are, like, soccer-mom shit Shuri found in an inspirational quotes book in an American airport in 2025, just translated into Xhosa. Shuri spent over a decade trolling A-Force with them, and Bucky only knows this by how hard T'Challa choked on tea when he overheard her one day. This is not relevant to the chapter but I wanted to let you know.

### Noah Stilinski

Noah dragged himself through the front door. It was two in the morning, long past his bedtime, but life as sheriff in a town as small as Beacon Hills didn't care about an old man's beauty sleep.

This one hadn't been difficult to figure out, just terribly, horrifically familiar. A woman's body, found by her sister bringing the kids home after a trip to the movies; the husband drunk out of his skull at a nearby bar. The man had confessed almost as soon as deputies were putting him in handcuffs. Not that it would hold up in court, with him that intoxicated, but he was in custody and the familiar drudge towards justice could continue in the morning.

Now Noah just wanted a shower and five hours of sleep before he had to haul himself back into the office.

At one time in his life, he'd had days off. He missed those.

The house was dark and silent. It was too late for even Stiles to be up. Noah closed the door, locked all the locks, and continued on down the hall to the kitchen without turning the lights on. Maybe there would be some leftovers in the fridge, if Stiles and Allison hadn't scarfed them all.

Noah glanced into the living room out of habit, idly noticing the dark shape on the couch, probably one of the kids' bags or something. He turned to go into the kitchen when something in his head started screaming in alarm and he whipped back around.

There was a monster in his living room.

The dark shape was rising from the couch, eyes glowing red, and Noah was flashing back to the monster in the woods just after Laura Hale died, all the menace and terror lurking in the shadows as the bodies piled up around town, and now it was _in his house_ with his son sleeping upstairs.

Noah had his gun out of its holster and aimed, safety off, before he could even think. "Stop!" he shouted, but those glowing red eyes just kept moving towards him. "Stop!"

A flurry of motion and sound off to his right, someone practically falling down the stairs. "Dad!" Stiles yelled.

"Get back upstairs!" Noah ordered, trying to find a shot in the darkness.

"Wait!" Stiles yelled, crashing into the wall and turning on the hall light. The illumination cast into the living room was enough to reveal the monster.

It was Allison, staring at Noah like she didn't know him.

"Allison!" Stiles shouted. He threw something at the wall, a loud thud reverberating through the room. Allison flinched. Awareness came into her eyes, still glowing blood-red. "Allison?"

Allison stepped back, her leg catching on the coffee table, and she went down. She kept scrabbling back until her shoulders hit the couch.

Stiles dove forward, falling to his knees in front of Allison. "It's okay," he said, hands hovering over her shoulders, not touching. It was only when Stiles looked over his shoulder that Noah realized he still had his gun up. "Dad, don't _shoot_ , it's _Allison."_

Noah's gun was up and his son had put himself between the barrel of that gun and Allison.

Noah wretched his hand down, sick to his stomach. Fumbling, he flipped the safety on his gun, then pulled out the magazine. He had just aimed a loaded gun at his son.

"Allison," Stiles was saying, trying to get the girl's attention. She was staring at Noah with red eyes, folded in on herself, shaking so hard. "Are you awake? It's okay, you're okay."

"Stiles," Allison said, and finally looked away from Noah. Her expression changed to heartache and terror. "What happened?"

Stiles put his hands on her shoulders and she curled into him, clutching at him like a lifeline. "You were asleep," Stiles said against her hair. He had turned around enough to glare at his father. "You were asleep, that's all."

Noah took a few steps into the living room, collapsing onto the armchair. He cleared the chamber of his gun a few times to make sure it was unloaded, then put the gun on the floor.

"You were going to stay up to work on your math homework," Stiles went on. "When I came down at midnight you were passed out on the couch, I didn't want to wake you up."

"I'm sorry," Allison whispered. She turned her face against Stiles' shoulder, finally hiding those red eyes from Noah. "I don't mean to, I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry for falling asleep." Stiles was glaring at Noah, arms still protectively around Allison. "Right, Dad?"

Mouth dry, Noah had to swallow a few times before he could speak. "What the hell is going on?" he demanded.

"Allison was sleeping—"

"That's not what I mean," Noah interrupted. "Why are her eyes like that? The thing in the woods last year…"

Anger flashed over Stiles' face. "That wasn't Allison!" he exclaimed. "Dad, come on, you know it couldn't be Allison!"

"Then do you know what it was that killed all those people?"

Stiles stared straight at Noah and said, "Kate Argent."

"Stiles." Allison looked up. Her eyes had faded to normal, almost black in the dim light from the hall. She turned to Noah. "Derek killed the creature that did all that."

"Allison?" Stiles' voice was suddenly wary.

"Derek killed him after he ripped Kate's throat out." Allison curled tighter against Stiles. "No one in town has to worry about that monster anymore."

Noah thought back to the previous year, all that death and blood soaking his county. "How much did Kate do?"

"She masterminded the Hale fire," Allison said, was still shaking. "She was there, along with the others, making sure no one could get out. Then, in the fall…"

Slowly, Allison pulled herself away from Stiles. She wrapped her arms around her legs, hugging her knees so hard it looked like it hurt. Stiles sat beside her, not touching her by the merest fraction.

Allison swallowed. "In the fall, after Kate got into town, she got hold of Derek and started torturing him, trying to figure out who the rogue alpha was. I…" Allison made herself meet Noah's eyes. "She took me down where she had him. And I didn't do anything to help Derek."

A heavy weight settled on Noah's chest. "Why not?"

Allison stared at him with an expression that Noah had never seen on her face before. Self-loathing. "Because I thought the Argents were doing the right thing. Because Kate and Chris were my family. Because I saw Derek and I was scared and I did _nothing_."

Stiles looked down at his hands.

"Did you know about this?" Noah asked him.

Stiles shook his head. "I knew that Kate had Derek in the basement—"

"What?" Noah demanded.

"I got him out of there!" Stiles exclaimed.

"Why didn't you call me?"

"And what would you have done?"

"For starters, how about arresting Kate Argent for forcible confinement?" Noah said. Allison was still staring at him, her eyes wide. "And I had enough by that point to arrest her for the arson and murder of the Hales."

Stiles went up on his knees. "How the hell was I supposed to _know that?"_

Noah put his hands over his face for a moment. "Jesus Christ, Stiles."

"Stiles was doing what he could to protect Derek and Scott," Allison broke in. Her voice was hollow. "From the Argents. And what the law might do to werewolves."

Noah sat back in the armchair. He was so tired his body ached, but that was nothing compared with the hurt at knowing his son, who had grown up watching Noah try to keep Beacon Hills safe, didn't trust him with Scott's safety.

"Was that what you and Derek were talking about on Saturday morning?" Noah asked after a moment.

"I don't know," Allison said wearily. "I know Derek doesn't trust me. He has no reason to ever trust anything I do or say."

"But you're trying to protect everyone," Stiles said. "Even him."

"What?" Noah asked.

"I mean, Allison went after the wendigo to keep everyone safe, that includes Derek, too." He looked between Noah and Allison. "If Allison really didn't care about Derek, she'd have let him go up there and get himself killed."

"Don't say that," Allison whispered. She leaned against Stiles' arm.

"She likes Derek," Stiles soldiered on. "Even if he's being a total asshole towards her."

"From what I saw on Saturday, he seems to be okay." Noah turned to Allison. "Why were your eyes glowing red?"

Allison took a breath. Stiles put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a hug. "You can tell him," Stiles said. "He won't tell anyone."

"I know." Allison breathed for a minute. "When I told you I didn't know what I was, that's mostly true."

It took Noah a moment to claw his way back to their conversation, over a week before. God, was it only a week? "You said you weren't a werewolf."

"I'm not." Allison took a breath, and her eyes glowed red again. With the change, the air itself shifted – warmer, almost, with an electric zing. This time, Noah wasn't afraid. He felt safe, in a way he hadn't in years. "Some of the things that I can do, it's what a werewolf alpha can do. Heal fast, move fast. I don't know why."

Noah's stomach churned. He was pretty sure that he had an inkling, and he couldn't tell Allison a single goddamned thing. He thought about the LAPD file on his desk at work, with the stark details of Clara Vasquez's murder laid out inside. He had promised Natasha that he wouldn't tell Allison anything until they had definitive DNA proof on Allison's identity, and now that promise had him hamstrung.

"The rogue alpha that did all those bad things, Derek killed him," Allison went on. "Being an alpha werewolf doesn't mean you're good or bad. You're just more powerful."

"Derek killed him?" Noah repeated, and all of a sudden he had two teenagers glaring at him. Allison's blood-red stare made him want to apologize, but Stiles' expression made him want to back away.

"Did I say that?" Allison asked. "I meant Derek asked him very nicely to leave town. And he did. Alive and well. Never to return."

Noah sighed. "I'm not going to go after Derek for killing the monster that killed all those people," he said. "Is there any chance that we're going to find a body up in the woods?"

He did not understand the journey of emotions crossing over Stiles' face. Allison never reacted. "Not one," she said.

"A rogue alpha, is that the sort of thing Talia Hale would have dealt with?"

Allison looked away. "Yes," she said. "Talia would have handled it." Allison's eyes faded back to normal. "Now it's my turn to keep the peace."

"Do you expect it to happen again?"

Allison put her arm around Stiles' shoulders. "What, bad guys with supernatural powers coming to Beacon Hills to try to gain power by crushing my friends under their feet?" she said sarcastically. "Yeah, regularly."

"Crap," Noah muttered.

"It'll be fine," Allison said. "Mostly. Beacon Hills has always been a strange place. It's got me to take care of things now, and Derek. We can probably keep everyone safe."

Noah put his head into his hands.

"Dad?" Stiles asked, suddenly alert. "What happened? Why are you home so late?"

Noah sat back. He was tired. And Allison was going to hear about it anyway at work the next day. "Domestic homicide."

"I'm sorry," Allison said.

"Part of the job." Noah moved his feet, trying to shake out the ache in his lower back. He kicked his gun a half-inch across the carpet. Everyone froze.

"Were you really going to shoot Allison?" Stiles asked, voice hard.

Before Noah could think of an answer, Allison sat forward. "What did you see when you came in here?" she asked, voice suddenly full of authority.

"A dark shape with glowing red eyes," Noah answered without thinking.

"And you thought I was the rogue alpha from last fall," Allison said. "Good. If you ever see something with glowing red eyes that you are not one hundred percent sure is me or Derek? Shoot it."

"Allison!" Stiles yelped.

"No, Stiles," Allison pulled herself up to her knees. "Derek and I can heal from a bullet, but if it's an unfriendly alpha, hesitating might cost you your life."

"No," Stiles objected. "No, we are not talking about my dad _shooting you_."

"Yes, we are." Allison twisted around. "We're also talking about how you can never get between me and a bullet again."

"Allison—"

"I can heal," Allison kept going. "I can heal quickly. You can't." She grabbed Stiles' top. "Stiles, please. I need you safe. You don't need to protect me."

"But I can," Stiles objected, and there was that bluster that Noah had seen in his son ever since Claudia got sick - that bone-deep need to do _something_. For so many years it had rested on his friendship with Scott in all the normal ways children were.

But now, with the werewolves and the supernatural… Noah was terrified about what that meant for his son.

"Stiles." Allison let go of Stiles' shirt. "You keep everyone safe with your ideas, okay? You're the smartest guy we got."

In spite of the late hour and the horrific conversation they'd been having, Stiles managed to smile. "Hey, wait, what about Lydia?"

"Lydia's book smart. You're battle-smart."

Stiles shrugged. "I mean, I play a lot of video games."

"Yeah, that's the reason." Allison brushed the hair back from Stiles' forehead, a fond, oddly maternal gesture. "You're what keeps us all together, okay? We need you, all of us."

"Okay." Stiles touched the back of her hand. "And we need you, too, okay? No doing dangerous stuff alone."

Allison sat down. "Sure, you find someone who can keep up with me, and I'll take them as backup."

"I will."

"Okay."

"Not Derek."

"God no."

Then Stiles looked over at Noah. "And you don't shoot either Allison or Derek."

"I'm not going to," Noah said, too old for all this shit. "But I've got a department full of deputies who heard the same stories I did about a red-eyed monster in town last fall. Can you keep the eye thing under control?"

Allison curled back up against the couch. "Yes," she said. "Tonight was…" She pressed her hand against her forehead. "Another fucking dream."

"What happened?" Stiles asked.

Allison was staring at the floor. "The, um." She breathed for a moment. "Something that happened over the summer. I dreamed about it again, and then…" She blinked up at Noah. "I was here but I was also still back there. I'm sorry." She wrapped her hand around her ankle, her body contorted in a way that did not look comfortable, even for a teenager's elastic flexibility. "It happened before, I think. It doesn't matter. I'll just never sleep again."

"What happened before?" Stiles asked. "Like, you woke up and you alpha'd out?"

Allison nodded. "I woke up and I knew someone was there, a threat, and I just couldn't wake up all the way. Then I did."

"Who?" Noah asked, because he'd never seen Allison sleepwalking with red eyes before, and he doubted from the conversation that Stiles had either.

"Uh. Never mind," Allison said.

"No, really…" Stiles started. Then his mouth opened in a round _O_. "Oh. _Oh_. Wait, did he see? Does he _know?"_

"I'm pretty sure he didn't." Allison was very carefully not looking at Noah.

"Oh my god, when did you fall asleep at his place?" Stiles whispered.

Allison glared at the boy, a hint of red returning to her eyes. "Would you _shut up?"_

"He's so terrible," Stiles bemoaned.

"That's why you're not seeing him," Allison hissed. " _Shut up."_

"But _why?"_

"Stiles," Noah said. Stiles snapped his mouth closed. "Remember how you said you were going to respect Allison's privacy?"

"When did I say that?"

Noah turned to Allison. "We should all get some sleep and talk more in the morning."

The brittle smile Allison flashed him was not reassuring. "What an excellent idea. You first."

"Allison."

"Do you honestly think I'm going to sleep after this?"

Noah leaned over to retrieve his gun. "Can we all just try?"

Allison hauled herself to her feet, moving with as little grace as Noah had ever seen her. "Come on, Stiles."

"Ugh." Stiles let Allison manhandle him to an upright position. "Tuesdays are the worst."

"Come on." Allison hooked her arm through Stiles' and directed him towards the stairs. "Why were you awake, anyway?"

"I always wake up when Dad gets home," Noah heard Stiles say as the teenagers started to climb, his voice already going mumbly. "I have to know he's safe."

Noah stared down at the gun in his hands.

"You're one of the good ones, Stiles Stilinski," Allison said.

Noah put his finger on the gun safety. He had been pointing this gun at Allison, and Stiles, because Stiles had…

Had his own son really thought that he might shoot Allison?

He was so goddamned tired.

Like an old man, he got to his feet. He picked up the magazine from where it had fallen in his haste to unload the gun, and headed after the children.

They were both in Stiles' room. "Stop trying to tuck me in," Stiles was saying. "I'm a grown-ass adult."

"Uh huh." The sound of a pillow being punched.

"Captain America let me hold his shield today," Stiles said, which made Noah wonder if the boy was already sleeping.

"I know." Noah stopped outside Stiles' room to see Allison pulling the covers over Stiles' face. "It was very patriotic. Go to sleep."

Stiles pushed back the blanket to glare up at Allison. "I'll sleep if you sleep."

"Stiles—"

"Promise."

Allison let out an exasperated sigh. "I promise."

"Thank you." Stiles flopped down. "Good night. Night, Dad."

"Good night, son."

Allison switched off the bedside light and said something in a language Noah didn't know, her tongue clicking on the words. Stiles mumbled something, as Allison walked out of the room and into the hall, closing Stiles' door behind her.

This left Noah and Allison staring at each other in the harsh hall light. "What did you say to him?"

Allison blinked, the dark circles under her eyes more pronounced than ever. "It's a saying a friend of mine liked. It translates to something like, a brave boy must first learn wisdom before he can grow into a man."

"Makes sense."

"I'm not going to let anything happen to Stiles," Allison said.

Noah looked down at the pieces of the gun in his hand. "When you went up after the wendigo, Stiles was convinced that it was his fault you'd gone alone."

"It wasn't."

"I know that. And I told Stiles that your choices are not his responsibility." Allison was still drawn and pale, much like she had been the previous day, but there was an added weight to her shoulders that worried Noah. "Stiles' choices and his actions are not your responsibility. They're his. Just like my actions are on me."

"What do you mean?" Allison asked.

Noah let out a breath. "I walked into this house tonight, and I pulled a gun on you. I cannot tell you how sorry I am for that."

"No, it's okay—" Allison tried to say.

"It's not."

"But if you'd been in danger—"

"I wasn't."

Allison was starting to get agitated. "You don't understand," she said. "If you see something with glowing red eyes, you're in danger."

"Allison. I'm sorry."

Allison bit her lip. "You can't get hurt," she whispered. "This town, there's bad stuff coming, and you can't get hurt."

"We'll face that together, all right?"

Allison nodded.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"I'm not going to like this, am I?"

"How do you know that you can survive being shot?"

Allison rubbed her hand over her collarbone. "The way I know everything else."

Noah didn't know it was possible to feel this old and this sad at the same time. "Was anyone there with you?"

"Yeah," Allison said automatically. "Bucky was—"

She stopped so suddenly that Noah thought that something had happened. But Allison was just staring at the ground, trembling.

After a moment, she went on. "My friend was there," she said deliberately. "He helped make sure I didn't bleed out before I healed." She looked up, and there was a hint of red in her dark brown eyes. "Can I go now?"

"Yes."

She turned towards her bedroom. "Good night, Noah."

"Good night, Allison."

Noah watched Allison go into her bedroom and close the door with a decisive click. Only then did he continue down the hall to his own room.

First things first, he put the gun and ammunition into the gun safe. Then he got out of his uniform, did the usual night-time routine, but he couldn't clear his mind of what had happened in the living room.

He didn't know what was worse – that Stiles had actually thought he might shoot Allison, or that Allison seemed to be okay with that idea.

Finally, Noah got into bed and turned out the light. He rolled onto his side, facing Claudia's empty half of the bed like he did every night. God, she would have been so _furious_ with him. She had always worried that Stiles would get into the guns in the house, worried that her little boy would get hurt because of his insatiable curiosity.

Noah wondered what Claudia would have made of Allison.

He glanced at the clock. Almost three, and he had to be back at work by eight.

He didn't know how he was going to be able to sleep.

* * *

The alarm rang at seven.

Noah sat up, feeling like five miles of bad road. His eyes were gritty and his mouth dry, and he had an hour to get to work, to see what the night shift had made of the latest Beacon Hills crime scene.

On autopilot, Noah got out of bed, stepped into a clean uniform, and went to get his gun. The remembered panic of the night before was an echo in his head as he slipped the magazine into the pistol. He wondered if Allison had any firearms training; so far she'd seemed content to go after monsters with her knives alone.

Maybe he could set her up with some range time, for her birthday.

He holstered his pistol for the day. Or maybe, he could stop trying to help a teenager become more of a killing machine.

He didn't know what to do.

He ducked into the bathroom to splash some water on his face. With that, Noah headed out.

Stiles' bedroom was empty, the shower on in the bathroom. At least the boy wouldn't be late to school. Allison's door was open, and the room empty. Noah hesitated, frowning a little at the carefully made bed. Allison was a lot of things, but overly meticulous in making her bed in the morning was not one of them.

Still frowning, Noah went downstairs.

Allison was at the kitchen table, still wearing her clothes from yesterday. She was staring at a glass of water on the table. If anything, she looked worse than she had the night before.

"Allison?"

Allison blinked at the glass. "Noah."

"Do you want some coffee?"

Allison blinked a few more times. "Okay."

Noah went over to the counter. "How long have you been up?"

Allison shrugged.

Noah went about the morning routine, making coffee, then digging out some bread to make toast. "Did you get any sleep after what happened?"

"I couldn't," Allison said.

"You're going to have to sleep eventually."

Allison lifted her head. In the early morning light, the circles under her eyes were starting to look like actual bruises. "No, I don't."

"You do." Noah left the bread in the toaster and came to sit down beside Allison. "You haven't been having nightmares for the last few days, that's a good sign, right?"

Allison's eyes were dark as she stared at him. "Sure."

Noah looked at her. "You have been sleeping at night, right?"

Allison bit her lip. "Sure," she said again.

"How much?"

Another blink. "Three or four hours a night, okay?"

"No, that's not okay," Noah said, that old familiar worry coming back. "Don't teenagers need ten hours of sleep or something?"

"Not me." Allison rubbed her eyes. "Noah, it's fine. People go without sleep all the time."

"Until they crash." Noah sat back. "Allison, you look about as bad as you did when you got home on Friday night, and then you were covered in blood. You can't go to school like this."

"State truancy laws suggest otherwise."

"I'm serious," Noah said. He got up. He needed coffee. "I can call the school, tell them you're sick. You can stay here and get some sleep—"

"No," Allison broke in, sudden panic lacing her words. "No, I can't sleep here alone, I can't."

She sounded so scared that Noah put the coffee pot back on the burner. "What's wrong?"

"What if someone at the school calls Chris?" she demanded. Her eyes were wide. "Or what if Dupont finds out and I'm here asleep and they come after me?"

"Okay, okay, hold on," Noah said soothingly. He went back to the table . "No one's going to come after you, okay?"

You can't know that," Allison said. She pulled her legs up to her chest, curling in on herself like she had the previous night when Noah had his gun trained on her. He felt a little sick. "I can't stay here alone to sleep, so I may as well go to school."

A clatter of feet on the stairs announced Stiles' arrival. The boy bounced into the kitchen with an almost obscene amount of energy. "Hey, come on, I'll race you to… school…" He pulled up short. "What's going on?"

"Allison's not feeling well," Noah said. "She's going to stay home today."

"Allison can speak for herself," she snapped. She glanced over at Stiles. "I feel like I've been hit by a space trawler."

"You look terrible," Stiles said, dropping his backpack by the table. "Like, if I looked like you look, Dad would have me at the hospital by now."

"Stiles."

"Am I wrong?" Stiles went over to the fridge. "Allison, trust me, you have to take any sheriff-sanctioned sick days when you can get them. Especially in an election year."

Allison put her chin on her knee. "I can't stay here alone."

"So go to the station with Dad and sleep on the couch, that's what I always do when I'm sick." Stiles pushed the lever on the toaster as he returned to the table with the milk. "Since when do you care about school, anyway?"

"I have to hand in a math assignment," Allison said.

"I can do that." Stiles offered Allison the milk. She shook her head. "Come on, when Dad offers you a day off school, you are legally obliged to take him up on that as an honorary member of the Stilinski family."

Allison looked down at the table. "I am?"

"Of course!" Stiles chirped. "Last time he let me stay home sick I had goo dripping from every orifice. It was so gross."

"That's not it," Allison said. She glanced up at Stiles, the beginnings of tears in her eyes. "Did you mean that?"

"Mean what?" Stiles asked, panicking slightly.

"Me being here?"

"What, an honorary Stilinski?" Stiles asked. "Of course." He looked at Noah. "I mean, I mean that, not sure about Dad, what with the human alpha thing."

A lot of things ran through Noah's mind in rapid succession. How adamant Allison was about protecting Stiles and Noah himself, at how she flung herself into danger without any regard for her own safety. About all those reports Noah had seen from Natasha about what Allison had endured, growing up with the Argents.

Above all, Noah remembered that expression on Allison's face the first night outside the bar as she faced down those two drunks. He'd seen it in the mirror all too often growing up. It was knowing that there was no one in the world who had your back, and that to survive, you had to do it alone.

"Of course," Noah said quietly. "You have a home here, as long as you want it. No matter what happens."

Allison looked down at the table, tears finally spilling down her cheeks. Stiles turned at Noah in a panic, and Noah made a waving motion towards Allison. Taking the hint, Stiles pulled a chair over to her side and tentatively put his arm around her shoulders. She turned into the hug, clinging to the boy. Stiles put his other hand on her back, looking over her shoulder at Noah.

There was something in the boy's dark eyes that made Noah uncomfortable, a little bit like surprise, like Stiles hadn't been sure that Noah would say what he did.

Noah didn't know what had happened to make Stiles doubt him. Had it been what had been going on with the werewolves the previous year? Or was it deeper than that?

Wearily, Noah promised himself that he was going to fix what was wrong with him and Stiles, if it was the last thing he did.

"I'm sorry," Allison said against Stiles' shirt. "I don't know why I keep doing this."

"I get pretty emotional when I get to skip a day of school, too," Stiles said. He patted Allison's back. "And I am enjoying this tender moment, I really am, but if I don't leave in two minutes, I'm going to be late for math."

"What a tragedy," Allison said, but she sat back, wiping her cheeks. "Thank you, Stiles."

Stiles beamed. "I can take your homework in if you want."

"It's on the coffee table," Allison said, nodding in the direction of the living room.

"Right!" Stiles bounced up, grabbing the dry toast on his way out of the room.

Allison glanced up at Noah, her eyes wet. "You didn't have to say that, about me having a home here," she said.

"I know I didn't," Noah replied. "I said it because I meant it."

Allison's lower lip was trembling. "Why?"

Noah had to be careful about how he said this, because there was still so much up in the air around what was going to happen to Allison once the truth came out into the open. "Everything is complicated right now, for you, and you need people in your corner." He smiled as best he could. "And I don't know if you noticed, but Stiles pretty much made the call that you're part of the family now."

"But you don't have to agree to that."

"I know I don't. But I do. If you want it."

Allison wiped her eyes. "I do," she whispered. "But…"

"Is there anything else I need to know?" Noah asked.

Allison shook her head. "Me being… like this, an alpha… That's it. That's all I'm trying to hide from the world."

"All right." Noah stood up. "How about you get into some clean clothes and I'll call the school?"

Allison nodded as Stiles reappeared, hands full of paper. "Is this it?" he demanded.

As Noah left the room to make the phone call, he could feel Allison's eyes following him.

He just hoped that he was doing the right thing.

* * *

Allison nearly fell asleep in the car on the way to the station. Only when they were pulling into the parking lot did she jolt awake. "Wait, I can't do this."

"Why not?" Noah asked, parking.

"It's not professional, sleeping on the job."

"Every single one of those guys in there has caught a nap in the breakroom at least once," Noah said. "Come on."

They got out of the car. Allison let Noah open the station door for her, which was a tiny bit worrisome. Callahan was just settling down at the front desk as they walked in. "Hey, Sheriff, the coroner wants you to call her," the deputy said. He was eyeing Allison with confusion.

"Sure." Noah gestured Allison towards his office. "Go on, find some couch."

"Okay." Allison kept going, yawning so widely she nearly tripped.

"Boss?" Callahan asked once Allison was gone.

"She's sick," Noah explained, because everyone knew that if you needed something passed around the station, you told Callahan. "I thought it would be better if she was here instead of home alone, in case she gets any worse."

"Is it the flu?" Callahan asked, his confusion vanishing. He had kids, he got how they could get sick.

"No, it's not contagious." Noah turned the intake book around to glance over the night's events. Other than the homicide, there had only been one assault, and more break and enters on the south side of town. "I'll go call Dr. Green."

Noah had hardly turned around before Callahan was off to the watercooler to spread the gossip. Well, the station intern crashing in the sheriff's office was a much nicer topic than rehashing the latest act of violence in town.

Noah paused in the doorway to his office. Allison was curled up on the couch, already asleep. She reminded Noah too much of the soldiers he'd known on patrol, just catching a few winks before the world exploded back into battle.

He hated it.

Noah hung up his jacket and went to his desk. There was already a stack of files waiting for him, along with three notes to call the coroner.

He hoped that Allison was able to sleep through the chaos. He supposed they'd see.

Noah reached for the phone. Time for him to get to work.

Something touched Allison's nose.

From the depths of sleep, Allison struggled back to wakefulness, reaching out to grab whatever had attacked her. It took a fraction of a second for her eyes and her ears to start working, and when her hand closed on the culprit's wrist, the hold was as gentle as a feather.

Allison blinked at the toddler standing in front of her. "Gabriela?"

The second-youngest Ibarra child laughed and tried to grab at Allison's face again. This time, Allison let her, sitting up and pulling the girl onto her lap. Allison was in the sheriff's office, on the couch, where she had been for hours, if the angle of the sunlight on the floor was any indication.

Where had Noah gone? And why was there a toddler, alone?

"Where are your parents?" Allison asked the little girl. Gabriela giggled. Allison tried again, this time in Spanish.

"Mama!" Gabriela called, pointing at the open door to the office. There was a clatter as Maria Ibarra appeared in the door, her infant son strapped to her front in a carrier.

"Oh, I am so sorry," Maria said, hurrying into the office. "You blink and they disappear." In Spanish, she said, "Gabriela, you cannot run away!"

"It's all right," Allison said, also in Spanish. Maria looked at her in mild surprise. "You should hear the stories Noah has about Stiles escaping."

Gabriela tried to stand up on Allison's lap, tugging at her hair. Allison winced, but stayed focused. Ever since Lydia had the twins, Allison had been able to compartmentalize her own discomfort away, to keeping the babies safe. "I had to drop off something for Christian," Maria said, sitting beside Allison. She tried to take Gabriela, but the toddler clung to Allison. "And I turn around and Gabriela is gone."

"You cannot run away from your mother," Allison said to Gabriela with mock-sternness. Gabriela shrieked in amusement. "If you run away in the sheriff's station, they put you to work, and this place already has one deputy named Ibarra."

Gabriela collapsed over Allison's shoulder. Allison hugged the little girl. "She really likes you," Maria said, patting her daughter's back. "Damian won't stop talking about how you did that wolf howl with him."

"They are great kids." Allison carefully pulled her hair out of Gabriela's clutching fingers. "Are the others in school?"

"Yes, we have Damian in pre-school," Maria said. "He wants to be in kindergarten, but that's for next year."

The baby burbled a warning sound, and a pungent odor filled the air.

"Not again" Maria whispered. "Come on, Gabriela, your brother needs a new diaper."

"No!"

"I can watch her for a few minutes," Allison said.

The relief on Maria's face was blinding. "Thank you." She hesitated. "Christian said you were sick?"

Allison made a wry smile. "Not like a cold or anything." She leaned in a little closer. "Complications from blood loss."

As Allison had suspected, a woman who had given birth to five children would make the obvious leap to uterine challenges. "Oh, dear," Maria said, patting Allison's shoulder. "Try cooking up some spinach in cast iron, that's what my mother always did." She stood. "I'll be back soon. Gabriela, listen to Allison."

Gabriela blew a raspberry.

Maria hurried off. "Your little brother is stinky," Allison said, standing with Gabriela on her hip. "Why are boys stinky?"

"Stinky!" Gabriela repeated.

"That's right." Allison walked over to the sheriff's desk. "Let's see if we can find you something to colour on."

The desk was mostly clear, with a stack of files off to one side. Allison put Gabriela into the big chair, handing her a stubby pencil. The pad of paper Noah normally kept on the desk was gone, so Allison handed Gabriela a spare phone message slip while she looked for more paper.

"Cat," Gabriela said, scribbling on the paper. Then, in English, "Doggy!"

"Something like that." Allison spied the notepad buried in the stack of files. She moved the top folders to the side to get to the notepad. When she picked up the pad, what she saw underneath it made her go weak at the knees. It was an olive-green folder with the LAPD crest, and the word VASQUEZ written in thick black marker underneath.

This was her mother's homicide file.

The world swam around her. All those years ago, when Allison had found out the truth of her parentage, she had never actually seen the file itself. She'd never read the police report on her mother's murder. And here it was, just sitting on Noah's desk.

"Cat!" came a tiny toddler shriek, yanking Allison back to the present.

"Here you go," Allison said absently. "Draw a nice picture for your mommy."

Chattering happily, Gabriela scrawled spikey lines over the page.

Allison glanced around. No sign of Noah. With steady hands, she opened the folder.

A small photograph of Clara Vasquez was clipped to the inside cover, something that must have come from the family. In the shot, Clara was beaming, her dark hair permed into a cloud around her head. Other than the hair, Clara looked so much like the person Allison saw reflected back at her in the mirror.

This was her mother.

"Papa!" Gabriela called, drawing a circle.

Allison looked up, but there was no one in sight. "Yes, papa. Draw a picture for your papa," she said, pulling over a spare chair behind the desk and sitting down at the girl's side.

"Mama," Gabriela sang. "Papa, mama, baby, doggy."

"You have a very expansive vocabulary," Allison told the little girl, smoothing the silky black hair off her forehead.

"Mama, Papa, Gabriela," Gabriela sang on.

Allison went back to the folder. The top page of the report detailed the crime scene, impersonal typed words laying bare the pain and destruction wrought on Clara.

Allison didn't have to read this. She knew what happened up on that hillside. She didn't have to read the torture her mother had gone through.

She didn't have to.

But if Clara had suffered it, then Allison could bear reading about it.

With a deep breath, Allison forced all her emotions down. She turned the page.

The details were even worse than Allison had imagined. The coroner's report was unflinching, down to the description of the blade marks on Clara's ribs. Allison could not possibly understand how the story about a wild animal attack had gotten out, given what the report said. Was the medical examiner drunk? Or had someone paid him off?

Allison kept flipping. The crime scene photos were gruesome; blood always seemed redder in the early morning light. Allison looked at the remains of her mother's body, cut open and gutted on the Los Angeles hillside. Then she looked at the next photo, a blood-spattered close-up of Clara's dead face, then she very carefully closed the folder and put it back on the stack.

Her heart was racing so fast she wondered if she was going to have a heart attack.

She wanted to kill Victoria Argent. She wanted to find a necromancer, resurrect Victoria, and then Allison would kill Victoria all over again, just like she had killed Clara.

"Baby!" Gabriela crowed triumphantly, and Allison was yanked back to reality.

Victoria was already dead.

Nothing could bring Clara back to life.

What Allison had right there, in that moment, was a little girl to keep safe.

"Show me the baby," Allison said, taking a moment to replace the rest of the folders on the stack. "Is this the baby?" She pointed at the artistic masterpiece.

"No!"

By the time Maria returned, Gabriela was on her second piece of paper, drawing with Noah's red pen under close supervision from Allison. "Sorry, diaper blowout," Maria said, the baby dangling smugly on one arm. "Gabriela, have you been a good girl?"

"No!"

"She's perfect," Allison said, catching Gabriela's hand before the girl put the pen tip in her mouth. "No, we do not eat the sheriff's office supplies."

Gabriela cackled.

"Alicia was never like this," Maria said wearily. "She was an angel. Always quiet."

"Gabriela seems to have the chaos down to an art form," Allison said. "She's great at filling out her paperwork." Allison glanced around. Noah's uniform hat was perched on the top of the filing cabinet, collecting dust. She stood up. "Maybe she can run against Noah in the election this fall."

"She's not potty trained," Maria said, holding her phone up to capture Gabriela sitting behind the sheriff's desk while the baby attempted to escape her grip.

"Details." Allison retrieved the hat, brushing dust off the brim. Movement in the door warned Allison that Noah had returned. "What do you say, Gabriela?" She put the hat on the toddler's head. "Do you have any slogans for us for your upcoming election campaign?"

"Doggy," Gabriela said with consideration. "Mama, candy?"

Allison smiled. "You heard it here first. Sheriff Ibarra's campaign promises include an expanded K-9 unit and community outreach in Beacon Hills."

"A worthy opponent," Noah said, in passable Spanish. He switched back to English to say, "How's everyone doing?"

"Gabriela is having a blast," Allison said. She caught the hat when Gabriela pushed it off her head. Maria lowered her phone. "I feel like I'm going to live, so that's a bonus."

"Good."

"Sheriff," Maria said, getting up. "How are you?"

"Good." Noah came into the office. "How are things with the kids?"

While Maria and Noah made small-talk, Allison wrestled the pen away from Gabriela and gathered up the girl. "Time to go home," Allison said.

"No, park!" Gabriela exclaimed.

"You will have to take that up with your mother." Allison smacked a kiss against Gabriela's cheek, which made the toddler squeal, and set her on her feet just as Maria was stuffing the baby back into the carrier. "Go, be free."

Gabriela chose to take this directive literally, running for the door as soon as she hit the ground. Noah caught her with the practice of someone who'd been thwarting Stiles Stilinski's escape attempts over the years, and held on until Maria was able to hurry over.

"Thank you," Maria called as she was towed out of the office by her daughter. "I hope you feel better soon!"

"Thanks," Allison said. She looked at Noah. "How long was I out?"

"Five hours," Noah said. "You feeling any better?"

"I think so." Allison went over to the couch while Noah went to his desk. She saw his eyes go from the notepad to the stack of files, then to her. Allison put on her most innocent expression. After all, what interest could she, Allison Argent, have in an old LAPD case with no connection to Beacon Hills?

After a moment, Noah relaxed. "Good," he said. "While you were asleep, I made a phone call."

Allison narrowed her eyes. "You're a busy man. I expect you made a number of phone calls."

Noah folded his hands together. "This one wasn't specifically work-related."

Allison kept staring.

Noah met her gaze. "I think you need to see a medical professional."

Allison exhaled. "No."

"Allison—"

"No," Allison said again. "What am I going to say to a doctor? Hi, I lost a gallon of blood on the weekend but I'm doing better now, can I have a sucker?"

"I didn't mean a doctor."

Allison glared. "I am _not_ going to see Deaton."

Noah sat back, obvious confusion on his face. "Why would you go see a veterinarian?"

Allison crossed her arms over her chest.

"I mean Melissa," Noah went on. "She knows about Scott, and the supernatural. I thought it might be beneficial for you to see someone who might be able to figure out if there's anything wrong with you."

Allison bit back on her knee-jerk denial, and thought about it. Melissa McCall had always been a steadying presence in Beacon Hills, especially after they got Scott back from the Snap. The woman had seen Allison in action at the sheriff's station on the night of the full moon, so she might not be too surprised at hearing about Allison's exploits.

Best of all, Allison had fully healed from her recent external injuries, with only the black marks under the skin as a reminder. For any normal human, that injury would have had to have happened months before.

Nothing in Allison's blood work had ever come back other than regular human. Allison wasn't worried about being caught out through bloodwork.

There wasn't really any downside to going to see Melissa, at least not one Allison could convince Noah of. "Okay."

"Really?"

"I mean, I can't pay for it."

"That's not a problem." Noah stood. "Come on, Melissa's on duty at the hospital. She can see you now."

Allison got up. "Sheriff, are you pulling strings with the health authority?"

"Me?" Noah affected mock surprise. "In an election year?"

Allison glared at him. "If you are, I'm signing up as Gabriela's campaign manager."

"Duly noted.

* * *

Melissa was not as thrilled to see Allison as Noah had indicated.

After Noah cruelly abandoned Allison to Melissa's hands, heading off to the cafeteria in search of a late lunch, Melissa took Allison into one of the examination rooms. "Why don't you sit there," and she indicated the exam bed. "And I'll sit here." She took the stool on the other side of the room.

Allison could smell the anxiety pouring off the woman. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Melissa tried to smile. "Of course you're not."

Allison stared at her. "Looks like you want to be here about as much as I do, so why don't you just do whatever medic thing you need to, and I'll go."

"I do want to be here," Melissa said, scooting a foot closer. "Noah said you ran into a bit of trouble and needed some help." She took a deep breath. "I just want you to know, if you feel uncomfortable, I can go and get a nurse who specialises in sexual assault exams—"

"What?" Allison practically jackknifed off the table. "No! What the hell did Noah tell you?"

Melissa's eyes were wide. "That you got into trouble on Friday and lost a lot of blood," she stammered. "I thought, with what Scott's been saying…"

Well, fuck her sideways. This was a complete disaster. "What has Scott been saying?"

Melissa stood up, visibly recalibrating. "That you've been getting into trouble at the school," she said, her voice moving away from that place of anxiety, back to a calmness. "I'm sorry if I jumped to any conclusions."

"Oh, my god," Allison said. "No, I'm not pregnant and I didn't get assaulted or— or whatever other bullshit is going around. I got into 'trouble' on Friday," she gave this the finger quotes it deserved, "When I went after the monster up in the hills before the werewolves could go after it." Melissa paled. "It's dead, but I lost a hell of a lot of blood and it's taking longer than usual for me to get back to my fighting weight. I'm pretty sure that's why Noah brought me here."

"All right," Melissa said. She held out her hands. "I'll check your vitals, send off a blood sample to check your iron levels. Okay?"

"Whatever." Allison got back up on the exam bed, vibrating in irritation.

Melissa pulled over the little cart with all the tiny tubes for blood. "How are you with needles?" she asked as she donned exam gloves.

"Fine," Allison said. After the amount of damage she'd taken over the years, needles didn't bother her. "How much blood do you need?"

"Just a few vials." Melissa rolled up the sleeve of Allison's t-shirt. "This is Stiles'?"

"Yeah." Allison hid her discomfort at how close Melissa was standing.

"You're wearing his stuff a lot."

Allison narrowed her eyes. "I didn't have a lot of time to pack my wardrobe when Chris threw me out of the house."

"Right." Melissa tied the tourniquet around Allison's arm. "Make a fist."

That was the easiest instruction Allison had to follow all day.

Melissa tapped the inside of Allison's elbow a few times. "It was good of Noah to give you a place to stay." She pressed harder.

"Pure luck," Allison said. Melissa glanced at her. "If he hadn't been coming out of the bar when I was about to throw down with some drunks, I'd be in Seattle by now."

Melissa pressed down again. "What's in Seattle?"

"It's not Beacon Hills." Allison watched as Melissa reached for an alcohol swab. "The appeal of which is getting stronger by the minute."

Melissa's head snapped up, annoyance finally showing through the nurse's façade. "How about you let me get my blood samples, and we talk in a minute."

"Perfect."

Allison kept her mouth shut as Melissa inserted the needle into her vein on the first try. Melissa took three little vials of blood, then put a cotton ball over the needle as she pulled it out. "Press down."

Allison didn't bother, just wiped at her skin with the cotton.

"I said—"

Allison held out her arm. "Healed up," she said. Melissa frowned. "What, Noah left that part out?"

"No, he said…" Melissa took Allison's arm and bent over the needle site. "That's… unexpected."

"What did Noah say?"

"He said that you healed from bruises pretty quickly overnight."

Allison gripped the edge of the exam table with her free hand. Something that felt like betrayal knifed its way through her stomach. "He told you that? When?"

Melissa let go of Allison's arm. "That night I saw you at the sheriff's station, after he told me that your dad beat you up and kicked you out."

Allison pulled her legs up. She was so fucking sick of this. "Chris didn't beat me up, he just hit me." She picked at the seam on her jeans. "Didn't hold a candle to what Victoria used to do."

"Allison—"

"Can you keep doing the exam thing?" Allison asked. She regretted having opened her mouth. "Or can I go?"

Melissa blinked at her for a moment. "How much blood did you lose?" she finally asked. "Really?"

"I don't know." Allison thought. "A lot. I was feeling kind of sick. My mouth felt like sand by the time I got home."

"Uh huh." Melissa tapped her ID badge absently. "You still look low on fluids, your veins are sunken. How would you feel about some oral rehydration salts?"

Allison thought about it. Anything had to be better than what she'd been jury-rigging at home with Stiles' supply of gatorade. "What do you have?"

"I'll send you home with some samples that we usually use in the pediatrics ward."

"Great. Can I go?"

"Not yet."

Allison sighed. She let Melissa listen to her heart and take her blood pressure, and didn't understand why Melissa was frowning at the little dial. "What?"

"What's your pressure normally?" Melissa asked, inflating the cuff again.

Allison tried to think. "One-ten over seventy, I think."

Melissa let the cuff deflate. "And you're not dizzy? Feeling sick?"

"No."

"Can you show me where you were hurt?"

Allison groaned. Why was everyone in town determine to get her to take her clothes off? "Fine."

She stripped off her shirt, showing Melissa her unscarred back, then shucked out of her jeans to model her thigh. Melissa frowned at the black marks under her skin. "What are those from?

"Claw marks," Allison said, and helpfully mimed the swipe. "I don't have an infection or anything."

Melissa was still staring at her leg. "Okay," she said after a minute. "Clothes back on." Allison didn't need to be told twice. "This happened on Friday?"

"Yes." Allison yanked her shirt over her head. "What's wrong?"

"Scott heals this fast," Melissa said. "If he… if he gets hurt, how will I know?"

Allison tried to think back to her years as Scott's alpha. "If he's eating more than normal—"

"He's always eating more than normal."

"Okay." Oh god, and now Melissa was really starting to panic. "If he's moving slow, or he's colder than normal, that's a bad sign."

"What do I do then?"

"Find Stiles and make him tell you what happened." Allison touched Melissa's arms in a gentle _, I-hope-this-is-reassuring_ way. "I'd say don't freak out on Scott, but you wouldn't, not if he was hurt."

"Oh, I freaked out on him pretty good," Melissa said.

"Yeah, but, you know. If he's hurt, you just activate your nurse-mom superpowers, okay?" Allison rubbed Melissa's arm. "I know how much you love Scott, and he knows it too. Just try to get him to start talking to you about the small stuff and then, when big stuff happens, he'll come to you."

"And if I don't know how to deal with the big stuff?"

"Call me, and I'll come deal with it."

That broke Melissa's tension. "No offense, Allison, but Scott's still a little tender about your breakup."

Allison let Melissa back off. "Sure, okay, but if there's, like, red caps at the door, he can still call me. I can deal with them."

Melissa turned her head. "Do I want to know what a red cap is?"

"Probably not," Allison said. "Forget I said anything."

"Right."

"Beacon Hills hasn't had red caps passing through since at least the fifties."

Melissa shook her head. "Okay, before I go tell Noah that you're going to live, there's one more thing."

Oh great. This was probably going to be about the nightmares. "What?"

Melissa met her eyes. "Noah said you're seeing someone?"

Allison's breath caught in her throat. In the future, the only really awkward conversation she'd had about her and Peter was with Melissa. After all, who wouldn't want to date someone who'd once dated your first boyfriend's mother? "Nope."

"Are they in school, with you?"

"No."

"Can I ask if you've known them for long?"

Allison let her head fall back. She was going to have a serious conversation with Noah about respecting her fucking privacy. "He. And yes, since I moved to Beacon Hills." It wasn't even a lie. It hadn't been long after she arrived in town that Peter had started trying to kill them all in his alpha form.

"Is he treating you okay?" Melissa was watching Allison very closely.

"Yes," Allison said. "He…" She tried to decide how much to tell Melissa. "Can I tell you something and it stays between us?"

"Medical confidentialiaty, right here," Melissa said instantly.

"Okay." Allison took a breath. "There's been a lot of bullshit in my life over the last year or so. A lot of that bullshit included what the Argents did to try to make me into a Hunter like them."

Melissa nodded, her face unreadable.

"Scott…" Allison rubbed her hands on her jeans. "Scott was one of the only things that kept me sane last year. And I know how much I hurt him with what I did, and there is nothing I can do to make up for that."

Melissa nodded again.

"I can't go back to how things were with Scott, too much has changed for me," Allison went on. "And I know that hurt Scott even more, and I'm sorry. The guy I'm seeing now, he's…" Allison looked at her hands. "He's gone through a lot of the same stuff as I have, and it's easier being with him. I don't have to pretend I'm someone I'm not anymore."

"Is he treating you right?" Melissa asked quietly.

Allison's lips twisted up into a smile she didn't really feel. "You could call it that. And I don't know if he respects me, exactly, but he respects the choices I make."

"Okay." Melissa exhaled. "That doesn't sound like a glowing character reference."

"Trust me, if he does anything to hurt me, I'm going to drop-kick him across the highway," Allison said. "Plus he's really good in bed."

"Wonderful," Melissa said. "So is now a great time for the sex talk?"

For fuck's sake. "I don't need the sex talk."

"Are you using protection?"

"I'm on depo."

"I know you know what I'm talking about." Melissa was getting annoyed.

"I can't catch an STI." Allison kicked her heels.

"Allison."

"Mrs. McCall."

Melissa shook herself. "Are you using drugs or alcohol?"

"No."

"Do you have any concerns about self-harm or depression? Do you feel unsafe?"

"No, and I've got a cadre of Hunters around town who are not exactly looking out for my wellbeing. I'm just worried about harm."

"Scott told me about them."

"They're after me, not him," Allison said. Melissa did not look reassured. "I live with Noah, I'm practically always surrounded. If anything happens, I'll handle things my way."

"And your way is…"

Allison smiled. She knew it was her grandfather's smile, that sharp edge that kept Victor Vasquez on top of the Los Angeles food chain as werewolf alpha long into his sixties. "Completely legal and above-board, ma'am."

Melissa looked at her for a long time. "Why did you jump in the way of that overdose victim last week?" she asked suddenly.

"What?" Allison frowned. "He was going to hurt himself."

"You were moving in his direction before he started freaking out."

"Oh, that." Allison relaxed. "There's a smell the body gives off when the brain goes into stress overload. It's like… the air tastes the way that magenta glitter looks under a UV light." Melissa was still staring at her. "I've seen people go through a drug-induced mental break, it's not pretty. I wanted to make sure Troy was okay."

Finally, Melissa nodded. "Okay."

"Can I go?" Allison asked.

"Yes. Let's go get you those oral salts."

Allison trailed along after Melissa, waited while Melissa put the blood samples in for processing, and then down the hall to the supply closet. With a firm "Wait here," Melissa disappeared inside, while Allison was left to cool her heels.

After a moment, a movement at the end of the hall caught Allison's attention. An orderly pushing a gurney approached slowly, one wheel sending out a squeak with every rotation.

Allison's hackles went up. She knew this man, knew that he used to give the Argent Hunters confidential medical information. Not even a Hunter himself, just someone who sold secrets for money.

Allison watched him approach, never blinking. He appeared nervous, glancing at her for a moment, then back to the hallway ahead of him, or the gurney. Allison kept watching him, like a wolf trying to decide if the squirrel crossing her path was worth her attention.

Not that she would do anything as crass as attack anyone in the hallway. A carefully placed word to Noah about the selling of hospital secrets should be enough.

The supply door opened. "Here we go," Melissa said, emerging with a small box in her hand. "Oh, hi Evan."

"Melissa," the man muttered, and kept walking.

"Allison?" Melissa said.

Allison kept her eyes on the orderly until he had turned a corner. "How long has he been here?" Allison asked, turning her head. She was making calculations about how to best broach the subject with Noah.

"Four years." Melissa's anxiety was spiking again. "Did something happen?"

"No." Allison stood away from the wall. "How much do I owe you for these?"

"I'll put it on the invoice," Melissa said, handing over the box. It held a number of brightly coloured packets. "Instructions are on the back."

Allison hesitated. "I don't have health insurance," she said, and handed the box back. "I can pay for the visit and the blood tests, but I don't—"

"We have your family's insurance on file," Melissa said. She pushed the box firmly into Allison's hands. "And Noah said that he could pay the bill in cash if that didn't work."

Allison stared down at the box of rehydration salts. Seeing Evan the Orderly had reminded her of just how angry she was at the Argents, at their whole stupid world, a world that hadn't stopped battering at her even as she tried to leave it. "Would the insurance bill have an itemized receipt of everything you did today?"

Melissa hesitated. "Just the equipment used. And the blood tests, which should be covered under your father's plan."

Allison looked up. "You know what? Run it against Chris's insurance. See what happens."

"If he refuses to pay—"

"Then I will. I want to see what he'll do."

"Allison—"

"Do you know we had to change insurance companies twice before I was twelve because I had maxed out my lifetime coverage?" Allison interrupted. Melissa pressed her lips together. "And contrary to public opinion, it was not because I was a clumsy child."

She held Melissa's gaze for a very long moment. "I'm sorry," Melissa finally said.

Allison looked away first. "It doesn't matter. It's over."

"Come on," Melissa said. "Let's go find Noah and he can get you home."

"Okay." Allison let Melissa guide her down the hall. "Thanks for doing this. I'm sure it wasn't part of your regular day.

Melissa glanced over. "A nurse's life is never ordinary, especially in a place like Beacon Hills."

"Yeah." Allison turned over the box in her hands. "There's not a lot ordinary about this town."

* * *

The car ride home was tense. Allison didn't feel like getting into things with Noah about how much of her personal business he had shared with Melissa. Noah was obviously distracted about work, only telling her that the night's homicide suspect, previously known as the confessed culprit, had lawyered up, and now things were complicated legally.

He dropped Allison off at the house. "Are you sure you're okay with this?" he asked as Allison gathered up the little box of rehydration salts. "Earlier today, you weren't sure about being home alone."

"Earlier today, I was about ready to pass out," Allison said. "Now, I'm awake, and kind of angry at the world. I'll hang out with the kitchen knives."

"Yes, just what any sheriff wants to hear," Noah grumbled. "Stiles is at lacrosse practice. I should be home around seven."

"We'll make dinner," Allison said, and got out of the cruiser. "Be careful."

Noah sighed. "The suspect is already in custody."

"I didn't mean physically." Allison closed the car door, and went up to the house. It was equal measures reassuring and irritating that Noah waited until she was inside to drive away.

First things first, Allison mixed a glass of the rehydration salts and made herself drink it down. It wasn't as bad as she had anticipated. That stuff she'd had in Azerbaijan in 2026 had tasted god-awful, but then, emergency medicine wasn't always pleasant.

Then she went to find her phone. The thing was still plugged in beside her bed, with over thirty new messages. At the rate her friends were burning through her text plan, she was going to have to put more money on the card before the weekend.

Most messages were asking why she wasn't in school. One from Erica was in all caps, I GOT THE JOB OMG. There was a string from Isaac in increasingly irritated tones about what the hell Allison thought she was doing, telling Jackson that Isaac would go live with him. Lydia sounded angry about being abandoned to suffer through gym class on her own. Boyd had sent a message saying that he'd give Stiles her math homework.

And there was a message from Derek.

_Do you want me to add you to the group chat._

As olive branches went, it was one that Allison had not expected. She typed back, _thank you very much maybe not yet, I'm almost out of texts on my phone. If you're still talking to me Friday, how about then?_

An instant response. _Why Friday._

_I get paid._

Nothing else from Derek. Allison tossed her phone onto the bed and looked around. School was over. She could do laundry, or start to get dinner ready, or any of a hundred tiny things around the house.

But Allison itched to be outside. Not since Friday had she had any time to herself out in the woods, and then she'd been chasing a monster.

She should stay home, stay safe. She as regrowing a gallon of blood, after all.

On the other hand, Stiles wouldn't be home until six.

Fuck it. She was going out.

Gearing up took only a few minutes, including packing up some of her knives, filling one of Stiles' sports bottles with more rehydration salts mixture, and braiding her hair back. Then she ducked out of the house with her helmet and gloves, and was on the road in another few seconds.

Without a destination in mind, Allison found herself heading in the direction of the forest preserve. That got her thinking about the Hale house. Had she really seen a ghost up there, in the middle of the night? She hadn't heard any reports that anyone else had seen spirits. Maybe she had been hallucinating.

She wished she could believe that ghosts weren't real, but Allison knew too much about the universe to deal in absolutes.

If any place in Beacon Hills had a right to be haunted, it was the Hale house.

She drove up the hill to the fork in the road, where the drive to the Hale house turned to gravel. She turned down the old service road to the old oak grove where she could hide her bike, then set out on foot for the half-mile hike to the Hale house with her water bottle in hand.

It was a sunny Tuesday in Beacon Hills, and the forest was alive with the sounds of wild animals. Off in the distance came the yip-yip of a coyote, higher up in the forest. Allison wondered if that was Malia Hale in her true coyote form.

If things tracked the way they had the last time she lived this year, it was going to be a busy one, with Cora returning, finding Malia in the woods, Kira moving to town. Allison wondered how things would be different. She hoped that things with Malia and Peter would go better this time – the journey of that particular father and daughter had been rocky, to say the least.

Allison wasn't particularly sure she'd be able to help – Malia had never been her biggest fan, especially after Allison and Peter started sleeping together.

Allison shook her head. Too much drama for one small town.

She paused on the crest of the hill, looking down at the burned-out husk of a house, mentally replacing the wreck with the new condo development that had been built in its place after Derek finally sold off the land. Sipping at the sports bottle, she made her way down toward the house.

Without warning, something attacked her from behind, dragging her off her feet to the ground. Teeth sank into her gut, grinding, ripping. When she tried to grab at the thing attacking her, her hand went through it as if through mist.

"Get off me!" she shouted, and then it was gone. Allison scrambled to her knees, hands to her gut, but there was no blood, no torn flesh.

A shimmer of movement beside her and Allison whirled, pulling her knife out.

A huge grey wolf stood before her, lips pulled back into an angry snarl. Only this wolf wasn't _real_ – it had no heartbeat; its growl made no sound.

Allison balanced on the balls of her feet. This thing might not be real, but she had certainly felt its teeth tear through her. "Back off!" Allison growled, the alpha rising in her. "Whatever you are, this is my territory."

The wolf's eyes flashed red as it sprang at her. Allison threw herself to the ground, slicing up with her knife and meeting no resistance. The wolf landed, circled back, and went for her again, this time biting down on Allison's knife-arm. Her body reacted as if the bite was real, and she dropped the knife.

"Stop it!" Allison shouted, all of her power behind the words. She flipped over, taking the now-somewhat tangible wolf with her. With her free hand, she grabbed the wolf's jaw and pulled as hard as she could.

The wolf dissolved into mist, leaving Allison alone. Her arm screamed with pain, but there was no blood.

Allison fumbled to pick up her knife. She was in serious trouble. Being attacked by a ghost wolf that could cause pain, but had no corporeal form to fight?

Oh yeah. This was bad.

The wolf took shape again, this time by the steps leading up to the front door. Its eyes burned red.

Allison braced herself. "I don't know who you are," she said, "But my name is Allison Stark and I am the Hale alpha and this is _my land_."

If anything, this pronouncement made the wolf angrier. It lunged, but with lightning speed, Allison ducked away. They circled each other.

"Are you Talia?" Allison asked. "Did I see you the last time I was up here in the house?"

The ghost wolf made a silent barking motion.

"Are you Laura?" Allison swapped her blade to her left hand. "Derek told me a bit about you, that—"

The wolf lunged again, catching Allison by the shoulder. She tried to jab the knife into where the ghost's body should be, but only succeeded in stabbing herself in the collarbone.

"What—" A sudden wave of understanding hit Allison. "Derek's okay! He's alive! I didn't kill him for his alpha mojo!"

The wolf vanished. Panting, Allison sat up, to see the wolf ten feet away by the steps again, staring at her.

And behind the wolf, standing just inside the burned out door, was the ghost of Talia Hale.

For along moment, everything was still. Then, slowly, Allison stood up. "Laura," she said to the wolf. "Talia." She sheathed her knife. "Hi."

Neither of them responded to her wave, just stared at her with red eyes that held the same fixed, dead anger.

"Derek really is alive," Allison went on, risking a closer step. "He's been texting me. I don't know if you can smell the truth on me, but it really is the truth. Derek is safe and I'm going to keep him that way."

The wolf cocked her head to the side. Talia just stared. Her ghostly visage was smudged with soot.

"Cora's alive, too," Allison said. The wolf made a hopeful little jump at this. "She wasn't in the house when it burned. She never told us how she got out, but she did, and she ran away. She's on her way back to town. Cora's safe."

The wolf jumped again, then trotted over to Allison's side. Allison put her hand out, wondering if she was imagining the ghostly fur under her fingers.

"And Peter's alive," Allison said. This earned her leg a nip. "Stop it!" The wolf laid its ears back. "I know he killed you. And then Derek killed him, right where we're standing. I don't know if that makes things even. Derek seems to think it does. But Derek is a little, uh. He's been through a lot."

The wolf licked her hand. The sensation was like walking through a spiderweb.

"I'm sorry you all died," Allison continued. "I really am."

Talia turned and walked into the house.

"Wait," Allison called. She picked up her sports bottle and ran up the stairs. She glanced back to see the wolf sitting at the bottom of the steps, making no move to follow. "Talia?"

She found the ghost in the same room where Kate had fallen, not standing so much as… existing. She was less solid than the wolf outside, but then, Talia had been dead for six years, while Laura had only died a year ago.

Allison wondered why she was trying to ascribe logic to the behaviour of ghosts.

"I'm sorry," Allison said. Talia didn't move, red eyes glowing in the dim shaded light. "I'm sorry you died, and I'm sorry everything's been going so badly around here. I'm going to protect Beacon Hills and everyone in it. That includes Derek and Cora, as much as they let me."

Talia stared.

"And Peter too," Allison continued. How much did ghosts know? "He's important to me. I'll take care of him."

Talia was suddenly very close to Allison.

Allison raised her chin to look Talia in the eye. "I know what he's done. I know who he is. And I know who he is to me."

The faint sound of a car engine caught Allison's attention. She turned, and when she looked for Talia, the ghost was gone.

"What the fuck?"

And then, because that was just her luck, her phone vibrated with the urgent staccato of Jarvis's alarm.

Hunters.

Allison whipped the phone out of her pocket. Her phone kept vibrating with incoming alerts. All five of Dupont's crew were on the approach, along with Chris Argent.

That was Allison's cue to bow out. She dashed to the back of the house, climbed through a broken old window, and bolted towards a stand of pine trees out back just as the black SUVs appeared in the drive. She ducked down, hiding behind the tree cover, as she plotted her escape. If push came to shove, she could make a break for the ravine fifty yards away.

The SUVs stopped, and out emerged Dupont's crew, as well as Chris with Paul Morgan and another of his lieutenants, Mike Zeng. They didn't appear to be in a hurry, so Allison let her spine relax just a fraction.

"This is the place your sister burned down," Dupont said, looking up at the house. Well. This was an interesting twist. Allison put the water bottle down to hear this one out.

"Yes," Chris said.

"No denials? No attempts to rationalize what she did?"

"No."

Allison sent off a quick message to Jarvis. _Thanks for the heads up I'm ok, just pinned down._

Jarvis's replied, _if you require any assistance, text or call me and I will send in the cavalry._

Jarvis was the best.

"Your _family_ ," and Dupont practically spat the last word, "Was supposed to be a stalwart of the Hunter code. And what happens? Your sister burns out a wolf's den in the most public way possible, drawing in how much police attention?"

A glimmer of shadowy fur, and Laura curled up beside Allison in ghostly wolf form. It was a comfort, in some small way.

"Your father, befriending a kanima for personal gain?" Dupont continued. Allison risked a peek out at the group. Mike and Paul stood at Chris's shoulders, while Dupont's men ranged around the clearing.

"My father's actions are not my responsibility," Chris said in a flat voice.

Dupont went on as if Chris hadn't spoken. "That's not even starting on the disgrace your daughter has been spreading all over town. I'd have expected that a child raised by Victoria would have had some better manners beaten into her."

A shaft of ice stabbed down Allison's spine. Dupont had known Victoria? This was _brand-new information_ and not at all reassuring. Allison slowly tucked her phone into her pocket, freeing her hands for her knives.

Chris took a deep breath. "Allison has her own take on the code."

Dupont's face contorted with anger. "A teenage slut who falls on her back for any passing monster does not get to reinvent the code!" he shouted. "The code has been esteemed and honoured for generations, and your daughter's actions are a disgrace!"

"One werewolf," Chris said, turning his head to glare at Dupont. He was keeping his temper with remarkable calm. "Allison dated one werewolf. Her boyfriend. That ended last year." He took a step forward, and Dupont fell back. "And Allison turned the code around because she didn't see a reason to not protect someone, anyone, who needs protecting."

"She wanders around this town with all those teenage wolves hanging off her, and you expect me to believe she's not fucking any of them?"

It was easy to see how far into the gutter Dupont's mind had fallen. Allison made herself stay steady.

A smile floated over Chris's face. "Those are her friends," he said derisively. "A concept that might be foreign to you. The reason she's with them is because she likes them for who they are."

"Animals."

"Children."

"They could slaughter an entire family in an instant."

"And yet, Beacon Hills remains murder free."

Dupont snarled. "Maybe the Argent I should be wondering about isn't your bitch of a daughter. Maybe it's you."

He stepped forward, his men suddenly alert. Mike and Paul both reached for their guns, but Chris didn't react. "Beacon Hills is my town, and I have told you on multiple occasions that you can leave at any time. I know my responsibilities."

"That's not how this works." Dupont smiled. "And you know that."

There was a screaming tension in the air, with too many hands on too many guns, and Allison had to do something. She might be annoyed at Chris, but she didn't want to see him hurt.

But she also had no desire to announce her solitary presence to a group of eight angry Hunters.

Dilemmas.

With one last glance at Laura's ghost, Allison made a decision. She took the sports bottle and hurled it as hard as she could at one of the house's remaining windows. The glass exploded inwards.

The Hunters jumped, drawing their weapons, all their attention focused on the house. Good. Allison gathered herself up and turned to run. As she did so, she caught Chris's eye. He stared at her, surprise warring with confusion, but Allison had no time. She flashed him a sharp smile and bolted.

It was only a few steps to the retaining wall that kept the Hale house from sliding into the ravine. Allison skittered down to the wall, and jumped the twenty feet to the ravine's rocky bottom. Then she ran as fast as she could towards the old service road. Her escape was followed neither by shouts nor bullets, so she was going to count that as a win.

She made it back to her bike in record time, and didn't bother with helmet or gloves, just tucked her helmet between her belly and the bike as she peeled out. Not until she made it to the main road did Allison stop on the shoulder to put on her helmet, before driving the rest of the way home at a somewhat legal speed.

In the intervening days, Allison had almost forgotten the menace of Dupont and his crew. Even her sleep-deprived paranoia that morning over staying in the house alone had been more of a hind-brain response.

But the scene at the Hale house was a stark reminder that Allison was in danger, and would be until Dupont and his crew were dealt with.

She pulled up to the Stilinski house, parked her bike, and was inside and running up the stairs in another moment, prying off her helmet as she went. She dove into her bedroom to yank out the seven-inch knife, pick up the hatchet which, while dull, could be used in close-quarters combat, then ran back downstairs to look outside.

Nothing.

Panting with adrenaline and the thrill of the chase, Allison dug out her phone to text Jarvis. _Where are the phones you were monitoring?_

 _In the same location as they were before your departure,_ Jarvis wrote back. _Is all well?_

_Yeah I'm home now thanks. You're a lifesaver._

_Anything I can do to assist._

Allison put her phone on the table, hefting the hatchet. As the thrill of the fight wore down, she was starting to ache in ways that worried her. Keeping one eye on the window, Allison pulled off her jacket.

There were fang marks on her arm.

Allison looked at the marks, skin red where Laura's ghost teeth had sunk into her. Then she lifted her shirt to see at the same marks on her torso, where Laura had chomped down.

How was this even possible?

"Really?" Allison called to the universe in general. "Now ghosts can hurt me?"

As was the nature of the universe, ready answers were not forthcoming.

Allison went to mop up the dried blood from where she'd stabbed herself trying to fight Laura. As she started to get dinner ready, she thought about what had passed between Chris and Dupont. It was a little weird that Dupont had focused on what Kate and Gerard Argent had done. Mixing that level of violence and murder with Allison's life choices seemed harsh.

After all, what had Allison really done that was so scandalous in the eyes of the Hunter code? Bopped a couple of werewolves? All the really salacious stuff she'd been up to wasn't anything Chris or Dupont were privy to, like hunting down monsters, or that whole human alpha thing.

Or time travel.

Allison shook her head. It had been a very strange day. Hunters aside, Allison wasn't sure what to make of the revelation that the ghosts of two Hale alphas were lurking around the house. It was not something that she'd had to handle the first time around, and that discrepancy bothered her.

How was she able to see them? Was it that she, too, was a Hale alpha? But then why hadn't Derek or Peter seen the ghosts up at the house? Allison had never met Laura Hale in life, but she was pretty sure that the ghost wolf that had gnawed on her that day would have loved to have taken a chunk out of Peter after he'd killed her.

It was all too weird.

By the time Stiles arrived home, Allison had decided to keep the tidbit about the ghosts to herself, at least until she had more information.

Stiles burst into the house in a cacophony of sound. "Allison?"

"Kitchen."

Stiles clattered in, still in his lacrosse uniform, covered in sweat and grass stains. "I think Finstock is trying to kill me," he gasped, letting his gear bag fall to the ground. "I need hydration."

"I drank all the gatorade," Allison told him.

Stiles leaned back in his chair, making dying whale noises. "Water."

"Hang on." Allison mixed up another batch of the rehydration mixture, drank half, then handed the rest to Stiles. "Ingest."

"Gross." Stiles finished off the glass in one swallow. "What the hell was that?"

"Medical grade rehydration." Allison got Stiles another glass, this one full of water, and sat beside him. "Please don't die. Who will I swap notes with in history?"

"Jackson and Danny, duh." Stiles wiggled his way to an upright position. "Speaking of which, oh my god, you missed a _day_."

Gleefully, Stiles told Allison about the epic confrontation between Isaac and Jackson at lunch, during which Jackson's invitation for Isaac to live with the Whittemores had not been met with glowing approval. Things had deteriorated further over the afternoon, until the day's events culminated in Jackson getting Isaac into a headlock in the middle of gym class.

"It was a thing of beauty," Stiles said. "So there's Jackson and Isaac, writhing around on the ground, and Erica's cheering them both on and Lydia looks like she wants to melt into the floor in embarrassment. Scott kept asking if he should get involved. And Mr. Barton's just standing there."

"What happened?" Allison asked, biting her nail.

"Danny wades in, pokes Jackson in the back and slaps Isaac on the head, and he's all, watching you two kittens flop around is getting boring, let's play volleyball."

"No one got hurt?"

"Just Isaac and Jackson's pride," Stiles said. He stood up and went to the fridge. "Anyway, at the end of lacrosse practice, Lydia and Erica stuffed Isaac into Lydia's car and drove him over to Jackson's. End of story."

Allison hoped that it was. "What else happened?"

"Well, um." Stiles returned with the containers of leftovers. "Everyone was kind of talking about how you smack-talked Captain America yesterday. I heard someone say that Dad arrested you for treason, that's why you weren't in school."

Allison shrugged. "I slept for five hours in your father's office then had to suffer through a medical exam by Melissa. I wish I'd been arrested."

Stiles shoved a leftover pork-chop into his mouth. "Why'd you go see Melissa?"

"Your dad made me." Allison took the container of steamed vegetables. Stiles made no move to stop her. "Then I got home and went up to the Hale house and was almost caught by Dupont and team."

Stiles almost choked. "What?"

Quickly, Allison outlined the event up at the Hale house, omitting any supernatural details.

Stiles looked worried, but he continued to chew. "Is this bad?"

"I don't know how much worse it could get. At least it doesn't sound like Dupont's clowns give a fuck about the werewolves."

"Just you."

"Just me." Allison considered. "And maybe Chris."

"Great." Stiles grabbed some steamed broccoli. "Are you going to school tomorrow?"

"Probably."

"I got your homework." As Stiles dove for his bag, Allison prodded at the fang marks on her arm. They had faded to almost nothing. Allison supposed that was good… Until the next time the ghost of Laura Hale started chewing on Allison.

Why was her life so complicated?

Noah got home half an hour later, just as Stiles was returning from a post-lacrosse shower. "Allison," Noah said, putting his travel mug into the sink.

"Noah."

He handed her a little brown bag. "Melissa's orders."

With a frown, Allison looked into the bag. Inside were bottles of vitamins.

"She dropped them off at the station after her shift," Noah went on. "Apparently your iron levels are dangerously low."

"And therein lies the irony." Allison pulled the bottle of B-12 out of the bag. "Stiles, water."

"Get it yourself," Stiles said, running his hands through his hair.

"Didn't you hear? I'm dying."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "No one who's dying would be so sarcastic about it." But he went to the sink anyway.

"Excuse you."

"Stiles," Noah said, putting his hands on the back of a chair. Stiles stopped dead. "Son. I have to say. I'm disappointed."

Stiles' eyes went wide. He stared at Allison, obviously mentally reviewing what nefarious deeds he'd been attempting to hide from his father.

Allison settled back to watch the show.

"I know I was working late yesterday, but today? Not a text. Not a phone call." Noah reached into his pocket.

Stiles gulped audibly.

Noah pulled out his phone and turned it towards them. The screen showed the picture taken the previous day of Stiles with Steve Rogers, holding the shield. "Captain America was at your school and I have to find out about it on your Facebook? Stiles, how have we grown so far apart?"

Stiles nearly collapsed. "Dad, you were busy!" the boy exclaimed. "And yeah, it was cool and all, but did anyone tell you how Allison verbally eviscerated the man?"

"Don't bring me into this," Allison said sharply.

"No, Dad, it was epic," Stiles enthused. "We might be having chicken tonight, but Captain America got _roasted_ yesterday."

"For fuck's sake," Allison said. "All I said was that the symbol of the shield was tarnished by decades of political propaganda!"

"You said that Steve Rogers was twenty pounds of fight in a five-pound bag!" Stiles reminded her. "To his face!"

Noah looked at her.

"What? I was having a bad day," Allison said. "Anyway, he asked."

Noah settled into his chair. "All right, you miscreants. Want to tell me what else I've been missing around here?"

Allison and Stiles looked at each other. Stiles lifted his eyebrows, and Allison narrowed her eyes in response. Then they both turned to Noah. "Nothing," they said in unison.

Noah scrubbed at his face. "Out with it."

"Stiles asked Steve about aliens in New York," Allison said, deliberately turning the conversation away from her afternoon.

"Allison kept calling him Mr. America!"

"Stiles told him that his movies were terrible!"

"Allison said Captain America was a patriotism muppet!"

"Kids," Noah cut them off. Apprehension slithered down Allison's spine. But all Noah said was, "How about dinner and some homework, all right?"

Stiles jumped up. "Setting the table means no washing the dishes."

"Hey, I made dinner!" Allison shouted after him. She turned to Noah. "Thanks for letting me crash at the office today. I think I needed it."

Noah smiled at her. "I'm glad you're feeling better."

Allison smiled back. As Noah left the kitchen to change before dinner, Allison rubbed at the ghost fang marks on her belly. Things were getting more complicated in Beacon Hills, and she didn't know how far all of her changes to the timeline would twist things.

She just hoped that she could keep everyone safe.

And barring that… Maybe just keep everyone alive.

(Except the ghosts. They were on their own.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chris Argent in this chapter_ : I will take these antagonistic Hunters who are after my daughter far out of town to face off with them, to the one place I can make sure Allison will not be.  
>  _Chris_ : *finds his daughter lurking by the Hale house and causing mischief* what the actual fuck.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allison finds out what Lydia, Stiles and Erica have been researching, and it’s about as bad as it could get. Both Allison and Stiles continue to alienate Scott. Allison and Peter have a civilized cup of coffee that includes Allison sharing her literary opinions with a man who was in a coma for the entirety of the Twilight series. Also, and finally: Chris Argent vs. Peter Hale.

* * *

Allison was up before the sunrise on Wednesday, using the quiet time to pick away at her history essay. She'd finished all the math homework for the month already, and computer science was such a mixed bag that she just let it come. Biology was the only class that worried her, and that had more to do with Mr. Arthurs' irrational dislike of her than anything academically related.

So, she sat on the open windowsill, notebook balanced on her knees, and wrote as the sun rose over Beacon Hills.

It was nice, to have a few minutes of quiet where no one was trying to kill her. Almost like a vacation. Allison tried to think about how long ago it had been since she'd had a vacation, a real one. Probably Sam Wilson's retirement tour, which had really just been an excuse for Sam, Bucky, and half of A-Force to spend a week in various tropical locations (and in various states of inebriation) until Sam had officially handed off the Captain America shield to Bucky with speech that had consisted of, " _Good luck, I can't think of a better person to protect the galaxy_." There had been some tears, mostly from the men, then Kate Bishop had jumped up onto Allison's shoulders and shouted, " _Let's party!"_ while Sam pushed Bucky into the pool.

Allison missed them so much her bones ached.

But she focused on her homework. If she got the essay all done, she could spend the afternoon trying to figure out what her next steps were going to be around the Extremis-Hydra conundrum. She hadn't heard anything from Jarvis on if Steve Rogers got the point of her note, or if he had made his way to Malibu to help Tony.

By Allison's vague recollection, the first sign of the Mandarin and all the subsequent attacks had started in early December. She hoped that Tony would be able to do something to change that course of history; to save those lives.

Should she be doing something more? Should she be going after Hydra herself? She might not have any money, weapons, backup, armour, or authority, but she had knowledge, and that had to count for something. Right?

Maybe, if there hadn't been any progress on the Extremis front by the end of the month, Allison would pack a bag and go knocking on Tony's front door herself. She'd be eighteen by then, and could drop out of school if the future of the world depended on it.

Down the hall, Allison heard Stiles' phone ring. She frowned. It was barely six o'clock. Who would be calling Stiles this early? She couldn't hear the conversation through two closed doors, just mumbles.

She hoped everyone was okay.

The mumbles eventually ended. Stiles' bedroom door opened, but instead of the boy heading down the hall to the bathroom, his footsteps neared Allison's room.

Then he knocked. "Allison?" came a whisper.

Allison put her homework aside and went to open the door. Stiles blinked at her, half sleepy, half exhilarated. "What is it?" she asked.

Stiles scrubbed at his eyes. "So. How would you feel about going to school early today?"

Allison leaned against the doorframe. "Why?"

"Just because."

"Stiles."

Stiles sighed. "Okay, maybe there's this thing that me and Erica and Lydia have been working on."

"The mystery research project?"

"Yes."

"What about it?

Stiles looked shifty. "We need your help for the next part."

"And it has to be before school?"

"You're already awake."

"Fine." Allison pushed off the wall. "But I get the first shower."

Stiles groaned. "Hurry up, okay?" He went back down the hall to his room.

Allison showered quickly, then went back to her bedroom to find something to wear. She wasn't working at the sheriff's station after school, but she did have to get to the bank to set up a new account, so she could get paid on Friday.

The details of living in the past were more often boring than annoying.

But the time it would take in going to the bank probably ruled out a trip to Peter's place before returning home for dinner. Allison made a face at her wardrobe as the disappointment at that curled through her stomach. It wasn't even the sex that she was missing. It was _Peter_ , being around him, listening to him editorialize on the stupid shit in the world, relating things that he'd read about to her, theorizing about what was going on, and always, always trying to figure things out.

God, she even missed listening to him explain things about the supernatural to her that she had known about for years.

"Stupid Peter Hale and his stupid face," Allison muttered, pulling one of Erica's worn-thin flannel shirts off a hanger. And Peter's mouth, and his hands, and all his other various body parts up to and including his dick. Allison spent the rest of the time getting dressed fantasizing about Peter's skills in bed, and by the time she was ready to leave, she was more than a little cranky at having to spend the day, well, uncranked.

Irritated at herself and at the California state educational system, Allison stomped quietly downstairs.

Stiles was already in the kitchen, shoving his homework into his bag. Noah sat at the kitchen table, still in his pajamas, trying to drown himself in a cup of coffee. "Morning," Allison called, stopping by the fridge to pull out the previous night's leftover chicken. "Day off?"

"Finally." Noah eyed her as she attempted to shove half a chicken breast into her mouth. "Stiles said you two are going in early?"

"Apparently," Allison said around her mouthful.

"Come on, Dad, I told you." Stiles absently pushed Allison's vitamin bottles in her direction. "Research for a school project."

"Because I know how interested in school projects you are at quarter to seven in the morning," Noah said.

"Dad!" Stiles protested. Allison poured out the suggested pills into her palm, and slammed them back with some water. "This is important. Lydia and Erica—"

"Oh," Noah said with sudden understanding.

A horrified expression crossed Stiles' face. "Ew, no!"

Allison shook her head as she got another glass of water. "Everyone knows that you like Lydia, Stiles. It's practically engraved on your binders."

Stiles made a dive for his backpack. "I'll see you at school," he said, and bolted.

Allison shook her head. "I'll keep him out of trouble," she said to Noah.

Noah smiled. "Now that is an undertaking I would not wish on anyone."

"It's okay, I like it." Allison gave him a wave. "See you tonight."

Noah raised his coffee cup in a farewell.

Allison caught up with Stiles outside. "Sorry I'm teasing you," she said. "I know that you like Lydia. I didn't know that about Erica, though."

Stiles attempted to step up into the jeep, and stumbled. "Shut up, she smells nice."

"Yeah, but you never said anything." Allison watched Stiles turn a bright red, and suddenly remembered something the boy had said the previous week. "Oh, no."

Stiles flung himself into the jeep. "Gotta go."

Allison held the door so he couldn't close her out. "Is this about Lydia and Erica, or Lydia _and_ Erica?"

Stiles turned a shade of cerise that Allison had never seen in his face before. "Let go of the door," he hissed.

"Stiles Stilinski, you _dog,"_ Allison said. She let Stiles close the door of the jeep, mortification oozing off him. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone."

Stiles sent her a glare, then backed out of the driveway onto the road before driving off.

Allison chuckled to herself as she donned helmet and gloves, then started her motorcycle. She would never tell Stiles that Erica would probably be able to smell any salacious interest on Stiles' part. He'd probably already worked that out himself.

Allison drove off into the sunrise, navigating the quiet streets with ease. She took a different route to school than the one Stiles normally drove, taking a few more minutes but avoiding both the train tracks and the gravel patch by the reservoir. When she finally pulled into the high school parking lot, it was to find Stiles arguing with Lydia. Erica leaned against the side of Lydia's car and yawned.

Allison pulled her bike into the spot by the door, turned off the engine, and dismounted. Even with the helmet on, she could make out Lydia arguing to _tell her everything_ and Stiles somehow objecting to this idea.

Allison sighed, all of her early morning languor falling away. Whatever was going on, was probably going to be tiresome, if not outright annoying.

"Teenagers," she said to herself, and pulled her helmet off. Shaking out her hair, Allison strode over to where her friends were comporting themselves.

"Morning," Erica yawned, standing away from the car. She tucked herself under Allison's arm, resting her head on Allison's shoulder. Allison gave her an absent squeeze, not liking the way Lydia glared at them.

"Good morning, Erica," Allison said, keeping eye contact with Lydia. "Good morning, Lydia."

Lydia tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Allison."

"Great!" Stiles said, spreading his hands. "Let's all go inside!"

"The school is still locked," Erica said. She went to go get her backpack from Lydia's car. "Why did we have to do this so early?"

"Because," Lydia hissed. "There is important and relevant _context._ "

Allison spotted Richard the janitor unlocking the school's main entrance. The man opened the door to peer out at the teenagers. "What are you doing here?" he called down the steps.

Stiles gestured around. "An education is the most important thing for a young mind."

"At seven-fifteen in the morning?" The man shook his head. "If I see any messes or vandalism, I'm going to have to have a talk with you kids." He went back into the school.

"Come on," Stiles said. "Inside!"

Lydia harrumphed, then grabbed Erica by the arm and the two of them walked up the stairs together. Allison motioned for Stiles to precede her. "I mean, I thought you'd like the view better," she said under her breath.

Stiles squealed in protest, his face pink. Allison noted that he did manage to keep his eyes averted from watching Erica and Lydia walk for almost all the climb into the school.

Almost all of it.

They walked through the empty halls, Lydia and Stiles practically vibrating with suppressed excitement. That alone would have worried Allison. At least Erica was still trying to wake up and not contributing to the frenetic energy.

"Where are we going?" Allison asked.

"To get something from my locker," Lydia said. "Then we'll find a classroom."

"Would one of you please tell me what is going on?"

Lydia tskd. "In a minute."

"Trust me," Stiles said. His grin was more than a little unnerving. "It's worth it."

Allison looked at Erica, who shrugged. "I thought we should have told you on Monday after school."

Lydia whirled. "We didn't have all the information then," she snapped.

Erica blinked off her exhaustion to glare back at Lydia. "This isn't about one of your puzzles, this is her _life._ "

Oh, Allison had a really bad feeling about this. "Enough," Allison said with force. "Lockers, then you all tell me everything."

Lydia spun and strode off, Stiles at her heels. Erica hunched her shoulders and followed them.

Allison considered going back outside, getting on her bike, and driving to Malibu. Dropping in on Tony out of the blue might be less terrible than whatever was going on here.

At the wall of lockers, Allison divested herself of helmet, gloves, and backpack. She noted how Lydia and Stiles held a whispered conversation mainly of wordless hisses, which ended up with them each clutching what looked like paper photocopies. Erica's hands were empty.

"Now," Lydia announced. "A room."

The closest classroom was the chemistry lab. Allison let herself be bundled inside, then Stiles closed the door behind them.

"Sit down," Stiles said.

Allison crossed her arms over her chest. "No. You three need to tell me what the fuck is going on, and now."

There was enough alpha in her voice that Erica winced. Lydia rolled her eyes. "Fine." She poked Stiles in the back. "You start."

"Why me?" Stiles squeaked.

"Because you started this!"

"Right." Stiles turned to Allison, and something in his expression made her stomach drop.

"What did you do?" she whispered.

"Nothing!" Stiles protested. "I just… maybe, may have told Lydia and Erica that thing you told me. About you having brown eyes. And Victoria and Chris having blue eyes."

Time stopped for one long crystalized moment. Allison took an involuntary step back as the full implications of what that could mean hit her. Combined with the research Erica and Lydia had been doing, and their handfuls of photocopied pages…

If these three teenagers had been wandering around town asking questions they shouldn't be, and if any of the Hunters found out…

If Maurice Dupont found out…

"Allison?" Erica said, her voice trembling.

Allison pressed her hands over her mouth. If Dupont found out that she was Clara Vasquez's human daughter, raised by the Argents, she would be dead in an hour.

The alpha roared in her chest, anger and fear pulling up her power. In two quick steps she was between Lydia and Stiles, yanking the papers out of their hands. "Wait," Lydia protested as Allison flipped through the pages. "I have to explain."

The first two were copies of newspaper articles. The third…

The third page was a photocopy of Clara's photograph, under the screaming headline, _Tony Stark's Pregnant Fiancée Killed in Animal Attack_.

Allison wondered if she might actually throw up.

"Allison," Stiles said weakly. "We—"

"Shut up," Allison ordered. She slapped the papers against Stiles' chest, pushing him back a step. "No one says another goddamned word until we are some place that no one can hear us."

"Where?" Erica asked.

Allison pushed her hair back. She wanted her knives. She wanted her body armour and all of A-Force at her back. "Downstairs."

She turned on her heel and strode out of the classroom, so angry that she was shaking. What had Stiles _done?_ How many breadcrumbs had he dropped behind in his wake? How much of her life had he dug up and just left by the side of the road for anyone to find?

Her anger was pulling up her hypervigilance. She could hear the three teenagers behind her, every squeak of their shoes, every breath they took. She could also hear voices in other parts of the school, teachers in early, the administrative staff settling in for the day.

She had to get to a safe place, where she could be sure that no one would be able to overhear them.

At the stairs, she headed down to the basement. By now, Lydia was practically running to keep up. "Where are we going?" Stiles asked.

Allison didn't answer. She walked past the boiler room, to the door that had ELECTRICAL – DO NOT ENTER written on a strip of duct tape on it, and jiggled the handle while kicking the bottom corner of the door to force the lock. The door opened with a rusty creak. Allison didn't bother turning on the lights, just groped for one of the emergency flashlights on the shelf and turned it on. "In," she ordered. Erica, Stiles and Lydia shuffled inside. "Close that door."

"I don't think this is such a great idea," Stiles said, but he pulled the door closed. "Why are we hiding in here?"

"We're not." Allison went to the back of the room and pushed the old shelving unit out of the way to reveal the door that lead from the school into the tunnels below Beacon Hills.

"Oh my god, no," Lydia moaned when Allison shoved the door open. "No, I am not going in there."

"It's just a tunnel," Allison said, shining the light around the old space. This part of the tunnels were built of brick and timber, and the air smelled dry. "No one can sneak up on us this way." She walked into the tunnel, carrying the flashlight. After a full minute, the three followed her with extreme reluctance.

Lydia yipped when Allison closed the door back into the school. She walked about fifty feet down the tunnel to a Y-junction, and hung a left. She stopped at the back entrance to the Hale vault, the wall covered in flaking dust that hid the tell-tale triskelion.

"Sit," Allison ordered, and plopped herself onto the ground.

"No," Lydia objected.

Allison put the flashlight on the ground, pointing straight up at the ceiling, then pulled off her leather jacket. She threw it at Stiles. "Lydia can sit on this."

"Okay, so, you're starting to freak me out," Stiles said as he spread the jacket on the ground. Erica had already sat down, unconcerned about sitting cross-legged even in that short of a skirt. "Like, a lot."

"Good." Allison waited until everyone was seated at quarter points around the flashlight. She stared between the three of them. "I am going to say something, and you are all going to listen, and then you can talk. Okay?"

"Okay," Stiles and Erica said.

Lydia was glaring at Allison. "Why are we here?"

"Because right here, I can hear anyone coming from a mile away," Allison said. "And I need you to understand that no one, _no one_ , can know what I'm about to tell you."

"Why?" Erica asked.

"Because if anyone else finds out, I'm in danger." Allison put her hands on her knees. "I am not joking around."

"How?" Lydia asked, baffled.

Stiles bit at his thumb. "What's going on?"

"Okay." Allison took a deep breath. God, she had told so many people so many different lies that she didn't know what to keep straight anymore. "That picture you have? Those articles?"

"The picture of the woman who looks exactly like you?" Lydia pointed out acerbically.

Allison stared at her. "The woman who was torn to shreds in a ravine in L.A.? The pregnant woman whose baby was ripped out of her womb the day before my birthday?"

Erica hunched over herself.

"Hunters tell stories about what animals werewolves are, how all they're born for is slaughter," Allison continued. "And they point to what happened in Los Angeles after the heir to the Vasquez wolf pack died in 1994 as evidence."

Stiles' eyes were huge. "Clara Vasquez was a werewolf?" he whispered.

"She was." Allison had to look down at her hands. "After she was killed, the werewolves in southern California went to war. I don't—"

Her voice broke, the memory of seeing the crime scene photos of Clara's bloodied and broken body so fresh in her mind.

She tried again. "Half the werewolves in southern California died. The place had been a tinderbox for years, and when Clara Vasquez died, everything exploded."

"Hunters talk about that?" Stiles asked.

"Yeah." Allison curled her hands into her pant-leg. "Some of them think it's funny, what happened." She breathed in the scents of dust and dried earth, of Stiles and Erica and Lydia, so alive. "And until yesterday I thought it was just another story."

"What happened yesterday?" Stiles asked.

Allison smoothed out her pantleg. Her hands ached. "I was at the sheriff's station, and there was a file on Noah's desk. It was Clara Vasquez's file, and it had the coroner's report and pictures and there was just this picture of her and I thought it was my photo at first, and I didn't understand…" She stopped, a ball of ice in her throat.

The first time she'd lived the revelation of her parentage, it had been at the sheriff's station, with Stiles at her side, and at the time she had been more focused on the fact that Chris wasn't her father, that _Tony Stark_ was her father, that she hadn't thought about her dead mother. The fallout from that had happened more slowly, with the revelations and realizations pulled slowly and painfully into her consciousness.

Now, she had known Tony was her father for over twenty-six years. But her mother's murder bit deep into her, like Laura Hale's ghostly fangs, sinking into her guts without leaving any visible scars.

"Wait, why does Dad have that file?" Stiles asked. "We didn't—I didn't tell him—"

"I don't know," Allison said. "But there's more."

"Is it about your father?" Erica asked. "Do you know who… who that could be?"

Allison nodded. She pulled her leg up to her chest, wishing in vain that her guts would stop aching. "Clara Vasquez was a werewolf, and Tony Stark was human. Any daughter they'd have would be human, but all her children would be werewolves, even if their father was human." She pressed her hand against her knee. "Hunters like Dupont, they say that a girl like that looks human, but isn't anything but a monster inside."

"Do they…" Lydia fumbled her words. "What would they do to a girl like that?"

Allison glanced up. Lydia now looked truly and properly horrified, and it cut Allison to the core. "Someone like Dupont? Or Gerard?" Stiles flinched. "They'd kill her."

"And if that someone was you?" It was Stiles who asked the question. Of course it was Stiles.

She reached out to him, sitting on her right side. "If Dupont thinks there's even a chance that I was born under the dark of the moon, he's not going to stop until I'm dead."

Stiles gripped her hand. "That's not going to happen," he vowed. His dark eyes were hard in the illumination from the flashlight. "If he comes after you, we'll kill him first."

Allison thought wistfully to her past, when Maurice Dupont had died messy, impaled on a tree-stump in the middle of the forest. "That means a lot. I mean, don't do anything stupid."

"Dark of the moon?" Lydia asked. "What does that mean?"

"It's a thing werewolves say," Allison said, drawing her hand away from Stiles.

"I've never heard Derek say it," Erica put in.

Great. Now Allison had to lie without lying, because Erica would know. "One of the guys I was around last month, he told me a lot about how werewolves are."

It wasn't a lie, because Allison had been around Bucky the previous month, and he had been her source for so much of what she knew about werewolves, the information that Peter tended to hoard to himself, or that her aunt Anna thought wasn't something for her tender ears.

"Wait," Stiles said. "The guy you knew last month? The one who—" He stopped abruptly when he saw Allison's face. "The one who died?"

Allison balled up her fist in her pantleg again. There was a different sort of pain in her chest now, pushing out the old, dull ache of Clara's murder. This was losing Bucky, a pain as fresh and bright as a lightning strike.

She breathed out. "A girl with a werewolf mother and a human father, she can never be a werewolf, so they say she was born under the dark of the moon."

Erica's hand settled on Allison's arm. "Not even if you're bitten by an alpha?"

"No." Allison turned her hand over to grip Erica's. "If an alpha bites me, it'll just hurt." She considered. "Mostly them, because I'd hit them a lot."

Lydia blew out a breath. "So you're telling me that we did all this research for nothing?"

Erica snarled at her. Allison shook her head. "No, not nothing. I didn't know about the articles. Just what I heard Hunters say, and what was in the police file."

Stiles bounced his hand on his leg. "You could look at them, if you want." He pushed the papers over to her.

Allison took the pages. "I'll look at them after school."

Lydia folded her hands under her chin. "So are we going to talk about how you got from a Los Angeles hillside to a dark tunnel under the high school?"

"Lydia," Stiles said sharply.

"No, it's fine." Allison looked across the flashlight beam at Lydia. "When I was born, Chris was on a business trip. He didn't come home for a week after. I can't see how he had anything to do with it." She squeezed Erica's hand.

"What about…" Lydia gulped. "Victoria?"

Allison had to close her eyes on a wave of remembered fury toward Victoria Argent. It took her a moment to respond. "Victoria told everyone that I was born at home." She pulled her hand out of Erica's. "Like, I don't even know why she bothered. She never seemed to like me very much."

"I guess once you murder someone and steal their baby and start a civil war, you've kind of committed," Stiles said. Both Erica and Lydia glared at him. "What?"

"He's not wrong." Allison put her hand over her mouth. "I'm sorry I freaked out on you all. I'm just… seeing the file in Noah's office yesterday screwed with my head."

"You said there were coroner's photos?" Erica asked. "Of… of your mom?"

Allison nodded.

"Were they bad?"

"Yeah."

Erica looked miserable. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Allison leaned over to hug Erica. "I'm mad at the situation. And at the world. And the Argents. Not you guys."

"About that."

Allison pulled back to glare at Stiles. "What?" she demanded.

Stiles and Lydia were looking at each other guiltily. "We didn't exactly find this stuff on our own," Lydia said.

Allison's heart sank. "Who?" she demanded. Oh god, if it was Derek, that was going to be a disaster.

"Um."

"It was Danny," Erica blurted out. "We needed his dad's alumni library card to get access to the newspaper database."

Allison considered. Danny, she could handle. She'd be seeing him in history class, anyway. "I'll talk to him."

"Are you okay with that?" Stiles asked. "I mean, I don't think he knows what was going on."

Allison sighed. "Stiles, Danny is the smartest person in this school," she said, over Lydia's horrified face. "He notices everything. He's probably put together more mysteries about this town than Stiles' dad."

"Yeah, but not everything," Stiles said. "Right?"

Allison folded the papers into a square. "Go ask him."

"But he never says anything," Stiles protested.

"He knows how to stay in his lane." Allison stood up. "Come on, class is going to start soon and we need to get upstairs."

"How do you know that?" Erica asked, letting Allison haul her up.

"The vibrations." Allison pointed up. "More feet upstairs."

"Okay, but how do you know that?" Lydia demanded. She glared at Stiles until the boy gave her his hand. "I thought you said you weren't special."

"But she's something, otherwise how would she have killed the wendigo like Derek said?" Erica asked Lydia.

Lydia gestured at Allison. "She's right there. Ask her!"

Stiles opened his mouth, then shut it again. Neither of the girls seemed to notice. "Tell you what," Allison said. Erica and Lydia turned to her. "As soon as I figure it out, I'll tell you."

Erica cocked her head. "Promise?"

"I promise." Allison picked up her jacket from the ground, then grabbed the flashlight. "And then we'll tell Derek and he will stop looking at me with that sour expression." She looked around. "Am I going first, or am I bringing up the rear?"

The three teenagers couldn't scamper down the tunnel fast enough.

They made their way back through the tunnel's secret entrance and to the basement, where they all took a few moments to dust themselves off. "Hey, Allison, how did you know about that tunnel?" Stiles asked, watching Erica brush dirt off her butt.

Allison hit him in the arm. "Eyes front," she said. "How do you think that Peter kept getting into the school last year?"

Stiles' eyes went wide. "Really?"

"Time for class," Allison said, and took Erica and Lydia by the arms to guide them upstairs. Stiles scuttled behind.

"Are you really not mad at us?" Erica asked.

"I'm not mad," Allison said.

"But what if someone finds out and goes after you?" she pressed. On Allison's other side, Lydia clutched at her arm.

"If I really am the baby in those news stories?" Allison considered. "Let's put it this way. Clara Vasquez took out three rogue omegas on her own when she was fifteen. Tony Stark built an Iron Man suit in a cave from a box of scraps with a chest full of shrapnel from his own weapons. If anyone comes after me, they are going to find out exactly how much of my parents' daughter I am."

"Oh my god," Stiles moaned. "That was _brilliant."_

"Class," Allison ordered. "I have history first, and I have no doubt that I'm going to have to deal with Captain America bullshit."

"Did he really smell that good?" Erica asked.

Allison shrugged. "I guess?" Allison had only been able to smell the vibranium from the shield for most of the class; she hadn't been interested in sniffing Steve Rogers.

"Oh, yes, he totally did," Stiles said, hurrying up beside Erica. "So good. Like apple pie and freedom."

Allison shook her head. "He did not."

"Maybe it was the warm glow of patriotism, then," Stiles said.

"Oh, good," Erica said, stopping by the big window that looked out over the parking lot. "Jackson and Isaac didn't kill each other last night."

The four of them watched Isaac crawl out of the passenger side of Jackson's car. When Jackson emerged from his own side, the two boys gave each other an irritated glare, then went in separate directions.

Lydia groaned, letting go of Allison's arm. "I've got Jackson if you've got Isaac," she said to Erica.

"Deal." Erica detached herself from Allison. "See you in biology."

"Bye." Allison waited until Erica and Lydia had vanished into the growing crowd, before turning to Stiles. He started to say something, then stopped. "Um."

Allison took a step towards the boy, so close her knee was brushing up against his. "Stiles."

"You're going to tell me that I shouldn't have told them about the eye thing," he said.

She looked at him.

"And that I should have told you about that stuff we found about Clara when we found it."

She kept looking at him.

"I just thought…" Stiles bit his lip. "That we could do something to help you. That if you knew where you came from, then…"

"Then what?" Allison asked quietly. Stiles flinched.

"I don't know. Then you'd _know."_

Allison wished she could be more angry at Stiles. But this Stiles was still a kid, so much of who he was tied up in keeping secrets. That's what got him into so much trouble with Malia, hiding who she was.

Allison was tired of secrets. "You need to decide, Stiles," she said after a moment. "Do you trust me or not?"

His head jerked up. "Of course I trust you!" he protested.

"Then act like it. Stop keeping secrets from me."

Stiles folded his arms over his chest. "How about you do the same thing?"

"What are you talking about?"

"All this stuff you suddenly know!" He looked around, and moved in closer. "Like that you know you can heal from a bullet, or how to fight monsters, or ride a motorcycle?"

"I told you—"

"You only spent a month in France," Stiles interrupted. "But it's like you were gone for years, and you came back different."

Allison put her hands on her hips. "Do you really want to rip this band-aid off?" she asked.

"Does it have anything to do with Morgan?" Stiles challenged, and it was like a shot of adrenaline right to Allison's heart. "Why you keep waking up screaming? Why you nearly _ate my dad_ on Monday night?"

It was that last bit that nearly did Allison in, clawing at her memories of the night she'd killed Derek, with Stiles screaming, _screaming_ at her. She opened her mouth, ran her tongue over her lower lip, but she had no idea what to say.

"What _happened_ to you?"

They were starting to draw attention, and that was enough to pull Allison out of her spiral. With care, Allison reached out to straighten the collar of Stile's button-up. He flinched, very minutely, like he had expected her to hit him. "Here's the thing about keeping secrets, Stiles," Allison said. "It's a very lonely way to live." She stepped back. "I don't think you want to live that way."

Stiles' expression was incredulous. " _I_ don't want to live that way?" he repeated. "What the hell?"

Allison kept walking backwards. "I'll see you in history," she called, and turned around just in time to duck out of Mr. Finstock's way. "Sir."

"Argent, stop harassing my players the day before a game," the man called after her. "Even Stilinski!"

Allison managed to restrain herself from giving him the finger.

She stopped at her locker to get her notebook. She wished she could go hide or a while, but she'd skipped school the previous day and she doubted that she could get Noah to call her in sick for another day.

She was just so tired.

Down the hall, she spotted Danny. She closed her locker and wandered in the boy's direction. "Hey."

He glanced at her, then over his shoulder. "Uh, hi."

"They told me," Allison said. "Stiles and Erica and Lydia. About their research."

"Right." Danny rubbed the back of his neck. "Is it true?"

"How the hell do I know?" Allison leaned against the wall. "I can't wrap my head around it."

"Yeah, it's real weird." Danny made himself look at her directly. "I told Lydia last night when I got her those articles—"

"Just last night?" Allison interrupted.

"Yeah, it took me a while to find the Spanish-language ones."

Well. That was something. At least her three friends hadn't been hiding things from her for days. "What did you tell Lydia?"

"That stuff like finding out your parents aren't your birth parents, that can be dangerous." He shook his head. "I remember when Jackson found out he was adopted. He didn't handle it well."

Allison thought back to everything to do with the kanima, and Jackson's long path to healing over the decades. "One could argue that he is still not handling it well. Walk with me to history?"

"Sure." They fell into step down the hall.

"Thanks for yesterday, by the way."

"What do you mean?"

"Gym class. Stiles said you broke Jackson and Isaac apart."

"They were just being stupid." Danny hefted his backpack. "Sometimes Jackson gets… you know."

"I know."

"He had a rough summer."

Allison thought about that. Recovering from being the kanima and from all the violence he had been forced to commit? Learning werewolf control in Beacon Hills? "I can only imagine."

They went into their history classroom. Danny peeled off to head over to where Jackson was already seated. Allison looked around to find an empty seat, and to her intense irritation, saw that the only spot was at the back of the room, smack dab beside Stiles and Scott.

She briefly considered jumping out a window.

 _You're a grown adult. Act like it,_ Allison told herself, and walked to the empty desk. "Gentlemen," she said evenly.

"Hi Allison," Scott said. Stiles glowered at the floor. "Are you feeling better? My mom said she saw you at the hospital yesterday."

So much for medical confidentiality. "I'm fine," Allison told Scott. "Or I will be. Just some complications from the weekend."

"What happened on the weekend?" Scott asked.

Allison stopped moving. "Didn't Derek tell you?"

Hadn't _Stiles_ told Scott?

Stiles sank lower in his chair.

Meanwhile, Scott was looking at Allison with those wide, confused puppy-dog eyes. "Derek told me that we didn't have to go up into the woods on Saturday, but that was it. Why? What happened?"

Allison exhaled, just as the bell rang. At the front of the room, Ms. Collins was standing up. "You know what, I'm going to explain this all at lunch," Allison said.

"Explain what?" Scott asked.

"Stand for the Pledge of Allegiance," Ms. Collins called. "Or not, as per your constitutional rights."

Some shuffling. With a glare at Stiles, Allison stood up. She did recite the Pledge, albeit sarcastically and omitting the _under God_ part. After everyone sat back down, Ms. Collins leaned back against her desk.

"Today we're going to talk about what constitutes a primary source," she said. "Because someone," and the woman looked at Allison. "Made a comment on Monday that indicated an unfamiliarity with the concept."

Allison leaned forward, pushing the problems with Stiles to the back of her mind. She knew damned well what a primary source was, having read through some of Peggy Carter's work records released in the Hydra/SHIELD file dump as part of her Masters' thesis in political science. But there was no fucking way she could explain that to Ms. Collins.

"Does anyone know what a primary research source is?"

Allison put up her hand. She was ignored in favour of Dolores, who gave a somewhat coherent answer.

"Can anyone give me an example of a kind of document that might be used as a primary source?"

A few suggestions were thrown out. Ms. Collins wrote them on the board.

Then Stiles said, "Newspaper interviews." He looked sideways at Allison.

"Very good, Mr. Stilinski," called the teacher.

Allison exhaled.

It was going to be a long fucking day.

* * *

Lunch sucked. Allison had pulled Scott aside to explain that the wendigo was dead, being as vague as possible on the details of _how._ Scott had almost lost it, exclaiming worry for her amid protestations that she should have waited for the pack, how she could have gotten killed, that she didn't have anything to prove, and so on.

After a few minutes of this, Allison snapped. "Oh my god, Scott, stop! I know what I'm doing!"

"But you could have gotten hurt!" Scott said for the third time.

"Yeah, well, I didn't. I know how to do this, more than any of you do."

"But—"

"But nothing." Allison snatched up her notebooks from the bench. "This is what I do."

"But Derek—"

"—Knows damned well that none of you have any training. Neither does he. No one in this town knows how to take down monsters."

Something changed on Scott's face. "Except Hunters."

"For fuck's sake," Allison muttered. "Go have lunch, Scott." She turned to walk away.

"Did Stiles know?" Scott yelled after her, and oh, that as not going to end well. Allison threw out her hands and kept walking.

She ate lunch sitting on the floor by her locker, reading over the photocopied pages Lydia had given her. There wasn't a lot there, mostly baseless speculation fueled by Tony Stark's connection to the case.

Still, it hurt to read.

After reading the pages for a third time, she put them into the pocket of her jacket and sat back against the lockers, chewing each bite of her sandwich thoroughly to make it last longer.

She was hungry, and tired, and under it all, with every breath she took, she felt like her world had shifted.

Had she been wrong, in trusting Stiles?

She popped the last bite of sandwich into her mouth. She didn't know. One of the biggest problems with time travel was that her memory kept playing tricks on her. One moment, she could think that Stiles was the same age as she was. Then, she'd be forcibly reminded that he was still really seventeen.

And that was the point. He was _seventeen_. He didn't have the inside script of how things were supposed to go, like Allison did. He didn't have forty-six years of life experience. Hell, Allison had been an actual superhero for almost as long as Stiles had been alive.

She wasn't being fair to him, at all.

And he was doing so much to try to help her.

Maybe that was another thing that Allison had forgotten, in all those years with Stiles hating her. She'd forgotten how much Stiles _cared_.

A clatter off to her right, and as if by magic, Stiles appeared down the hall. Allison sat up. She needed to apologize, although she wasn't sure how he would take that.

"Stiles," she began. The boy collapsed onto the floor beside her, digging into his backpack and pulling out a bag of lightly crushed potato chips. He handed it to her without a lot of eye contact.

"Scott nearly wolfed out on me," Stiles said without preamble.

"I'm sorry."

Stiles shrugged. "It's not your fault I didn't tell him that you went after the monster in the woods."

"But you did it because of me."

Stiles lifted his head to glare at her. "Contrary to massive public opinion, I am capable of making my own decisions," he snapped.

Allison looked back at him. He was really upset.

"And Scott doesn't get it," Stiles went on. "Sometimes it's like he thinks that if he wishes hard enough, everything will go back to how it was before he—" Stiles pulled himself up and changed direction. "Before he got good at lacrosse."

"What about you?" Allison asked, reaching into the chip bag. "Do you want to go back to how things were before lacrosse?"

Stiles dug back into his bag and came out with an actual full-size submarine sandwich. "No. Because lacrosse has always been around in this town, it's just that I didn't know about it. I can't not know about something, Allison."

"I know the feeling." Allison leaned forward, hunger swirling in her guts. "Where did you get that?"

"Boyd went to the corner store at lunch, he brought me back this." Stiles ripped the sandwich in two, and gave one half to Allison. "You didn't have breakfast."

Allison looked down at the sandwich. "How are you like this?"

"Huh?" Stiles asked, confused, around a mouthful of deli meats.

"You're a good guy," Allison said. "Thank you."

"Okay." Stiles looked a little uncomfortable. "But like, how can I go back to life before lacrosse when I know Derek, and all the bad stuff that happens in town? Life isn't like that."

Allison took a bite of the sandwich. God, she loved food. "I think it's a bit different for Scott. Maybe he felt safer, back then."

"He wasn't. I wasn't."

"Looking back at when you were a kid can make things seem different." Allison kept eating. "You're a lot like your dad, you know."

Stiles made a face at her. "What?"

"You and Noah. You both do everything you can to protect people. And the worst part of that is that the main reason you do that is because you really think that things should be better, that life shouldn't hurt so much."

Stiles put down his sandwich. "It shouldn't," he said after a moment. "Like, I look at Derek and I look at you and your lives are so terrible—"

"Thanks."

"—and it's not fair." Stiles reached for the chip bag.

Allison shook her head. "Yeah, well, that's what me and Derek and Peter all have in common, isn't it?" Stiles frowned at her, confused. "We all had our lives destroyed by the Argents."

Stiles stared at her for another moment, then shuffled around so he was sitting beside her, back to the lockers. Allison leaned against Stiles' side. "I'm sorry," he said in a quiet voice.

Allison shook her head. "Don't be."

"I mean, about the newspapers and what we found and not telling you. About Clara."

"Well, you told me now, and that's what matters. The only thing that can hurt me is not knowing the truth." Allison went back to her sandwich. "I thought that you and Lydia would be more up on the Tony Stark angle."

"Oh, yeah, that's something we both freaked out over," Stiles agreed. "But Erica made a good point."

"Which is?"

"Tony Stark's still alive. If you are…" Stiles mimed a gesture of holding either a football or an infant. "Then you can get to know him. But Clara…"

"She's dead," Allison finished. "No matter how this all turns out, my mother is dead."

"Yeah." Stiles' voice broke at the end of the word.

Allison cleared her throat and sat back to put her arm over Stiles' shoulders. "It sucks."

"Yeah, it does." Stiles looked at the chip bag in his hands. "It sucks a lot."

They sat in silence for a little while. Lunch period was going to be over soon, and then they'd have to go to gym. Allison wondered if she could get away without changing into her gym clothes again.

Then Stiles said, "If you are Tony Stark's kid, you're going to be rich."

"Stiles."

"Like, mega rich."

"So?"

Stiles turned a somewhat watery grin on her. "Could you get me a new laptop for my birthday?"

Allison pushed Stiles away, and he was laughing when he sat back up. "If I somehow managed to inherit billions of dollars, I will buy you a new laptop," Allison said. "Are you going to finish the rest of your sandwich?"

Stiles handed it over. "If you eat all that, are you going to throw up in gym class?"

"Only one way to find out," Allison said, and shoved as much of the sandwich in her mouth as she could.

* * *

Allison checked the time on her phone as she stepped out of the bank. Four o'clock, and she was in possession of a brand new bank account that Chris Argent couldn't get to. Of course, it only had twenty dollars in it, but when she got paid on Friday, she'd have a tiny bit of breathing room.

Now, she had all afternoon to herself. Stiles was at home, but maybe she could hop onto Noah's computer, get into Jarvis's systems, see what Tony and Steve were getting up to with Extremis and Hydra—

"Allison?"

Peter's voice slid over her like silk, and she was smiling as she turned around. The man stood behind her, an overburdened tote bag in one hand. How was it that he looked better every time she saw him? "Mr. Hale."

His questioning expression slid towards slight irk. "Isn't there some rule about teenagers loitering in shopping plazas in this town?"

"Only if those teenagers are loitering with intent."

"And what's your intent?"

Allison shrugged. "I've already been to the bank, so not much. What are you doing here?"

"I need a reason?"

"You always have a reason."

Peter considered her, then held up the tote bag. "Some books I ordered came in."

"Oh, is McLeod's open again?" Allison asked, reaching automatically for the bag. "What did you get?"

Peter pulled it back. "Not a lot of people know about that place," he said. "And I'm not giving you this, you'll abscond."

Allison raised her eyebrows at him. "I haven't absconded with anything in months."

Peter smiled at that. "How about I buy you a cup of coffee, and you can rifle through my pages from a stationary position?"

Allison considered. "You and me? Would not the good people of Verona be scandalized by a Capulet and Montague taking tea in public?"

Peter turned. "I think I missed the part of the play where the Capulets set the Montagues on fire, but other than that, I'm sure that very few people in this town care about what you get up to."

 _Wow_. Allison couldn't help but be impressed by the neg. "You know what, Peter?" She took a step towards him, taking slightly malicious pleasure in hearing his pulse speed up. "I would love for you to buy me a cup of coffee."

"All right," he said. His step back was a retreat framed as chivalry, his hand out to point at the open-air café on the far side of the plaza. "After you."

Allison balanced her helmet on one arm and walked past Peter, maintaining a perfectly respectable distance. "Thank you."

She kept her back straight, knowing that she probably looked like a hobo next to Peter's effortless fashion sense. But Allison had lived long enough to know that it wasn't one's clothes that influenced opinion, but how one carried oneself. She'd once made an emergency presentation to the United Nations' security council wearing one of Bucky's spare uniforms and covered in (someone else's) blood, and had had no difficulty in exerting her authority.

Compared to what Allison had lived through, a little light banter with Peter in the middle of town wasn't even a blip on the radar.

At the café, she let Peter pull out her chair. After setting her helmet and backpack on a spare chair, she sat, facing Peter, one knee crossed over the other. Peter deliberately set the book bag down beside Allison's helmet, then sat across from her. "What can I get you?" he asked.

"I'll have whatever you're having."

That slight smile had returned, playing at the corner of his mouth. "What I like might not be to your tastes."

Allison smiled back. "That was one of the things I learned this summer, that life's too short to keep making safe choices."

"Is that what's driving you to expand your horizons, now that you're back in town?"

"In part." Allison drummed her fingers against her knee. "The other part is the realization that at the end of the day, the only person who has any control over my life, is me."

"What does that have to do with coffee?"

Allison leaned forward, putting one elbow on the table. "Not a thing. If I order a coffee, that's just a coffee. But if I ask you to order me coffee, then you start thinking about it, and then it's no longer about coffee. It's about me."

"So, manipulation."

"Everything we do is manipulation, Peter."

"That's a rather cynical view of humanity for someone of your age."

"I wasn't talking about humanity." Allison sat back as the waitress approached. "I was talking about you and me."

The expression on Peter's face was a marvel to behold. It took him a moment to respond to the waitress, ordering two café au lait. Once the waitress left, Peter and Allison sat, staring at each other.

Allison finally broke the silence. "So can I see the books now?"

"You are impossible to make out," Peter said. "Go ahead."

Allison reached for the tote bag. The books inside were varying degrees of old, most fiction, and two in Russian. She picked one up. "Записки из подполья? _Notes from Underground_ , how apt. I didn't know you could read Russian."

"I'm picking it up," Peter said, a slight hesitation in his words. "Since when do you speak Russian?"

Allison flipped into the book. "I'm an arms' dealer's daughter, I speak every language in which one might need to negotiate with bad guys."

She knew Peter was staring at her, but she kept flipping. She considered saying something about being skilled with her tongue, but that was probably too crass a comment to make in public.

And in private, Allison could simply demonstrate.

"Have you read that before?" Peter asked.

"Yes." Allison let the book fall closed, and reached for the other book in Russian, a collection of fairy tales. "Russian existentialism doesn't really do it for me. I prefer this."

"More age appropriate," Peter agreed.

"More hopeful," Allison countered.

"Do you enjoy stories where little girls kill the big bad wolf?" Peter asked, his eyes flashing a little bluer than normal.

"Actually, my favourite story is the one where little Red Hood runs away from home and goes to live in the forest with the wolf." Allison held out the book.

Peter took it, his fingers brushing hers. She couldn't help the shiver that ran through her body. "And what do little Red's parents think of that development?"

Allison moved on to the other books. "Like most fairy tales, Red's childhood was not the happiest. She was fairly unconcerned with their opinion." She turned over a book with the title _The Sea-Wolf_ on the cover. "What's this about?"

"Men doing terrible things," Peter said, as the waitress returned with their cups.

"That covers a broad swath of English literature." Allison put the book down. "Why did you get these, anyway?"

"For the same reason I do anything," Peter said. "Boredom."

Allison picked up her cup. "Would you like a little sympathy?"

"It couldn't hurt."

Allison sipped. The coffee was hot and milky, and perfect. Of course. "If you find any books that you think I should read, let me know."

Peter was watching her. "You don't strike me as the kind of girl who has much time for English literature."

"I find genre fiction more to my tastes."

"Genre fiction," Peter repeated. "How gauche."

"Oh, please, like you never picked up some trashy horror novel in your life."

"I might be bored, but I'm not that bored." Peter drank his coffee.

Allison knew Peter all too well, and knew about the man's habit of reading crime novels when no one was watching. "No science fiction? Westerns?" She paused. "Paranormal romance?

Peter narrowed his eyes at her. "Is that what you read? Romance? _Westerns?"_

"I don't have time for reading anything but police reports these days," Allison said. "And catch me reading a Western? Most of the genre is practically panting to glorify the myth of American individualism that stands on the back of colonialism and genocide across the continent."

"Oh my god," Peter said, putting his cup down. "You sound like my mother."

Allison smiled. "I've heard about your mother, so I'm going to take that as a compliment."

Peter frowned. "I'm not sure I meant it as one."

"That says more about you than it does about me."

"Who the hell could have told you about my mother?"

Allison drank the last of her coffee and set the cup down in its saucer. "You were right about one thing, Peter. People in town don't care about what I get up to. But the Hales? In Beacon Hills? There are a lot of people around town who have very long memories about your family."

Peter's expression had gone blank, but there was a faint anger simmering in his eyes. "And what exactly have these people around town been saying about my family?"

Allison sat back and folded her hands over her stomach. "That your father was too young for the draft in World War II, but a lot of people in town thought it was pretty convenient how he just happened to get into college up in Canada before the Korean war draft started."

Peter's jaw twitched.

"Which is where he met your mother, and they got married and came back to Beacon Hills after he graduated. From the sounds of things, it being the fifties in Northern California, your mother wasn't exactly what people here expected in a housewife."

Peter leaned forward. "Is this the part of the story where you tell me what people in town used to say about my mother?" he asked mockingly.

"No, it's the part of the story where I tell you that the people I've been talking to, know that the only reason Beacon Hills is still standing, is because of your mother."

"Is that so?"

"Yes."

Peter sat back. Allison could still feel the anger rolling off him. "You know, sentiments like that are about as reassuring to me now as they were when I was thirteen."

Allison looked down at her hands. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"That you lost your parents when you were that young."

Peter pushed his saucer to the center of the table. "Do you think that I'm going to take any solace in condolences from an _Argent?"_

"No."

Peter looked away, staring across the plaza for a long moment. Finally, he said, "I don't want to talk about my family anymore."

"Okay."

He rubbed his thumb over the edge of the table. Allison knew that gesture; he was trying to ground himself. "Don't just sit there, say something."

"Sure." Allison thought about safe topics between her and Peter in public. There were startlingly few. "Did you ever hear the rumour that the Russian royal family were werewolves?"

Peter looked at her "What?"

"So you hadn't heard it?"

"Well, for starters, there's no such thing as werewolves," he said.

Allison rolled her eyes. "Of course, Peter."

"And the Russian royal family had a problem with hemophilia, not lycanthropy."

"But hey, we ended up with a snappy pop tune about Rasputin."

"And Stalin, and how many decades of cold war?"

"Now that's the true spirit you'll need to start learning Russian," Allison agreed. She looked at her phone. "I should get going."

"Do you have an appointment?"

"No, but Stiles gets up to trouble when he's left all alone."

"Why do you like him?" Peter asked.

"Stiles? He's great."

"He's terrible."

"He says the same thing about you."

"Glad to know we're on the same page."

"I'll tell him you agree on something, his head will explode," Allison said with a smile.

She reached for her helmet, but Peter held out his hand. "Hang on." Allison looked at him. "I have a question."

Allison settled back in her chair. "Yes?"

He took a deep breath. "Have you ever read _Twilight?"_

Allison blinked. "Have I ever read _what?"_

"You said you read trashy romances," Peter said, looking a little defensive. "I saw it was on the bestseller list in 2005."

"Oh my god, you were in a coma through the whole _Twilight_ saga," Allison breathed.

"Forget I said anything." Peter said.

"No, Peter, no." Allison leaned forward and put both her hands over Peter's. "For the love of your soul and your sanity, do not read the _Twilight_ books."

"Not even for the cultural impact?"

"Peter." Allison squeezed Peter's hand. "The lead werewolf falls in love with the vampire protagonist's unborn child."

The expression of horror on Peter's face was priceless. " _What?"_

"Yeah."

"Why were these popular?"

Allison let go of Peter's hands and sat back. "God and Satan alone know." She stood up. "Oh god. _Twilight."_

"Stop it."

Allison slung her backpack over her shoulders, still entertained by the notion of a real werewolf reading _Twilight_. "I'll see you around, Peter."

"Undoubtedly."

Smiling to herself, Allison picked up her helmet and headed off. She had to restrain herself from looking over her shoulder. She wondered when she might be able to make some time in her calendar to visit Peter again, and what they might be able to get up to.

One of these days, Peter might actually get around to teaching her chess.

Humming to herself, Allison got on her motorcycle, donned helmet and gloves, and pulled out of the plaza parking lot, heading for home.

It had been a good day.

### Noah Stilinski

Noah walked out of the bank, his head full of numbers after a long meeting with his broker. He paused to flip through the papers again, considering the interest rate on Stiles' college fund. Math had never been Noah's strong suit, but he thought that he was getting the hang of things.

Idly, he glanced around. The plaza was a quiet place, with a few quaint shops around the bricked area. Claudia had loved coming here, which was why Noah still used this bank. It was…

Noah stopped. Something familiar had caught his eye. He looked around again, this time alert, and almost immediately his eyes landed on Allison's motorcycle.

What was Allison doing here? He hadn't seen her in the bank, although he now remembered making the recommendation when she'd asked about setting up a new account. There wasn't much else around to interest a teenage girl.

With a slight frown, Noah headed towards the other side of the plaza, where there were some outdoor cafes. Maybe Allison was meeting someone?

Rounding the corner, Noah instantly spotted Allison at one of the outdoor tables. When he saw who she was with, his heart sank.

It was Peter Hale.

All of a sudden, so many things made sense. Those little hints that Allison had been dropping about dating someone and refusing to say who; Stiles' absolute instance that the man in question was terrible; someone from whom Allison could get five thousand dollars without question… Noah had been sort of hoping that Allison was dating a senior, or maybe someone who had graduated high school that spring.

Not the sole survivor of the Hale fire, a man more than twice Allison's age.

Noah wished he could be mistaken, but there it was, in the way Allison held herself, leaning forward in interest in a way Noah hadn't seen on the girl when she was talking to anyone else. And there was something on Peter's face, underlying the tension at something Allison was saying. Peter's entire focus was on Allison, with a level of intensity that Noah found more than a little disconcerting.

For Christ's sake, Allison was only seventeen.

At the table, Peter sat back and glanced away from Allison. The man's gaze locked on to something else on the plaza, for just a moment, then went back to Allison, but it was enough to get Noah scanning the area. When he spotted Chris Argent standing by a cell phone repair store, glaring across the plaza, Noah's heart sank even lower.

It was supposed to have been his day off.

Still, Noah stood unobtrusively behind a potted plant, keeping an eye on both Chris and the two at the café. He wasn't thrilled with how Allison put her hands over Peter's, or at the man's expression when Allison stood to leave.

He was also a little surprised that Allison didn't look around the plaza as she walked over to her bike.

Noah wondered what he was going to do. It wasn't illegal to have a cup of coffee with someone. Maybe he was misreading the situation. Maybe Allison was just rebelling against her Argent upbringing by trying to make amends with Peter Hale.

And maybe a leprechaun would drop gold from the sky to fund Stiles' college education.

Allison got on her bike and drove off, navigating expertly. Noah made an absent mental note to get her on the skills course at the station, to see how she handled that bike.

As soon as Allison was out of sight, Peter looked directly at Chris, and smiled.

"Damn it," Noah muttered.

Chris stood where he was, practically stewing in anger, as Peter carefully packed away some books on the table into a bag, paid his bill, and stood to walk nonchalantly across the plaza.

Noah thought for a split second that Peter would leave without talking to Chris, but then Chris was heading in Peter's direction. Hoping that this didn't end in actual bloodshed, Noah moved after them.

"Hale," Chris said, stepping into Peter's path. "What are you doing with Allison?"

"Why, Chris Argent," Peter said in mock surprise. "Fancy seeing you here."

"What are you doing with Allison?" Chris asked again. Noah settled himself against a nearby pillar, in full view of Peter.

"What am I doing with your daughter?" Peter pretended to think. "Well, she asked me to tutor her in a few subjects. To round out her education." Peter smiled. "She's an exceptionally bright young woman. Eager for instruction." His smile grew. "And very open to new ideas."

Chris somehow restrained himself in the face of all that innuendo, which Noah found a surprise. If anyone Peter's age had said any of that stuff about Stiles, Noah would already have punched the guy.

"Stay away from her," Chris ground out.

"Oh, that's not your call to make any more, is it?" Peter asked. "Last I heard, you threw her out of your house."

"She's still my daughter."

Peter's smile changed, something sharp and icy settling in his eyes. "Yes, she is." Peter stared at Chris for a long moment. "You know what's interesting?"

Chris refused to rise to the bait.

"Since she's gotten back into town, I've spent some time talking to Allison," Peter went on. "And I've figured out that practically nothing scares that girl. Monsters in the woods? Your Hunter buddies threatening to skin her alive?"

Chris flinched.

"Nothing." Peter took a step closer to Chris. "Except you."

"What are you talking about?" Chris demanded.

"The only time I've seen Allison scared was at the ice rink, when she realized that you were coming for her." Peter's smile faded away. "Do you know what fear smells like, Chris?"

"This is bullshit," Chris said.

"Do you know what Allison smells like when she's terrified?" Peter continued. "She smells like hyacinths and copper, and it's a smell that just _grinds_ at you."

"If you ever put your hands on her again, I'm going to kill you," Chris said.

"Please, Argents murdering Hales is so overdone in this town." Peter tilted his head to the side. "I'm trying to figure out exactly what could have happened this summer that would make Allison so afraid of you."

Chris crowded in a little too close to Peter. They were starting to draw attention. "Nothing happened this summer."

"Really?" Peter's smile came back. "See, now, I know what your daughter's been learning from me." Peter paused. "But I'd really like to know what she's learning when she's calling you Daddy."

Chris grabbed the front of Peter's shirt and hauled him forward. "You sick son of a bitch," he hissed.

"Sheriff," Peter called, never breaking eye contact with Chris. "Assault!"

"Yeah, I kind of want to let him hit you a bit, myself," Noah said, sauntering forward. "Chris, let him go."

After a moment, Chris pushed Peter away from him. Peter never lost his poise, and his smile never faltered.

"Why don't you get out of here," Noah said to Peter, "Before I start asking you questions about some of the things you just said."

Peter tugged down his shirt. "I don't think I said anything that might have hinted at any illegal activities," he said with a smoothness that made Noah want to arrest him, just for the hell of it.

"Go."

With one last look at Chris, Peter turned and walked away.

"You can't just let him leave," Chris objected. "After what he said—"

"He didn't say anything," Noah interrupted. "And as much as I hate to say it, he had a point."

"What are you talking about?" Chris demanded. He finally tore his eyes off Peter's retreating back to look at Noah.

"What did you do to make Allison so afraid of you?"

" _What?"_

"There's something wrong with that girl," Noah went on, knowing he was on a knife's edge. Chris could not find out that the police knew about Allison's true parentage, not before they had an arrest warrant for him, or about Allison's supernatural abilities. But still, as much as he loathed how Peter had brought things up, Noah had a perfect opportunity to interrogate Chris while the man was off-guard. "She hardly sleeps and she's more skittish than vets who've gone through multiple tours overseas."

"What?" Chris said again. "Why?"

"She won't tell me," Noah said. "She won't tell me a goddamned thing, except that those friends of yours in town sure don't mean her well. You want to talk about that?"

As soon as he'd said it, Noah knew he had pushed too far. Chris's face shuttered, and he took a step back. "If you want to keep talking about this, Sheriff, why don't you call my lawyer?"

"Sure," Noah said with a shrug. He watched Chris turn to walk away. "That's it? You're not even going to ask how Allison is doing?"

Chris hesitated, but didn't actually stop. Noah swore to himself as Chris disappeared around the corner.

What a fucking disaster.

Noah walked back to his car. As much as he'd hoped for a day off, Peter's face-down with Chris had introduced too many questions, and every single one of them had to do with Allison.

Noah needed to get home and talk to Allison. This couldn't wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It occurs to me that the only person in town who still thinks Chris is Allison's biological father at this point in the story is Peter ~~(and Derek, but he's trying to avoid thinking about Argents as much as possible).~~


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noah has questions for Allison about a few things. Allison has questions of her own for Peter, and things get a little... weird. Meanwhile in Los Angeles, Anna Vasquez gets the shock of a lifetime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Warnings_ : This chapter (re)earns the fic’s explicit rating. Please remind yourself of the tags, above, and also note that this chapter contains a sex scene with consensual yet perhaps under-negotiated biting, claws and blood. Also, and separately, OCs.
> 
>  _Notes_ : I realized the other day that in this story, most of the characters are operating in completely different genres. Allison’s off in her own little action drama, Noah is simmering in true crime land, Stiles and Derek are operating in a supernatural fantasy world, and Tony is in an Iron Man movie. No wonder everyone’s having such a hard time communicating.

* * *

Allison bounced up the stairs from the basement. "I put the laundry in so you're making dinner!" she yelled up the stairs to Stiles.

"Fine, I hate laundry!" Stiles yelled back.

"If I had to do your laundry all the time, I'd hate it too," Allison said to herself. For a boy who spent so much time inside, she had no idea where all the grass stains came from.

"What?"

"I said I love you too!" Allison shouted. She heard the front door open and poked her head out into the hall. "Hi, Noah."

Noah's smile seemed forced, and that swung all of Allison's attention into focus. "Allison."

"What's wrong?" she asked, standing still as Noah shucked off his jacket.

"Nothing." It was a lie; any ordinary human would have been able to tell that. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Sure." Allison waited as Noah walked down the hall and went into the living room. Her heart sank. It had to be bad. He always went into the kitchen first, whether coming home from work, or getting up in the morning. Slowly, she followed him.

Noah sat in the armchair, resting his elbows on his knees. "Sit down."

Spine tingling, Allison crossed to the couch and lowered herself onto the cushions, feet flat on the ground, shoulders straight, tensed for action. "What happened?"

Noah exhaled. "I went to the bank this afternoon."

"Okay." Allison could hear Stiles thumping down the stairs, but she tuned that out. Noah's uncharacteristic behaviour was getting more worrisome by the moment.

"The one in Three Oaks Plaza."

Allison frowned. "The one you told me about?" Noah nodded. "I must have just missed you, I was there to open an account before payday."

There was something in Noah's expression, something a little uncomfortable, that made Allison's stomach twist. Oh, crap, if he'd been at the plaza, he might have spotted her having coffee with Peter.

But… so what? It was just a cup of coffee.

"Right," Noah said. Out of the corner of her eye, Allison spotted Stiles come to a halt by the entrance to the living room, oddly quiet. "I saw you there."

Allison had had enough. Whatever Noah wanted to say, he could come out and say it. "At the bank?"

Noah's eyes met hers. "No, at that coffee shop place."

"Oh." Allison leaned back. "You should have said hi."

"It looked like you were busy."

Allison brushed an imaginary bit of dust off her knee. "Not really. Peter was just showing me the new books he picked up."

"Peter?" Stiles blurted out. Noah looked over at him, slightly annoyed.

"Yes, Peter," Allison agreed. She never took her eyes off Noah's face. "We ran into each other, he offered to buy me a cup of coffee, and we talked."

"Just talked?" Noah asked.

Allison was starting to feel an emotion she didn't want to direct at Noah, and that was anger. "It was a cup of coffee at four o'clock in the middle of a crowded shopping plaza," she said, lacing each word with ice. "I'm not entirely certain as to what you're getting at."

Noah cleared his throat. "After you left, Peter said some stuff."

Allison wanted to punch a wall. What the fuck had Peter said? And why had he said it to _Noah_? "Peter does tend to the verbose on occasion."

"Don't you want to know what he said?"

Allison leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "You seem rather eager to share, so why not go ahead and tell me?"

Noah rubbed his hands together. "Peter implied that he was teaching you some things." The way Noah said it would have been awkward, except for the flinty focus in his eyes. This wasn't a conversation, it was an interrogation.

And it was pissing Allison off. "Peter's teaching me to play chess," she said, pulling on every ounce of poise poured into her over the years by Inez Vasquez and Pepper Potts. "He has also offered to loan me a few of the books from the library he's rebuilding. As you know," Allison went on. "The old Hale collection burned to the ground. It's a work in progress."

Stiles made a sound like a gaping fish from the corner. Noah and Allison ignored him. "The way Peter said it made it sound like it was a little… Well."

"A little what, Noah?" Allison demanded.

Noah met her eyes straight on. "A little less wholesome than you're making it out to be."

Allison let out a slow breath. "First off," she said. "I am not responsible for what Peter says."

"I never said you were."

"Second, Peter Hale has been nothing but a gentleman towards me since I got back into town." Allison waited for Stiles to make some sort of protest, or at least gack out some strange noise, but the boy was absolutely, utterly silent.

"I'm glad to hear that," Noah said, sitting back to cross his arms over his chest. "Because he was pretty heavily implying that you…"

He trailed off, and Allison knew this technique, _knew_ she was being played. But fucking hell, there was no way that she couldn't know the end of that sentence. She touched her tongue to the top of her mouth before saying, "Implying that I _what_ , Noah?"

"That you and him know each other more intimately than would come just learning how to play chess."

Anger rose again, but Allison squashed it down with cold, ruthless efficiency. Something was wrong with this picture, something missing. Why the hell would Peter even hint that he was sleeping with an underage girl to a cop? To the sheriff?

Allison smiled, and she heard Stiles' breath stutter. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she said. "Peter and I are just friends, and whatever you're reading into the things Peter said to you, it's bullshit."

"Oh, Peter wasn't talking to me," Noah said, and that flint was back in his eyes. He was watching her, waiting for a reaction. "He was talking to Chris."

Allison sat up, a bolt of fear spiking down her spine. "No," she said, digging into her pocket for her phone. "Chris wasn't there."

Noah was frowning at her. "Yes, he was."

"No, he couldn't have been." Allison checked her messages. Nothing from Jarvis, no Chris Argent alert she had missed. "At the plaza? How long after I left?"

Noah's frown deepened. "He was there watching you two at the café."

Allison shot to her feet. If Chris had been that near, and she hadn't spotted him… "How close was he?" Allison demanded.

With shaking fingers, she tapped out a message to Jarvis. _Do you know where Chris is?_

"About fifty feet?" Noah was on his feet now, one hand out warily. Allison shied away, one eye on her phone. "Allison, what's wrong?"

"He can't have been there," Allison said. Chris must have been right behind her, watching her.

Oh god, watching her with _Peter_.

A message pinged in. _His cell phone has been at his house all afternoon. Has something happened?_

"Allison, he was there," Noah said. At least he had backed off to the other side of the living room. "What's wrong?"

If Chris had been at the plaza, watching them, and Allison hadn't seen him… had Peter? "Did Peter know Chris was there?"

"Yes," Noah said. "Pretty sure of it."

Why the hell hadn't Peter told her?

Her heart was beating too fast. Allison tried to breathe, to calm down. A panic response was no fucking good, and she knew this. What was wrong with her? Swiftly, Allison replied to Jarvis with _Chris was watching me when I got out of the bank and I didn't see him. Can you tell me when his phone moves again?_

"Peter said something else to Chris," Noah said. "He said the only time he's seen you scared over the last few weeks was at the ice rink when Chris was coming for you."

Allison took an involuntary step back, right into the liquor cabinet. "He _what?"_

A ping on her phone. _I will do so._

"What happened at the ice rink?" Noah asked.

Allison put her phone back into her pocket, trying to think past the hummingbird flutter in her chest. "A few of us went to the ice rink to keep Boyd company on a weekend split shift," she managed to say. Lies, lies, all she told were lies. "Chris must have been driving past and saw the jeep. He came inside."

Noah turned around to look at Stiles. "And you didn't mention this?" he demanded.

Stiles opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Allison jumped in. "Stiles and Scott were already leaving by that point."

"You left her alone?" Noah said to Stiles. The boy hunched his shoulders.

This made the alpha rise in Allison's chest. "Hey," she snapped, stepping into the middle of the living room. If Noah wanted a reaction out of her, he could fucking well have one. "It is not Stiles' job to protect me, don't you _ever_ make him think that it is." She was so angry now, she could feel the red burning in her eyes. "Derek was with me."

"And what did Chris think of that?" Noah asked.

This time, Allison's smile was more a baring of her teeth. "Do you know what Chris said?" She took another step forward. "He asked me if I was taking Derek's side. Do you have any idea what the implications of that is for a Hunter?"

"No." Noah was standing very still.

"When you're a Hunter, there's two sides – their side, and the monster's side. If you're not on one, you're on the other." Allison pushed her hair back from her face, more of the pattern unfurling in her mind.

She had told Peter very clearly that first night that a Hunter sleeping with a werewolf was a sure-fire way to get killed.

And then Peter had gone and practically told Chris that Allison was fucking a Hale.

What the _fuck_ was he playing at?

"There was something else," Noah said.

"Dad, don't you think you'd better stop?" Stiles asked.

"I wish I could." Noah took a step towards Allison. "Are you going to be okay?"

 _Pull it together, Stark._ Allison took a deep breath, shoving her anger and rage down into that space in her mind where she hid all her pain. "I am," she said with a mostly even voice. "What else did Peter say?"

"Peter asked Chris what happened this summer to make you so afraid."

Allison didn't know why Noah looked so apprehensive; it was the most innocuous thing so far. "As far as Chris knows, nothing did happen." Allison tried to release the tension in her body. "I was working very hard to make sure Chris didn't know any of what happened."

Not that she knew what really happened that summer – the month was still a void in her memory. But the lies she'd been weaving about what had happened to her over that month, those had to remain a blank spot to Chris.

"So Chris didn't… hurt you, this summer?"

"No," Allison said. Noah's expression baffled her. What wasn't she getting?

"Oh," Stiles said suddenly. "Oh!" He physically recoiled.

"What?" Allison demanded.

Stiles hugged himself. "I think Dad's asking where on the doll Chris touched you."

"Stiles," Noah said sharply.

A wave of repulsion washed over Allison at the thought. "Why the hell does everyone think I was molested over the summer?" she exclaimed. "No, Noah, Chris never did anything like that. He never would!"

"So why did Peter suggest it?"

Allison spread her hands. "How the hell should I know?"

"Was it to jerk Chris around?" Stiles asked. "Because Peter does like to mess with people."

"Not with stuff like this," Allison said. "What the _fuck._ "

"Wait, who else thinks you were molested over the summer?" Stiles asked.

"Melissa, at the hospital." Allison pulled a hair tie out of her pocket. "What is wrong with all the adults in this town?"

"Melissa's job does lead her to see things a certain way," Noah said. "And so does mine."

Allison looked at him as she braided her hair as tight as she could stand it. "Then how about seeing things like this?" She tied off the braid. "The Argents murdered Peter's entire family, and he's expected to walk around this town with Chris a free man like it's all fine."

"Chris didn't have anything to do with the Hale fire," Noah said. "Did he?"

"No." Allison moved her phone to her back pocket. "But even if he didn't set the match, he's still an Argent, and that burns."

"And what about you?" Noah asked.

"What about me?"

"You're an Argent," Noah said. Another wave of revulsion stabbed Allison in the stomach. Had it only been one day since she'd seen her real mother's dead body ripped open on that hillside in those crime scene photographs? "If that's how Peter sees Chris, how does he see you?"

"That is an excellent question," Allison said coldly. "Excuse me."

"Where are you going?" Stiles asked as Allison stalked out of the living room to the hall.

"Out."

"Allison."

Allison grabbed her jacket off the hook by the door. She hadn't bothered to unpack her pockets when she got home, so she just pulled the jacket on. "What?"

Noah followed her to the door. "What are you doing?"

Allison jammed her feet into her boots. "I have to go see a man about a book."

"If I ask you to stay here, is that going to make any difference?"

"No." Allison picked up her helmet and paused, looking at Noah. She couldn't read his face. "I'm not going to break any laws, Noah."

He didn't reply to that, so Allison just scooped up her keys and left the house without looking back.

The roads over the river were a bit congested with rush-hour traffic, which gave Allison a bit of anxiety, but she didn't spot Chris's car, nor any of the other Hunters' SUVs, and the phone in her back pocket did not vibrate.

She pulled around to Peter's place in a circuitous route, parking in the back and running up the stairs to his door as she pulled off her helmet. On the drive over, part of her had worried that perhaps Chris might have made his way to Peter's for a continuation of the conversation Noah had overheard, but there were no sounds of an argument behind Peter's front door.

Great. So it would be just the two of them.

Allison knocked. Nothing. She waited, growing more worried by the second, then knocked again.

Finally, she could hear footsteps inside the apartment, and the door opened. Peter was perfectly fine, a dishtowel thrown over one shoulder. "What?"

Relief at seeing Peter okay was quickly dashed away with anger. "What the hell is wrong with you?" Allison demanded, pushing past Peter into the apartment.

"What's wrong with you?" Peter objected, closing the door behind her. "Why are you here? And shoes!"

Allison kicked out of her boots before continuing into the apartment. "Why am I here?" she repeated. "Oh, I don't know, something about how the sheriff came home with a whole lot of questions about what you'd been saying to Chris about me?" She put her helmet down on the coffee table. "What the hell, Peter?"

Peter's face was a mix of stormy and apprehensive, an expression Allison had seen far too many times in their future. "I didn't say anything." He went back to the corner of the studio that held the kitchen. "Would you leave?"

"You didn't say anything?" Allison repeated, pulling off her jacket as she followed him. "Because Noah sure had a lot of questions about what you didn't say."

Peter opened the fridge. "What do you want?"

"Well, let's see." Allison leaned her hip against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest. "For starters, why the hell didn't you tell me that you saw Chris at the plaza?"

Peter's eyes were hard as he pulled a bag of carrots out of the crisper. "Maybe because I was having such an enjoyable afternoon, and I didn't feel like getting a headache from how you smell when you're afraid." He closed the fridge door.

Allison held in a growl. Peter's sarcasm, his words turning back around on her, this was also familiar. She and her future Peter had faced off like this so often, in all shades of anger. Her heart beat a little faster. "Then what about the part where you said you were teaching me things?"

Peter tossed a couple of carrots into the sink. "All I said was that you'd asked me for some tutoring."

"Oh really?" Allison uncrossed her arms. "And exactly what subject would that have been on?"

"I didn't mention a subject." Peter turned to face her, crowding into her space. He was close enough to bite. "It was your father who made the mental jump to you being on your knees for it."

Allison was momentarily at a loss for words. "What is _wrong_ with you?" she finally asked.

The jut of Peter's jaw was defiant. Allison knew that look too; Peter knew he had fucked up, but he wasn't going to apologize or back down. "Not a goddamned thing." Angrily, he started washing the carrots.

Allison held in a frustrated scream. "Why did you talk to him in the first place?"

"I didn't talk to him, he came over and got in my way." Peter put the carrots onto the cutting board, already on the counter, and picked up a chef's knife. "Always a fun way to spend an afternoon, being threatened by an Argent."

"So because you were feeling threatened, you thought it was a good idea to tell Chris that we're sleeping together."

Allison could smell irritation and anger bleeding off Peter. "You know what?" he snapped. "You don't get to spend over a week begging me to fuck you six ways from Sunday, and then pretend to be some pure little maiden who has the vapours when any inference is made towards your virginity." He started chopping the carrots.

Allison gaped at him. "This isn't me having the _vapours_ , this is my very actual worry that I'm going to get killed!"

"Then why are you here?" Peter demanded. "Why do you keep coming back? Do you really want an animal between your legs so badly that you're willing to risk a bullet in your head for it?"

"That's not what this is!" Allison exclaimed. "This isn't about you being a werewolf, Peter, this is me and you."

She put her hand on his arm, but he had his eyes on the cutting board, and he jerked at her touch. The knife moved sideways and down, onto his index finger, and the next second blood was covering the cutting board.

"Fuck," Peter exclaimed, dropping the knife.

"I'm sorry," Allison gasped, reaching for his hand. He hadn't cut through the bone, just scored a long line through the flesh on his finger. Blood flowed down his hand and wrist. "I'm sorry," Allison said again, and, not really thinking, pulled Peter's hand up to her mouth to lick the blood from the wound like she would have done with her own finger.

Running her tongue over the edges of the cut didn't stem the flow of blood, filling her mouth with copper and salt and heat. In the space of the moment it took Allison to raise her eyes to Peter's face, she swallowed, lips tightening around his finger as her tongue moved over his damaged flesh.

Peter's eyes flared electric blue and he moved forward quicker than Allison could react, crashing into her and knocking her down. She hit the floor with a thud, the only thing keeping her skull from smashing into the linoleum was Peter's free hand.

She started to protest, to warn him off before she fought back. He pulled his injured finger out of her mouth, but before Allison could speak, he kissed her.

This kiss wasn't an apology. It was bruising and rough, his tongue sweeping over hers, licking into her mouth, devouring. Allison grabbed at his shirt, his hair, trying to pull him closer to her. The alpha, already agitated from their fight, flowed in her at the taste of Peter's blood in her mouth, at the feel of Peter's body pinning her to the floor.

Allison was consumed with a burning fire of _mine want mine_. She hooked her knees around Peter's hips, trying to pull him even closer.

The hand holding her head changed; sharp claws pricking at her skull. The hand on her shoulder had also grown claws, and the thought hadn't even settled before Peter shifted his weight to the side and raked his claws down the front of her shirt, shredding the fabric to ribbons.

Allison made a sound into Peter's mouth, pushing at him as his claws settled on her stomach, pressing but not cutting into her flesh. Peter broke the kiss and propped himself up to look at her. He hadn't shifted to the wolf, not yet, but there was a wildness in his gleaming blue eyes that Allison had never seen in him before.

For a long moment, Allison stared at Peter, and wondered what he was going to do.

Slowly, achingly, Peter dragged his claws up her front, pushing open the ruined shirt to expose her skin. His hand settled so his index finger, the one so recently bleeding all over Allison's tongue, touched the base of her throat.

Allison's heart was beating so fast she could feel it in every part of her body. Peter growled, a low note that vibrated through her. Carefully, she put one hand over Peter's. "Not too deep," she whispered, and pressed down.

Peter hesitated for just a moment longer, then he dragged his clawed finger from her throat down to the hollow between her breasts.

Allison cried out at the sensation, pain edged with heat and want and need. Peter dipped his head to lick at the wound, his tongue dragging over the edges of her skin. At the same time, he ground his hips up between Allison's legs, a crush of pleasure heightened by the pain.

"Peter," she gasped, arching her back. His fangs were out now, the press of his teeth scraping over her skin. His lips moved over her throat, and when he kissed her again, sharp and dangerous, his mouth was wet with her blood.

As he kissed her, his hand moved back down her body, claws brushing over the button of her jeans. A brief moment of clarity found its way to the surface, and Allison reached down to take Peter's hand. He stilled, then broke the kiss, burying his face against her throat. His breath was hot, teeth pricking against her skin.

"Don't wreck my pants, I need these," Allison said. She managed to undo her jeans one-handed, and tried to shove them and her underwear down her thighs. Once Peter got the idea, he sat back, pulling the jeans off Allison's legs. His claws traced red lines over her skin, but Allison didn't care as Peter came back to her, pushing her legs apart. His mouth and chin were covered in her blood, the front of his shirt stained red, and Allison needed him, she needed him now.

Peter caught her knee and ran his tongue up the bloody claw marks on her thigh. He stared up at her as he settled between her legs, licking into her body with his fangs out, with his clawed hands holding her thighs.

Allison closed her eyes and let the alpha take her, her body heating up as her power consumed her. Peter's tongue slid over her clit, his teeth pressing against her most intimate parts, and Allison wanted more. Pleasure rode over her, heightened by the sharp prick of claws against her skin. She knew she was moaning, but she had no control over whatever sounds she was making.

Then, just as she was getting close, Peter pulled away. She heard a zipper rip, then Peter grabbed her leg and flipped her onto her stomach. The next instant, he was pushing into her. She cried out, hands flexing against the floor.

Peter stilled, one hand on her hip, the other arm wrapping across her chest for his hand to close around her throat. "Allison," he said, voice rough.

Allison gasped, trying to move her hips. "Don't _stop,"_ she demanded. "Peter, come _on_."

He did not need any more encouragement. With hard strokes, he took her to pieces on his kitchen floor, every thrust going deeper than Allison thought possible. Allison let him have her, have everything, his claws breaking the skin on her hip, his fingers flexing against her throat, and his mouth closing on the junction of where her neck met her shoulder.

With every push, Allison burned hotter. She'd never felt the alpha so keenly, so much a part of her; had never wanted Peter so much. She wanted all of him.

Pleasure and pain, she knew how this went. As Peter's claws dug into her hip, as he fucked her apart on the floor, she wanted more.

"Bite me," she got out between moans. Peter ran his tongue over her shoulder. "I need you inside me, Peter, _please._ "

Peter's teeth penetrated her skin, the sharp pain sliding through her body, and the contrast of the pain and the pleasure tangled up as Allison came hard on Peter's dick, her body shaking under the crushing waves. The only word in Allison's head was _mine mine mine_.

Peter gave a growl and pushed into her one last time, so deep that Allison's breath caught in her throat. Then he lay still, heavy on top of her, slowly easing his teeth and claws out of her flesh.

Allison let her forehead fall against the floor. She tried to catch her breath, tried to move, but Peter had her pinned to the ground.

She couldn't even think.

They lay like that for too long, the press of the cold floor becoming uncomfortable, the lingering pain of teeth and claws starting to push back the haze of pleasure. When Allison thought her leg was going to go to sleep, she tried to move again, and this time Peter responded. Slowly, he pulled out of her and sat up, leaving her cold and alone.

It took her a moment to get her legs to respond, then she was able to roll onto her side to push herself into a sitting position. Peter had moved away, his back against the cabinets. His teeth and hands were back to normal, but his eyes remained bright blue. He had her blood on his mouth and throat, his shirt a ruin, fingers and hands coated in red. For a long time, there was silence.

Finally, Peter licked his lower lip. "You look like a crime scene," he said.

Allison shifted forward. Her legs still didn't want to move right, but she could drag herself closer to Peter. "Are you okay?" she asked as she reached up to cup his cheek.

He flinched as she touched him, but he turned his face into the caress. "How can you ask me that?" He kissed her palm gently. "After what I did to you?"

Allison closed the last distance between them and leaned against his shoulder. He put his arm around her back. "I asked for that," she said. "Everything you did, I wanted you to."

Peter stroked her hair. "Why?"

Allison closed her eyes. She ached. "Because this is about you and me, and I want you." She kissed his throat.

"I could have killed you."

"You didn't." She pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, tasting blood. "Are you going to be okay?"

Peter pulled Allison onto his lap. He kissed her shoulder, lips soft on the skin still healing from his bite. It took him a long time to say, "I've never done that before."

Allison put her hand on the nape of his neck. "Done what?"

Peter pulled back. She didn't understand what emotion was reflected in his eyes. "Lost control like some sort of _bitten_ werewolf."

She wanted to say that he hadn't lost control, not really, not in all the ways that counted, but she also knew Peter would not want to hear it. She ran her thumb over his lower lip. "What do you want me to say?"

Peter nipped gently at her thumb, making her smile. "I want you to tell me that I scared you."

Allison considered. "You didn't scare me." She wrapped her arms around Peter's neck. "The only thing that would scare me is if you did things you didn't want to do."

Peter rested his forehead against hers. "That's the problem," he said quietly, running his hand down her spine. "I wanted all that." He kissed her with aching softness. "I wanted you, like this."

Allison shivered as his hands settled around her waist. "Blood and all?"

"Blood and all." Peter let his head slide down to rest against her shoulder. Allison hugged him to her. She ached, her skin barely healed from his teeth and claws, and still, she wanted him again.

She was so messed up.

"Come on," Allison said. "Help me stand."

Peter exhaled. "You're leaving," he said, sounding depressed about it.

"Not yet."

It took them a few mis-starts, but eventually they were on their feet. Allison swayed a little as she surveyed the damage to the kitchen. There was an almost comedic amount of blood smeared on the floor. At least it was easier to get blood off this expensive linoleum than it would have been the hardwood in the rest of the apartment.

Shaking off the thought, Allison tugged on Peter's arm. "Come on."

"Where are we going?" he asked, wary.

"Shower." Allison wrapped her fingers around Peter's hand, relieved when he squeezed back.

"I thought you'd want to get away from me."

"No." Inside the bathroom, Allison closed the door, then went to stand in front of Peter. He was staring at his reflection in the mirror, with a little of what looked like loathing in his eyes. Allison put her hand on his cheek. "Hey."

"How are you still here?"

"I said it before and I will say it again, I want to be here." Allison put her hands under his shirt and pushed it up his chest. He pulled the bloodied fabric over his head. "With you."

"I broke most of your ground rules," Peter pointed out as Allison pushed his pants down his hips. "Whatever happened to no fangs or claws?"

Allison pretended to think. "You did ask first."

Peter kicked his pants across the small room, and it was just the two of them then, naked and covered in each other's blood. He stepped against her, his skin so warm that Allison shivered. "And you said yes."

"Yes."

When he kissed her this time, it felt like a promise.

She took him into the shower and washed the blood off his skin. He returned the favour, touching every part of her body with steady hands. It was only when he got down on his knees, his hands sliding over her thighs, that Allison realized what he had in mind. "Are you sure?" she asked, running her fingers through his wet hair.

He mouthed a kiss on the soft skin of her belly. "Are you?"

"Yes," Allison whispered, the word barely louder than the sound of the falling water.

Peter moved her legs apart a bit so he could spread her open. When his tongue touched her clit this time, Allison couldn't hold in a low moan. "Oh god, _Peter_."

He hummed something, moving one hand between her legs. His fingers slipped inside her, stroking gently.

Allison put one hand on Peter's shoulder and the other on the tiled wall of the shower, hoping that she didn't fall over. If this was how Peter wanted to work through a loss of control, she sure as hell wasn't going to object.

After an eternity and far too short a time, the pleasure overtook Allison and she cried out, her knees going weak. Peter caught her by the thighs and held her up, letting her ride it through. After her breathing had evened out, he stood.

"Beautiful," Peter murmured. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on for dear life.

Eventually, Peter turned off the shower and helped Allison step out of the tub. He seemed to have something in mind, so Allison just let him dry her off, then wrap her in his silk robe before guiding her back out into the apartment. The scent of fresh blood had faded, leaving an underlying metallic note in the air.

"What now?" Allison asked, letting Peter take her over to the bed.

"Now, a question." Peter pushed back the sheets and sat down on the mattress. He was naked and perfect, and Allison couldn't forget what he'd looked like with her blood on his face and hands. "You say you want me."

Allison narrowed her eyes slightly. She knew Peter well enough to know there was something in his mind. "I do," she agreed.

"Which me?" And now his chin was up, as he watched her. "The one who cut you open on my kitchen floor? Or who I am here?"

Allison wanted to sigh. It was times like this that she felt every one of her forty-six years. She'd lived seven years more than Peter at this point in his timeline; thirteen if she included his years in a coma.

Maybe that meant she'd be able to figure out what to say.

Pulling open the robe, she dropped it to the floor as she climbed into bed beside Peter. "I'm going to tell you something that you already know," she said, unbraiding her hair. The shower had only dampened it, so it shook out loose over her shoulders. "You're the same man. You know that, and I know that." She laid down, putting one hand on her stomach, and waited.

Peter ran his eyes over her body with a lingering consideration. "One of these days, I'm going to figure you out."

"Possibly," Allison agreed. She held out her hand. "I do have to go home at some point to deal with the sheriff's increasingly pointed questions about my chastity, however, so why don't you come here and show me what you have in mind?"

Peter slid down, lying next to Allison. "Maybe I just want you to look at me."

She brushed the hair back from his forehead. Being this close to Peter was making her feel all loose and warm, and she'd have probably agreed to anything he suggested at this point. "I like looking at you."

Allison pulled at his arm until he moved to lay on top of her, settling in between her legs. He stared down at her, his thumb brushing her cheek. "I know where I am, Peter. I want to be here."

Peter stared at her for another moment, then lowered his head for a kiss, and Allison was lost.

* * *

The sun had fully set by the time Allison slipped back inside the Stilinski house. She wasn't sure why she was trying to be quiet; her motorcycle would have announced her presence in any event. Maybe she was just too worn out from all the things Peter had wanted to do to her in his bed, to want to deal with the inevitable scene between her and Noah.

Or maybe that exhaustion was due to the latest round of blood loss.

"Allison?" Stiles yelped, ducking out into the hall. "Oh, good, you're alive."

"Of course I'm alive," Allison said, setting her helmet and gloves down on the bench.

"I mean, yeah, of course, just." He shrugged. "You know."

"Did you guys have dinner?" Allison unzipped her leather jacket and hung it up on the hook beside Stiles' hoodie.

"No, we were waiting for you." Stiles frowned. "What are you wearing?"

Allison turned. The flannel shirt that Peter had ripped to bloody ribbons was currently resting at the bottom of his kitchen trash pail. She'd borrowed one of his polo shirts for the ride home, and of course it would be the first thing Stiles would comment on.

Then, because the spiral of Allison's life was predictable, Noah came out of the living room. "Allison."

"Noah."

The three of them stood there for a moment in a weird triangular stand-off. "Different shirt," Noah said finally.

Stiles swung his head between his father and Allison, like he was at a tennis match.

"I spilled coffee on my other one," Allison lied without compunction. "Peter loaned me a dry one."

"Peter," Noah repeated. He gave a short nod. "That was nice of him."

"It was."

Noah exhaled. "So."

Allison crossed her arms over her chest. "Yes?"

"You know how old he is?

"I do," Allison said evenly. Stiles wrapped his hands in his shirt cuffs in agitation.

"Is there any point in me saying that I think this is a very bad idea?"

"It's just chess lessons, Noah," Allison said.

Noah regarded her. "The way Peter was looking at you at the café, that wasn't a man who was thinking about chess."

Stiles ripped a seam.

"No." Allison stepped forward, her spine straight. Her shoulder still ached with the remembered pain of Peter's fangs, but she didn't flinch. "I'd just spent some time reminding him of what the people of this town used to say about his mother, so I'd say it was more aggravation than anything else."

Noah huffed out a breath. "That was also not the face of a man who was thinking about his mother. Allison—"

"Can we drop the bullshit?" Allison interrupted. "Say what you have to say, and I'll say my piece."

"Fine." Noah crossed his arms, echoing Allison's posture. "You've been through a lot in the last few months, and sometimes people make ill-advised relationship choices when they're going through a rough patch."

"I agree," Allison said. "Peter is making bad decisions, what with losing his entire family so recently."

Stiles cleared his throat.

"I don't want you to get hurt," Noah went on.

"Peter's not going to hurt me." She threw Stiles a warning glare, and he kept his mouth shut. "And I'm not going to hurt him."

"That's very considerate of you," Noah said. "I want you to know one more thing."

Allison braced herself for whatever threat Noah had, for her or for Peter, already trying to come up with mitigation strategies for a felony statutory rape charge. Worst case scenario, she supposed she could fake a back-dated marriage certificate with Victoria's signature on it, to keep Peter out of jail. "What?"

"Whatever happens," Noah said, his voice and his eyes steady. "If you ever need anything, any help, someone to talk to, anything, you can come to me. No questions asked."

Allison stared at him. That was not what she had been expecting. She didn't know what to say.

"Okay?"

She nodded, still confused.

"Okay." Noah gave her a faint smile. "How about you run upstairs and, uh." He coughed. "Change. Stiles can get dinner on the table."

"Good idea." Allison waited until Noah had gone down the hall to his office before looking at Stiles. "What happened when I was gone?" she asked.

Stiles rubbed his face. "Dad asked me if I'd ever seen Peter being weird around you."

She was down the hall to his side in a burst of alpha speed. He meeped. "What did you say?" Allison demanded.

"Nothing!" Stiles protested. "I left out the whole part where Peter was trying to kill you at the Hale house so you set him on fire." Allison slapped his arm. "Ow! And, oh yeah, I forgot to mention that whole trying to kill you in the train depot before you started that creepy flirting thing."

Allison pointed at finger in Stiles' face. "Thank you."

Stiles' eyes crossed as he tried to focus. "Normally gratitude isn't so threatening."

"Was your dad being serious?" she asked.

Stiles shook his head, blinking. "About what?"

"Not asking any questions if I needed someone to talk to?"

"I think so." Stiles peered down the hall in the direction his father had taken. "Like, I never get that offer."

Allison put her arm around Stiles' shoulders. "Maybe he thinks he doesn't need to say it."

"Maybe he should," Stiles muttered. He pushed Allison away. "Go shower, you smell like Peter's cologne."

She sighed, and took the stairs three at a time. She figured she could shower in a few minutes, keeping her hair until morning. In her room, she checked her phone. There was nothing from Jarvis, which worried her from a Hunter monitoring perspective, and one message from Peter.

_I found a book you might like. Can you read french?_

_Yes,_ Allison wrote back. _I look forward to it._

Then she tossed her phone on the bed, grabbed a handful of clothing, and hauled herself to the bathroom. In the harsh lights over the mirror, she stripped, taking a moment to look at the remains of Peter's bite on her shoulder. The skin had healed cleanly, but the faintest scars still caught the light. It should be gone by morning.

Allison sighed. She half wished that she could go back to Peter's, stay all night in his bed. But being home was a better option.

She stopped. _Home._ How long had it been since she'd actually had a home? In the future, home was people, not a place.

But, if she was being honest, would the Stilinski house feel like home if Stiles and Noah weren't there?

_Home._

Allison put her face into her hands. She wasn't going to mess things up with the Stilinskis. She might be fucking up the rest of her life, but she was going to keep things right with Stiles and Noah.

If it was the last thing she did.

### Anna Vasquez

Anna sat in her office in one of Los Angeles' more upscale office towers, staring out at the sun setting in the west, and wondered if anyone would notice if she left.

Left Los Angeles, left the Vasquez Media empire, left her family, just… left.

Her father might notice after a few weeks, when he actually had to do something with the pack as alpha, instead of making Anna do all the running around and making sure the pack was safe and no one was abusing their power. Or he might not.

Her mother might notice at Christmas when Anna wasn't there to open the presents Inez had bought in the memory of Clara, but put out for Anna.

Her children might not notice, or if they did, they probably wouldn't care. They had practically been raised by their nanny since they were born, all four of them, and they might not even bother to ask if Anna never came home.

The only person who might notice if Anna suddenly vanished would be her assistant, wondering what to do with the morning's stock results.

Anna considered, as she did every night, where she might go. Her ex-husband had gone back to Monterrey after the divorce, taking the scads of money Anna threw at him to leave her and the children alone. A lot of the packs in Mexico and Arizona were territorial, especially after the pack wars, and an unaccompanied Vasquez werewolf would not likely be met with friendly intentions.

She supposed she could go to Nevada, or up north to Oregon, and then… what?

Running away sounded a lot easier before one realized that even _away_ ended up being somewhere.

So Anna stared out the window across her family's territory towards the sea, and resigned herself to another day in the life she'd been forced into after her sister's death, after the pack wars, after the long, slow, grueling rebuild toward a life that had never been normal in the first place.

Well. Not that it really mattered. Anna was the second-born daughter of the Los Angeles alpha; the one who kept everything running, kept everyone safe. She had responsibilities, and at thirty-six, she was too old to start over.

A soft knock on the office door turned Anna back into the room. It was Rosa, her assistant. "Why are you here so late?" Anna asked, standing up. "I thought you had your daughter's dance recital."

"I did, and I had to come back." Rosa came into the office, carrying a stack of papers. "The operations meeting is in a week and the financial report finally came back from the accountants."

Anna sighed. "Rosa, go home. It can wait until tomorrow." She rounded her desk to pluck the papers from the other woman's hand.

"Probably," said Rosa acerbically. "But Javier took the kids for hamburgers around the corner so I had a few minutes. Also, you have a visitor."

Anna raised an eyebrow. "At seven at night?"

Rosa sighed. "You wanted to hire more interns."

Anna held in a groan. In an effort to boost the pack's economic independence, Vasquez Media offered paid internships for the younger werewolves at any of the media empire's holdings. What that ended up as, was Anna had to wade through a dozen hormonal teenage werewolves on the premises at all kinds of odd hours.

At least she hadn't walked in on any of them humping each other's legs in the storage closets yet.

"Who is it?"

"Valentina."

This pulled Anna up short. Valentina was one of the Bitten Children, turned during the pack wars by the other warring alphas. As part of the armistice, the Vasquez pack took responsibility for all the children.

And almost two decades later, that meant a job at Vasquez Media.

"Why does she want to see me?" Anna asked.

Rosa shrugged. "She's somewhat tight-lipped about it."

Anna wanted to swear. As pack second, she had watched all the Bitten grow up, and tight-lipped was the one thing that Valentina had never been. Still, she managed a smile. "Send her in. And then leave. Don't make me give you tomorrow off."

"You wouldn't dare," Rosa said. "This whole place would fall apart."

"Probably."

Rosa headed out of the office. Anna took a moment to compose herself before Valentina entered the room. The girl was twenty, awkwardly tall and gangling, absolutely brilliant, and Anna was going to make sure the girl got into medical school if she had to pay the bills herself. "Hello, Ms. Vasquez," Valentina said, and bobbed what might have been a curtsy.

"Valentina, you've known me your whole life, please call me Anna." Anna held out her hand and Valentina took it, smiling at being bestowed such attention. "Now, sit down and tell me what's wrong."

Valentina sat on the plush leather couch at Anna's gesture. She was hugging a laptop to her chest. Anna sat, legs crossed, and regarded the girl. Valentina took a deep breath, and pent-up speech poured out.

"My mother, she has a sister in San Francisco, so I guess that's my aunt, and you know mothers, all they want is grandchildren and my older brother got married in the spring, you know? So all summer it's babies this and babies that and my mama is on Facebook and there was this group of moms who were in the same sorority at to UC Davis, and they keep in touch and sometimes they post videos of their kids and so my aunt saw this video one of her classmates posted of her daughter, the classmate's daughter, and sent it to my mama, and them mama showed it to me because there's a girl in it who looks just like you."

Anna, who had been listening to the waterfall of words with bemused indulgence, jerked upright. She blinked. "Someone who looks like me?"

"Yes," Valentina said, her fingers worrying at the laptop case. "And mama doesn't really know anything to do with your family, but she's met you a few times."

A girl who looked like Anna. Her heartbeat sped up. None of her brother's children looked like Anna; hell, even her own kids resembled their father far more than Anna herself.

But there had been someone else in Anna's life who she had resembled, someone who Anna had lost far too long ago.

Desperately, she tried to crush down the impossible hope. Clara was dead. Her child was dead. They had fought an entire _war_ over this.

Clara and her daughter were dead.

Very carefully, Anna wet her lips. "Is that so?" she said, keeping her voice mild. It didn't work; Valentina hunched her shoulders a little bit.

"It is," Valentina said. "I saw the video." She touched her laptop. "I didn't tell anyone. I mean, I wanted to tell you first. In case it was a cousin I didn't know you had. Sometimes I forget that I have so many cousins and then it's time for the family reunion and there's this sea—"

"Valentina," Anna said, voice too sharp. Valentina stopped mid-breath. "Did you come in here to show me the video?"

Valentina nodded.

"Can I see it?"

Valentina nodded again, and opened her laptop. The screen already had a video loaded up on it. The caption below the video read, _Gabriela's first campaign video_. Below that was a caption that said, _Gabriela came with me to the station to drop off something for her daddy, and she took a turn in the sheriff's chair._

It seemed fairly innocuous to Anna. But the way Valentina was watching her was disquieting. Anna made herself smile. "Let's see it."

Valentina tapped the play button. The video started mid-sentence.

"--not potty trained," came a woman's voice. On the screen, a black-haired toddler sat behind a huge desk, in a room that looked vaguely like what Anna expected from law enforcement. The toddler gleefully clutched a pen in her little baby hand, scrawling on a piece of paper.

"Details," came another woman's voice, also off-screen. A moment, then someone sat down in a chair just behind the toddler, and Anna felt her entire body react.

The young woman looked so much like Clara that Anna wanted to scream; paler, with dark circles under her eyes, but long hair like Clara and a face just like Clara's and an expression of amused contemplation on her face that Anna could still remember as her big sister Clara's, even eighteen years after Clara had been murdered.

"What do you say, Gabriela?" asked the girl who looked like Clara. She placed a sheriff's hat on the toddler's head. "Do you have any slogans for us for your upcoming election campaign?"

And oh god, oh merciful god in heaven, the girl's Spanish was just like Clara's, Mexican Spanish with Inez's Valencian accent.

This wasn't possible. It wasn't possible for there to be a girl that age who looked like Clara and who sounded like Clara, but wasn't Clara.

It wasn't possible.

Because then what Anna had done to all those people, in a civil war forced upon her by her father's wrath, had been for nothing.

"Doggy," said the toddler. "Mama, candy?"

The girl smiled with Clara's bright sunshine smile. Anna could only stare at a video that ripped away eighteen years of beliefs. "You heard it here first," the girl said. "Sheriff Ibarra's campaign promises include an expanded K-9 unit and community outreach in Beacon Hills."

"A worthy opponent," said a male-voice off-camera. Then, in English, "How's everyone doing?"

That was when the video stopped.

Valentina pulled back the laptop. She was watching Anna very carefully.

Anna took a breath, then another. "Do you know where this video was taken?" she asked.

"In Beacon Hills." Valentina tapped the laptop and pulled up a map of the state. "Three hours north of Sacramento."

"Beacon Hills," Anna repeated. Something about the name of that town made her uneasy. "That is interesting."

"I thought…" Valentina swallowed. "I mean…"

Anna shook off her shock. "Valentina," she said, putting her hands over the girl's. "Thank you for showing this to me." She brought the wolf to the surface, letting her voice drop. "You did the right thing. You don't have to tell anyone else about this."

Valentina flushed. "But I thought…"

"Valentina." The word was a command. "I will take care of this. You don't have to tell anyone else."

After a moment, Valentina nodded.

"Good." Anna squeezed Valentina's shoulder. "Now, it's late, and you should be getting home. Do you have a ride?"

Valentina nodded again.

Anna stood. "I'll walk you down."

"Okay." Valentina got up, fumbling for something in her pocket. She held out a USB drive. "I put the video on this, if you want to see it again."

Anna's heart thumped in her chest. "Thank you," she said, taking care to not snatch the thing off the girl's palm too quickly. "Let's go."

As they went to the elevator, Anna asked Valentina about her studies, and Valentina went into detail about her second year of college. Anna forced herself to listen closely, pushing away the fluttering panic about a girl who looked like Clara, until she had delivered Valentina into the hands of the security team to get her safely to her vehicle.

Back in the elevator, Anna clutched at the thumb drive and tried to breathe. Maybe she had been mistaken. Maybe the girl had only looked a bit like Clara, and Anna's eyes had seen the ghost they wanted to see.

Maybe.

Maybe.

In her office, Anna closed the big door and went to her computer to play the video. When the dark-haired girl came back on screen, Anna pressed her hands over her mouth.

She hadn't been wrong.

This girl was so much like Clara, it couldn't be a coincidence.

But if she was… If the girl was Clara's daughter…

Who under heaven might have taken her?

Anna paused the video on the girl's face as she was smiling, then opened one of the desk drawers and pulled out a small photograph of Clara and Anna at Anna's quinceañera. Holding the photograph up to the screen confirmed the resemblance.

Anna sat back. She felt as if she had been gutted. For literally half her life, she had known, without doubt, that Clara and her baby had been killed. There was no coming back from dead.

And now, there was a very strong possibility that her sister's daughter was _alive_. Alive, and _so close_.

But how? Who could have taken her?

Anna put her head into her hands. She had to figure this out, but there was no one from whom she could ask for help. Her parents were out of the question. Inez might be logical about things, but Victor might fly off the handle. Tensions with the neighboring packs had been simmering along for the last few years, ever since Anna took over negotiations, but an accusation that any of them had taken Clara's daughter would likely be met with instant retaliation.

Anna didn't have the energy to plan for another war.

And there was something else, something in the back of her mind about Beacon Hills. She couldn't remember what was so ominous about that name.

Anna looked back at the screen, to the girl, then let the video keep playing. The girl's voice was so haunting, a familiar echo in unfamiliar tones, with something that reminded Anna so much of her own father.

None of this made any sense.

After a few more repetitions of the video, Anna paused it once again. She turned around to stare out the window again, only this time, her mind was racing.

She didn't know where to start. She knew she had to find out if the girl really was Clara's daughter, and if so, who might have taken her. She had to find out what kind of person this girl had become – would she fear her mother's kind?

And if this was all true, then that meant that Tony Stark would be coming back into their lives.

Anna breathed over the anger. She had hated Tony Stark for years, not for who he was, but what he represented. He'd gotten on with his life, never looking back, while Anna had had to fight a war and rebuild an entire pack structure before she was even twenty-one.

No, Anna did not like Tony Stark.

But if this girl was Clara's daughter, that meant she was Tony's daughter too, and that would make things complicated.

Anna picked up the photograph of her and Clara. That had been taken a very long time ago. Anna was a different person now. She wasn't that angry seventeen-year-old fighting to avenge her sister's death. She had responsibilities, to the pack, to the business, and to her family.

She couldn't throw it all away and run up to Beacon Hills to locate this one girl.

She had to do this right.

She had to plan.

And then…

Anna put the photograph back down.

Once Anna had a plan, then she was going to get to the bottom of who this girl was, and where she came from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the end of their scene:
> 
> Allison: oh, so Noah is okay with this  
> Noah: *is so not okay with this*
> 
> But like, look, the thing it, sometimes when the people you love are making what might seem like bad decisions, sometimes you have to say I’m here for you, no matter what, anything and anytime you need, because otherwise when things do bad, they feel they have no one to ask for help. I’m not saying that things are going to go bad, I’m just saying that Noah is very, very worried. 
> 
> Next chapter! It’s the first lacrosse game of the season! Chris vs. Allison! Noah has a few words for Peter (and maybe a _Meanwhile in Malibu_ segment... Perhaps a Jarvis POV?) Stay tuned!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shoes begin to drop all over town. Noah drops in to see Peter with some words about Allison. Allison gets stuck teaching gym class, where she makes new friends, new enemies, and continues to drive Scott away. Then it's time for the first lacrosse game of the season, where one of the team goes down, one of the pack freaks out, and Allison is driven into a confrontation with the most dangerous person in town: Chris Argent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: I do have a bit of description of what happened to some of the children in the Hale fire; graphic details for a few paragraphs.

* * *

Allison woke up early, after a full night's sleep. The world was soft and muzzy around the edges as she got up, showered to wash the blood out of her hair from Peter's claws the previous night, then dressed and wandered downstairs. She started the coffee before mixing herself a glass of the oral rehydration salts Melissa had given her. Only a few packets left.

 _I should stop losing so much blood,_ Allison thought, but it wasn't even tinged with any worry or panic.

Maybe she was getting stronger, settling her powers back into this old body.

The sound of the coffee dripping into the pot was hypnotic. Allison sat at the kitchen table in the pre-dawn light, sipping her drink, and wondering what the day would hold.

School, of course. The boys' first lacrosse game of the season was that night. Then home, another Friday at school, and two six-hour shifts at the station over the weekend.

Allison put the glass in the sink and wandered down the hall to the front door in bare feet, to fish in her jacket for the folded photocopies given to her by Stiles, Erica and Lydia. She opened them to look down at her mother's photograph, blurred by years and reproductions.

In all her years in the future, Allison had never really been able to get a solid answer on _who_ her mother had been. Tony had an idealized view of Clara from the two years they'd known each other, and Uncle Rhodey wasn't much better. Her Aunt Anna had idolized Clara, and still found it hard to speak about the sister she had lost.

Her grandmother Inez had been able to tell Allison about Clara growing up, but a mother's view of her favourite child was usually sanitized.

Her grandfather Victor refused to talk about Clara, and Allison had learned early on that the Los Angeles alpha was not a man to push.

Her uncles were blank slates. Matias had been badly injured in the pack wars and had lost the ability to speak, even in his human form. Their communication was mostly done through text, and Matias always wanted to focus on the present.

As for Rafael, Clara's older brother… well, he had died in a car accident less than a year after Allison learned about her true parentage. She had seen him perhaps twice in that time, and she didn't know him well enough to morn his passing, other than one less tie to Clara.

Now, back in 2012, Allison looked down at her mother's photo and wondered who Clara really had been, and what she wanted in life.

Footsteps on the stairs; Noah's tread. Allison put the papers back into her jacket pocket and drifted down the hall to the kitchen. "Good morning."

Noah smiled at her tiredly, already pouring out a cup of coffee. "Morning. How are you doing?"

"Good." Allison folded back up into her chair. "I don't think I woke up at all."

"That's good." Noah sat down.

"Are you working today?"

"Yes."

Allison thought for a moment. Other than the previous day, had he had any days off since she moved into the Stilinski house? "Do you always work this much?"

Noah hesitated. "It's a busy time of year. Lots on the go."

"I see." Allison thought about standing to get some coffee, but the idea felt like too much work. "Are you taking any vacation?"

"Maybe around Thanksgiving. A few days at Christmas."

"We should go to Disneyland," Allison said without thinking. Noah looked at her, surprised. "In October. Drive down or something and be stupid for a couple of days."

Noah smiled. "Stupid, huh?"

"Like go on roller coasters and watch the parade and then go into town and find some really good restaurants." Allison rubbed her hands over her knees. "I would kill for some bulgogi right about now."

"A little vacation sounds good." Noah looked into his mug. "Get away from all this for a little bit."

"Yeah." Allison sighed. "I mean, we'd have to come back, but maybe a few days away. When everything's sorted out."

Noah sighed. He put his mug down. "Allison…"

Oh god. The last thing Allison needed was for Noah to start asking what needed sorting out. And if it wasn't that, if he was going to start needling her about Peter again… "Can I ask you a question?" Allison said quickly. Noah eyed her. "You said if I wanted to talk to you, I could, right?"

"I did say that." Noah sat back, looking marginally more alert.

Allison frantically cast around for something to say. "So you know Scott." She winced.

"Yes, Allison, I've known Scott for a while now." Noah's voice was dry.

"Okay, and you were a teenage boy once, right?"

Noah rolled his eyes. "I'm not that ancient."

"I know. It's just…" Allison bit her lip. "I had to tell Scott that I killed the monster up in the woods, because it turned out that neither Derek or Stiles had, and he sort of went off the handle."

Some of the amusement fell off Noah's face. "Flew off the handle, how?"

"I don't know, he just sort of went on and on about how it was too dangerous and I shouldn't have done it."

Noah relaxed. "Sounds like he's worried about you."

"He shouldn't be," Allison said. The topic had been a random one, selected to deflect Noah, but maybe Allison could get some helpful advice out of it. "I can take care of myself, I have been telling him this. For ages."

She wasn't sure if that was literally true; her Scott had stopped trying to protect her from the big bad monsters pretty soon after her real parentage had been revealed. But it sounded like something a seventeen-year-old Allison might say.

"Sometimes it's not that easy to stop caring about someone," Noah pointed out. "What would have happened if Scott had gone up after the monster by himself? Would you have been worried about him?"

Allison made a face. "I'd have kicked his goddamned ass, is what I'd have done." She rubbed her eyes. "Sometimes I wish I could have been the person Scott needed me to be."

"Well." Noah stood up. "And maybe this comes from being super old, but I think when you find the right person, they won't need you to be anybody else." He came back to the table with the coffee pot and a mug for Allison. "How's that for some sage advice?"

Allison gave him a look. "Is that the kind of thing you'd tell Stiles?"

Noah sat back down. "I think Stiles would need to find someone to date before I go handing out advice." He hesitated. "I know he mentioned Lydia and Erica yesterday…"

Allison almost choked on her coffee. "Oh god, no, nothing like that," she wheezed. "Erica's one-hundred-percent over Stiles."

Noah's eyebrows went up.

"She had a crush on him years ago," Allison hastened to say. "She thinks he's a dork." Allison coughed, then went back to her coffee. "And Lydia is dating Jackson again."

"Stiles seems to work well with them."

"That's one of the things I like about Stiles." Allison finished her coffee. "He has a very firm understanding that women can fight just as hard as men." She stood up. "I'll tell you what. When Stiles does find himself someone to date, I'll let you know so you can start offering some of that sage advice."

"About that…"

Allison paused in the hallway. "What?"

The look Noah was giving her was incredibly direct. "What about Derek?"

Allison blinked. "I mean, I know Derek has terrible taste in women, but I don't think helpful advice from you is going to make any sort of dent in that track record."

"No, I mean…" Noah waved his hand. "Stiles and Derek."

"Oh." Allison eased back into the kitchen. "I think that Stiles doesn't think that Derek would ever see him like that."

"And what about Derek? How does he see Stiles?"

Allison sighed. Thinking back to Derek at this age hurt so much – he had lost so much and was still trying to rebuild his own emotions. "I think that Derek has lost everyone he ever cared about," she said carefully. "So he's trying hard to not care about anyone."

"That sounds really lonely," Noah said quietly.

"It is." Allison could hear Stiles moving around upstairs. "But maybe there's something good in how Stiles and Derek keep crashing into each other." She smiled at Noah. "Maybe they'll figure it out, eventually."

She turned and walked up the stairs, head full of the memories of losing Stiles after Derek's death, of how _hard_ everything had been after Derek died. That wasn't going to happen again, not as long as Allison was alive to prevent it, but the memories still burned within her.

She went into her room, wondering if she could just skip school and go back to sleep. Absently, she picked up Peter's borrowed shirt and carried it over to the bed, lifting it to her face to breathe in the scent. It helped calm the agitation in her head, smoothing out the rough edges in her memory.

Allison lay down, holding the shirt to her chest. She should probably have been more worried about her lack of reaction to what she and Peter had done the previous night. In the future, Peter had been a little experimental at times; then again, she was usually up for it.

But last night…

Allison rolled onto her stomach. Was it a werewolf thing that had made her want Peter to take his claws to her? To bite her like that?

She should probably have been worried about that. Instead, all Allison could think of was how she'd wanted to stay the night with him.

Maybe Peter was right. Maybe she was messed up.

"You awake?" Stiles asked from the door.

"Yes," Allison said into the pillow.

"You going to school?"

With a sigh, Allison sat up. Stiles was still damp from the shower, a patina of body spray in the air around him. She tried to avoid breathing in too deeply. "Yeah, let me grab my bag."

Stiles beamed at her. "Hurry up, I said I'd meet Erica and Lydia before biology."

He bounced down the hall, leaving Allison to take one more pathetic sniff of Peter's shirt before shoving it under her pillow and getting up to face the day.

### Noah Stilinski

Noah knocked on the door for a second time. Was Peter even at home? He had no idea what the man did all day. Probably not work; everyone in Beacon Hills knew the Hales were loaded.

Come to think of it, Noah should probably figure out what Derek did with his time, too, if Stiles was going to be around him so much.

After another moment, the door opened, and Peter Hale stood framed in the doorway. "Sheriff."

"Mr. Hale." Noah gave the man the once-over. Put together, expensive clothes, perfect poise. It irritated Noah. "Can I come in?"

"Do you have a warrant?"

"I just came over for a friendly chat," Noah said. "But we can talk right here. I'm sure no one's going to wonder why the sheriff is on your doorstep."

Peter let his eyes move to the road, over the police cruiser parked at the curb with the deputy in the passenger seat, then down the street. "I'm sure no one will care," he said, but he went back into the apartment, leaving the door open.

Noah tromped inside, closed the door, and followed Peter down the entrance hall into the large studio apartment. The whole place reeked of money, with expensive furniture and art on the walls, and a huge bookcase along the south wall between the windows. Half the spaces were full of books of all sizes and colours, and Noah was reminded of what Allison said about Peter's library.

He tried very hard not to look at the bed in the corner.

The man had gone to the couch in the middle of the large room and sat down, arm along the back of the cushion, one ankle propped up on his knee. "Feel free to poke around, if that's why you're here," Peter said.

"I'm just here to talk." Noah strode across the floor and sat in the puffy armchair across from the couch. He didn't miss Peter's pained glance down at his work boots. "About Allison."

"Allison," Peter repeated. He smiled, but the expression didn't reach his eyes. "What about Allison?"

Noah held up his hand. "Let me start this again. I'm here to talk, not to listen to anything you have to say."

Peter shifted his jaw, all traces of amusement gone, but he held his tongue.

Noah lowered his hand. He'd thought about what he wanted to say to Peter Hale, because he had no doubt that Allison was going to hear every detail at some point. He also didn't want to hear anything from Peter, because if the man tried to justify what he was doing with a seventeen-year-old to Noah's face, Noah might be forced into a little uncharacteristic violence.

"You know what I find the most interesting about this whole situation between you and Allison?" Noah asked, then went on without waiting to see if Peter would actually respond. "Is that she is so insistent that she's not going to hurt you."

Peter's eyes narrowed for just a moment before he blanked his expression, but Noah knew that the man had not been expecting that opening volley. He plunged on.

"And for a while, it confused me, because that's not normally what a teenage girl leads with when she's describing a relationship. Then watching you and Chris Argent yesterday, I started wondering a little bit about what you might be getting out of this arrangement."

Peter's glare had grown frosty, but he remained silent.

"Ever since she came to live with me and Stiles, the one thing Allison has been most insistent about is protecting people." Noah leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "Stiles, mostly, but Erica and all her other friends, even Derek."

Peter tapped his fingers against the cushions.

"It's almost as if she's trying to undo just a little bit of the harm that the Argents did to this town."

This broke Peter's resolve. "And you think that this newly uncovered beneficence on Allison's part is what's making her want to spend time with me?" he demanded.

Noah shrugged. "I don't know what motivates Allison, to be honest. She's going through a lot right now." He waited, to see if Peter would start talking, or maybe even say something incriminating, but the man just shut his mouth and glowered. "She's going through a lot," Noah said again, "And she's trying really hard to handle it all on her own. But when someone's in her position, they can be a little vulnerable."

He paused, and the air hung heavy with Peter's silence.

"Thing is, in law enforcement, you see things, and after a while, you come to expect the worst," Noah continued. "One of my new deputies, if I told them a story about a seventeen-year-old girl who was raised the way Allison was raised, whose mother killed herself in the girl's bedroom, who got kicked out of her father's house with a bruised face and a nearly broken arm to wander the streets? That deputy might not be all that surprised at the part of the story where that girl starts seeing a much older man."

"Maybe Allison's looking for a little stability," Peter suggested.

Noah curled one hand over the other. "Maybe she is," he said. "I'm not here to talk about Allison's motives. I'm here to talk about yours."

Peter exhaled.

"I know what the Argents did to your family," Noah said. Peter's eyes got a little blue at that, which Noah thought was weird, but he didn't otherwise react, so Noah continued. "I heard what you said to Chris at the plaza, and it sounded like you wanted to see how far you could push him before he lost it."

"As it turns out, pretty far," Peter agreed.

"Yeah, and that's what bothers me." Noah let his hands drop. "You kept saying things about Allison to get a reaction out of her father. All that stuff you said about how afraid Allison is of Chris, and you kept going."

"Like you don't see how freaked out she gets when Chris's name comes up?"

"No, I see it," Noah snapped. "Last night, she and I were having a very simple conversation about what I overheard you say at the plaza, and the moment I mentioned Chris was there, she nearly had a panic attack."

Peter looked away.

"Which makes me think that your motivations for this relationship might be about getting back at the Argents." Noah stood. "And _that_ makes me more than a little concerned for Allison."

Peter stayed where he was. "I have nothing but the highest regard for Allison," he said frostily. "A healthy, platonic regard."

"Uh huh." Noah hooked his thumbs in his belt. "Then act like it."

Peter got to his feet, with the same sort of fluid strength Noah had seen in Allison. In Allison, it had been graceful. In Peter, it just looked threatening. "Is this the part where the ultimatums come in?"

Noah looked at Peter, then smiled. "Sure. How about this? Allison is important to me, and a lot of other people. If you hurt her, your life is going to become very awkward."

"Going to throw me in front of the Argents, see if they want to finish what Kate started?" he demanded.

"Of course not," Noah said. "In fact, if Chris or any of his friends try anything, I'd appreciate it if you'd let me know. We haven't got much of a case against them at this point, so everything helps."

Peter blinked in confusion. "If you're not talking about Argent, who are you talking about?"

What Noah wanted to do was to wave Allison's real family in front of Peter as a threat – the largest werewolf family in California, and Tony Stark. But they were days, if not weeks away from proving any of that in a way that would hold up in court, so Noah was stymied. But not all was lost.

"See, Allison's been working at the station for a while now," Noah said. "The guys there like her, and, well. A lot of them have daughters of their own. They might not take too kindly to Allison getting hurt."

"Why, Sheriff, that sounds a lot like a threat of police harassment," Peter said mockingly.

"No, not at all, just a friendly comment about how many people in town are looking out for Allison's best interests. And if that includes you, then everything's great."

Peter spread his hands out to the sides. "Then everything's great."

"Glad we're on the same page." Noah squared his shoulders. "I'll see myself out."

He turned and, not waiting for any additional commentary, walked to the front door, and out into the day. He headed down the steps to the patrol car, going around to the driver's seat and getting in.

"How did that go?" Natasha asked, tapping on the in-car computer.

"Great," Noah said sarcastically. He took a sip from his travel mug. His coffee had gone cold. "You ever want to just punch someone?"

Natasha made what sounded like a snort. "I was born wanting to punch someone."

"Yeah." Noah turned on the car. "You know what gets me?"

"That you've got a seventeen-year-old in a relationship with a thirty-nine-year-old man who spent six years in a coma after being set on fire by aforementioned teenager's family?"

"In part." Noah pulled the car out into the road. "But the bigger part is that he doesn't seem to be that concerned about her safety."

"You think he's going to hurt her?" Natasha asked.

Noah thought about this for a while as he directed the car south. "I don't know," he said after a while. "Maybe all he does is wind up someone else who might hurt Allison." He signalled to turn east. "But there's more than one way to hurt someone who cares about you."

"You think Allison cares about this guy?"

Noah accelerated to make a light. "Yeah," he said reluctantly. "I do."

Natasha blew out a breath. "Love is a bitch."

"It's even worse when it's growing out of guilt."

"You thinking about what happened to the Hale family? Do you think Allison feels guilty about that?"

"Oh yeah." Noah slowed for a red light. "I wish I didn't, but whenever she talks about it…" He sighed. "She had nothing to do with that fire. She was eleven."

There was a palpable quiet on the other side of the car. "People aren't always rational about guilt," Natasha said after a minute.

"Tell me about it," Noah muttered. "Enough about this. Is there anything stirring?"

Natasha read off some details from the police scanner, and Noah put his thoughts towards the day. In any normal town, the sheriff should be ensconced in his office, working on paperwork and politics.

But this was Beacon Hills, and nothing was ever normal.

Time to go to work.

"I still think she smells weird," Isaac was saying to Jackson in gym class.

"Dude," Jackson said, threats of violence in his voice. "Stop talking about how Allison _smells."_

Allison sighed. The entire class was sitting on the floor, waiting for Mr. Barton to show up. On Allison's starboard side, Lydia had her face in her hands, cheeks pink with second-hand embarrassment. Off to port, Erica was muttering under her breath.

"But it's weird," Isaac went on.

"I hate everyone," Stiles said from somewhere off to stern. "Isaac, you fucking pervert, I told you. She's taking like an insane amount of vitamins."

"She doesn't smell like vitamins," Isaac grumbled.

"Oh, my god," Lydia whispered. "Make him _stop._ "

Allison reached back, grabbed a handful of someone's shirt, and pulled. Isaac whimpered as she dragged him over. "Isaac?"

He licked his lips, nervousness wafting off him. "Yes?"

"You're making it creepy."

"Sorry."

"Knock it off."

"Okay."

She let him go. As she did so, Isaac took an actual honest-to-god sniff of her neck. Before Allison could hit him, Erica grabbed Isaac around the chest and wrestled him to the ground, pinning him. "Say sorry," Erica said in Isaac's ear.

"Ow. Sorry."

"Erica," Allison said. "Remember, no roughhousing in gym class."

Jackson groaned. "It's been like this every goddamned day."

"He only moved in with you on Tuesday," Danny said, confused.

"It still feels like three goddamned weeks."

Once Erica had removed her knee from Isaac's solar plexus, the boy sat up, dusted himself off, and moved over beside Lydia. "You still running for class president?" he asked.

"Yes," Lydia said repressively. "Why?"

He shrugged. "Mrs. Whittemore said I should do another extracurricular. School council doesn't cost any money."

Lydia turned to glare at Allison. "See? This is all your fault."

Allison wanted to cry. Teenage werewolves were such a handful. "How?"

At that moment came a teacher-shaped interruption. Allison had never been so glad to see Clint Barton in her life. "Sorry I'm late, but, stuff." He crossed his arms over his chest, nearly spilling his Starbucks cup. "What are we doing?"

"Losing our will to live," came Scott's voice from the back of the room.

Lydia put up her hand. "What _are_ we doing?" she asked plaintively.

Clint considered. "New feature here at Beacon Hills High," he said, and slurped coffee. "In an attempt to get you layabouts to be more invested in your physical education, each of you is going to be responsible for teaching a class this year." Voices picked up, a mix of interest and despair. "And we're going to start at the top of the class list."

Allison sat up, murder stirring in her heart. Did he mean…

"So, kicking us off – Allison Argent." Clint smiled at her. "Take it away."

Allison glared so hard her head hurt. "Class dismissed," she said.

"Nope!" Clint called before anyone could get up. "Teach a class to get a passing grade in this course."

Lydia keened.

"Fine." Allison rose to her feet in a fluid motion. "Nap time?"

"Try again."

"Synchronized screaming?"

"One more time."

Allison shook her head, and turned to face her classmates. God, so many teenagers. Well, if she was going to be stuck in this hell for the next forty minutes, she may as well teach them something useful.

It was just like being back in what Kamala had called _Superhero High_.

"All right," she said, putting her hands on her hips. "Does anyone here know krav maga?"

No one raised their hands, although Allison could tell which of her classmates knew what krav maga was from their expressions of terror.

Allison was somewhat gratified to see that Clint looked a little nervous.

"First lesson in any martial art," she went on. "Knowing how to fall without hurting yourself. Because you can fight the law, but you can't fight gravity."

"But I thought the law won," Stiles called.

Allison smiled. "Thanks for volunteering to help me, Stiles."

He paled and tried to shimmy away, but Jackson and Danny caught his arms and practically propelled him into the air. Allison caught him by the shoulders and hauled him over to the mats. "Don't kill me, I have a game tonight," Stiles whimpered.

"Wolf up," Allison hissed back. "All right," she said for everyone's ears. "Here's how not to fall." She turned so her back was to the mats. "Push me."

Stiles hesitated, then, using his right index finger, pushed against Allison's shoulder.

Allison was her father's daughter, and the Starks had made a fortune off the art of showmanship. In the brief years she'd known Tony Stark, Allison had taken very careful note of when and how to whip out the unexpected, to throw an audience off-guard.

So when Stiles pushed her with less force than would come from a newborn infant, she fell backwards, straight as a plank, landing like a falling tree. Even though she was prepared for it, keeping her head up, the force of the fall still took her breath away.

The class collectively winced.

Allison sat up. "So, don't do that." Erica and Lydia practically collapsed on each other in relief. Jackson put his hand over his eyes. "Besides the obvious spinal injuries, this is the best way to get a concussion." She beckoned Stiles over. The boy, looking traumatised, let her manhandle him down onto his back. "The instinct is for the head to fall slower than the body, but if you don't protect your head, then all that momentum will slam your skull into the ground with way too much force." Allison lifted Stiles' head a bit, then slowly lowered it to mimic the force. "This is what knocks people out in falls. Don't do it."

Off to the side, Clint groaned. "I'm going to get arrested," he muttered.

"Excuse me, I'm in charge," Allison retorted. She pulled Stiles to his feet. "Thank you, Stiles, for your help."

Still whimpering, Stiles went to collapse beside Erica.

"Now, here's how you fall correctly." She demonstrated a backwards fall, a forward fall, and a side fall. "The most important thing is to lower your centre of gravity."

"Then Dolores should have no problem," said one of the boys in the back of the room. Off to Allison's left, where Dolores was sitting with the other drama kids, the girl flushed a deep red.

Allison glared. "Can I give detention?" she asked Clint.

"No." At least he sounded apologetic about it.

"Then it's time for the bi-annual reminder that if you're not nice to people, you'll end up alone without any friends after high school," Allison said to the room at large. No one said anything, so she moved on. "Drama is probably the best place in this school to learn the art of falling. Falling is the best comedic device in history."

"Like Buster Keaton," Dolores said, trying to muster up a smile.

"Exactly." Allison stepped into the fall Buster Keaton had made famous in Steamboat Bill Jr. There were a few tentative giggles. She rolled back over one shoulder, getting her knee under her and finished the roll in a standing position. "Now comes the fun part, where you all practice falling down. Go get mats."

Some moved faster than others, but everyone ended up getting a mat to practice on. Allison wandered over to Clint's side as the juniors sorted themselves out across the gym.

"How am I doing?" she asked.

Clint raised his eyebrows. "No one's bleeding and no one's on fire, so that's a win."

Allison sucked in a breath. The comment might have been carelessness, but Allison rather thought that it was design. "Friendly tip," she said icily. "It's best practice in Beacon Hills to avoid talking about setting people on fire to an _Argent."_

Clint's expression was as pure as the undriven snow. "Huh. I'd never thought of that," he said.

"Bullshit," Allison said. _"Sir."_

Clint eyed her. "Your class awaits," was all he said.

Allison was reminded how much she hated gym, but she dutifully turned and went to help her classmates fall over.

The wolves took to the exercise with enthusiasm, pulling Danny and Stiles along. Lydia refused to even try, worried about hurting herself, so Allison left her to Erica's tender ministrations and went to check on the rest of the class. Most of the other kids were tentative and stiff, but as the minutes progressed, they got into it.

But there were a few boys at the back, including the one who had made the snide comment about Dolores, who were just sitting on the ground. Allison was tempted to ignore them, but as Wanda Maximoff had always said in training up new superheroes, sometimes, one must take the first step.

"You guys need any help?" she asked.

One of the boys looked at her dismissively. "Yeah, you want to demonstrate falling on your back again for us?" A couple of his friends snickered.

The comment was like a record scratch over the gym. Mostly all movement came to a halt. Allison wanted to roll her eyes. It wasn't even _imaginative_ sexual harassment. "My dead mother has better come-back lines," she said. "Up your game."

A tall, muscular shape appeared at Allison's side. "Guess what?" Clint said. He wasn't smiling now. "Turns out that I can give detention. Up."

The boy grudgingly stood, glaring at Allison.

Clint held out a slip of paper. "Principal's office. Now."

Still glaring, the boy trudged off towards the doors.

Clint looked down at the remaining boys. "Now, we're going to have a conversation about the value of participation," he said. He glanced sideways at Allison. She took the hint, moving off to help a few of the band kids who were nervous about hurting their wrists in a fall.

Eventually, Clint called a halt to the class, gave a mini-speech about the importance of trying new things, and not being a dick to everyone around you, and then told everyone to go to lunch early. Allison escaped in the middle of a pack of girls to avoid having to talk to Clint.

Erica slipped her arm through Allison's on the walk to the locker room. "Are you okay?"

Allison frowned. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because of douchebag Daryl," Lydia chimed in.

Allison shook her head. "It's not even worth learning his name," she said. "Come on, it's lasagna day in the cafeteria and I could eat an entire moose."

They piled into the change room, Allison heading to her locker, pulling her t-shirt off over her head as she went. The rip in her bra that she hadn't noticed the night before from Peter's claws had pulled apart during her falling exercises. She just hoped that her bra didn't suffer a structural collapse in the middle of computer science; it would be all too embarrassing.

She mentally added a new sports bra to her list of things to buy when her paycheck came in the next day.

"Allison?"

Allison glanced around to see Dolores. "Hi," she said, pulling the worn borrowed shirt out of her locker.

"How did you learn that Buster Keaton fall?" Dolores blurted out.

"A friend of mine really liked his movies," Allison said, trying not to let the memory overwhelm her of Bucky, watching old Buster Keaton films and almost rolling with laughter. "I tried learning a few of the gags over the summer."

"That was really good," Dolores said. "You should try out for after-school theatre sports. We're doing Shakespeare improv next week. It's fun."

Allison pulled her shirt on. "I have to work after school," she said apologetically.

"Oh." Dolores seemed at a loss.

Allison tried to think of what to say to the teenager. "Do you like lacrosse?" she said, a little desperately. "Come out to the game tonight? The boys are pretty excited."

Dolores made a face. "I'm not really into organized sports," she said. "But thanks."

"Any time." Allison shucked out of her gym shorts to pull on her jeans.

"Um," Dolores went on, turning a little pink around the edges. Allison waited. "So thanks. For in there."

"It was the least I could do," Allison said. She tried to decide if she wanted to bother with the flannel over-shirt.

"Yeah, but…" Dolores hesitated. "Last year, we all thought you were kind of…" she trailed off again.

"Intense?" Erica suggested, from where she had been shamelessly eavesdropping on the conversation.

"I was going to say psycho, but intense works," Dolores said. "But you're, you know. Pretty swell."

Allison wasn't sure what the expression on her face was, but oh, gosh, teenagers could be so adorable. "Thank you," she said with a straight face. "Maybe I'll check out that theatre thing next month."

One of Dolores' friends bobbed up and steered Dolores away. Allison continued dressing.

"She's right," Erica mused. She met Allison's eyes with a gleam in her own. "You were psycho last year."

"Thanks."

Lydia appeared, putting on a new coat of lipstick. "Totally psycho," she agreed, smacking her lips. "Lunch?"

Allison closed her locker and hefted her bag. "There's rosemary, that's for remembrance," she mused.

Lydia stared. "What?"

"There's fennel for you, and columbines."

Lydia blinked. "Whatever." She turned and marched out of the locker room. Erica and Allison followed in her wake.

"I thought you'd have memorized Hamlet," Allison said. Boys were spilling out of their locker room in a cacophony of sound.

"Ugh, no. Shakespeare is _boring."_

"I like it," Erica protested.

"Yeah, but you want to be an _arts_ major."

Erica mimed a slash at Lydia's back. Allison caught her hand. "What are you both going to do after school before the game?" she asked to redirect.

"Library," Erica said. "Boyd has a paper he needs to finish and he can't find time at home."

"Same." Lydia skipped up the stairs on the way to their lockers. "Not a paper, but Harris keeps marking down our chem lab reports if we don't cite sources, so that's my own particular hell."

"What about you?" Erica asked Allison.

"I'll join you, if it's okay." Allison opened her locker. She wondered if she could tap into Jarvis's computer systems from the library computer.

Down the hall, over the buzz of teenage voices primed for the lunch break, Allison could make out two familiar voices with an unfamiliar edge.

"Why is she like this?" Scott was saying. Allison kept her eyes on her locker, straining to hear.

"Like what?" Stiles demanded.

"Like… this!" Scott exploded. "She's bossing everyone around and she doesn't care about things anymore! She's acting really weird!"

"Oh my god," Stiles exclaimed. "Scott, Allison's not weird, she's just worried all the time and not sleeping enough and she sure as hell isn't eating enough but—"

"Why are you always taking her side?"

"I'm not taking her side—"

"Yes, you are!" A locker slammed shut, making Allison jump. "First you don't tell me she's back in town or _living_ with you, then when I tried to talk to her you freaked out on me—"

"Hey!" Stiles said, voice suddenly razor sharp. "Dude, she had a full-on panic attack when you started _chasing her around my living room_ —"

"I just wanted—"

"Scott, she went through hell this summer," Stiles interrupted. "And in case you haven't noticed, hell followed her home."

"What did she tell you?" Scott asked. Allison could hear his incredulity even over two boys talking about a videogame. "And why does she keep touching you?"

"Why does she keep _what?"_

"She's always touching you," and there was something Allison couldn't identify in Scott's voice. "And she's wearing your clothes and you two are always hanging all over each other and—"

"Shut up." Stiles' voice was deadly cold. "You fucking _asshole_."

"Oh yeah? And what am I supposed to think?"

"That Allison is my _friend_. Just… You know what? Fuck you."

Another locker slammed, and Allison couldn't hear any more. Slowly, she closed her locker door, to find Erica and Lydia both staring at her.

"Are you having a stroke?" Lydia asked.

"You look kind of pale," Erica added.

Allison forced a smile onto her face. "I'm fine." She wiped her hands on her jeans. "I just remembered, I have to hand something in at the office. I'll see you guys in a bit?"

"Okay," Lydia said, giving Allison the once-over.

"Come on, Boyd's saving us seats in the cafeteria," Erica said.

"Bye." Allison smiled again, then turned and walked in the opposite direction from where she'd heard Stiles and Scott arguing.

She didn't get it. She had been trying with Scott, but everything she did made things turn out even worse. She'd been urging him to come into Derek's pack, to keep him safe with the others – with the threat of the Alpha pack coming up that fall, and the Nogitsune possessing Stiles, she needed Scott to be strong, because that way he was safe.

But everything she did drove Scott further and further away – from the wolves, from Derek, and especially from Stiles.

It was too loud in the halls. When she reached the stairs, she went down, and down again to the basement. It was quieter down here, but the weight of being surrounded by all these teenagers pressed on her.

She needed some _space._

She passed the boiler room, to the electrical room, and jimmied the door to get in. After making sure the door was locked behind her, Allison grabbed a flashlight and headed to the entrance to the tunnels under Beacon Hills.

It was much quieter down here, although not as quiet as it had been the previous morning. The vibrations overhead were muted as Allison walked down the empty tunnel, flashlight aimed at the ceiling to diffuse the light so she could see better. She paused at the Y-junction, thought about going to sit outside the Hale vault for a while, then turned right.

It had been ages since she'd been down here, not since before the universe had started to disintegrate. In her original future, after she became the Hale alpha, these tunnels were a place she could go where she was guaranteed not to run into any of the pack, and certainly not Stiles. With her enhanced senses, nothing could sneak up on her down here.

Of course, back then, she hadn't believed in ghosts.

Allison turned left. This was the way down to the city centre and the tunnels by the river. She could keep going, winding her way under the city, leaving school and her friends and stupid teenage drama behind.

But she'd have to come up for air eventually, and it was too much of a hassle to deal with the bureaucracy of life to skip classes.

She hated high school.

Allison found an alcove and sat in the little hollow chipped out of the rock. She listened very hard, but there was no sound, no movement of air, nothing to indicate that anyone else was in the tunnels with her.

Then she turned off the flashlight.

The world dropped into a darkness blacker than pitch, stiller than death. Allison let her eyes adjust to the lack of light and waited for the afterimages to appear on her retinas.

She had to figure out what to do with Scott. She needed him to be safe, and she needed him to be strong. It was becoming obvious that she had no idea what was going on in his head. If it had been any other situation, she would have aimed Stiles at him to get to the truth, but the current state of affairs between the boys negated that plan. Scott wasn't really friends with anyone else in the pack, not Erica or Boyd, and certainly not Jackson. Maybe Isaac? But why would Isaac do anything Allison asked him to?

A voice very much like Sam Wilson's echoed in her head. _You can't fix everything,_ he had said to her once after a very long, very bad day. _And I know you're a Stark and fixing things is what you do, but not everyone wants you to fix them._

Maybe what Allison needed was to back off Scott for a while.

Maybe she needed to talk to Stiles, to see if he wanted her to give him more space, to stop borrowing his clothes. And she hadn't been touching him that much, had she?

Maybe she had just been so happy at having Stiles back in her life that she had been treating him like one of her wolves, one of her pack.

She wrapped her arms around her chest, feeling cold. She was being the same way with Erica and Lydia, too.

Maybe she should stop.

Allison balled up the edge of the borrowed t-shirt in her hand. She didn't know what she was doing in Beacon Hills. Why wasn't she in Malibu helping Tony go after Aldrich Killian, or even Hydra? Why was she playing this stupid charade? She had come back in time to complete a mission to save the universe. So why was she wasting her time reliving high school?

She stood up, leaving the flashlight off. She could retrace her steps in the dark; she'd done it multiple times before in these tunnels. Putting one hand out in front of her, she started walking.

What would happen if Allison left Beacon Hills that moment? She pushed away all the emotions and uncertainty, all the lingering discomforts and slights, to focus.

The first problem – Dupont and his Hunters. If she left, they might follow her, but then again, they might stay and turn their attention onto the werewolves. That was out of the question.

The second problem – Noah Stilinski might have some concerns if Allison suddenly vanished, and she didn't want to do that to him. He was a good man, and had done so much for her, in the future that wouldn't happen, and in the present.

The third problem – Peter.

Allison sighed in the dark. Peter wasn't a problem. He wouldn't care all that much if Allison took off, except in irritation that he couldn't fuck her any more. The problem was Allison, and how much the idea of leaving Peter made her ache inside.

It hurt almost as much as knowing how little she probably meant to him.

Allison's outstretched hand touched brick. She corrected, and kept walking.

So, Allison would stay in Beacon Hills until the Dupont situation had sorted itself out. Then she'd tell Noah she was leaving, and head down to Malibu on her bike. She was sure that Tony would be able to figure out DNA tests to prove who she was.

And maybe, she could go find her mother's family, and get to know them a little.

But first, and foremost, Allison had to change the future to save the universe. That was her mission.

What she _wanted_ didn't really matter.

She found her way back to the electrical room, letting her eyes adjust slowly to full light. It was the work of a few minutes to find her way back up into the school. To her surprise, looking at the clock, she found that she had been underground for almost the entire lunch period. She didn't even have time to go back to her locker before the bell rang for the next period. Swearing under her breath, Allison booked it to the computer lab.

* * *

History was the last class of the day, and it was miserable. Scott and Stiles sat as far apart as possible, with Allison hiding behind Jackson and Danny. The teacher had apparently decided that her goal in life was to ruin Allison's, and nearly every question on the reading was aimed at Allison.

When the class finally, mercifully, ended, Scott was out of the room in a shot. Allison hesitated before making her way over to where Stiles was attempting to sweep up the confetti he'd made from the assignment handout. "Hey."

"Hi." Stiles didn't make eye contact. "You sticking around for the game?"

"Of course." Allison sat on a spare desk. "Your dad's coming too, right?"

"Yeah, he said he would." Stiles dropped the shredded paper into his bag. "Unless something comes up."

"He'll be here," Allison said. She was going to text Noah as soon as Stiles headed off, to make sure. "You're going to do great."

"Yeah, right," Stiles muttered. He tried to shove his textbook into his bag at a geometrically impossible angle.

"You will." Allison thought about what she'd overheard earlier that day, and came to a decision. "Hey, can I say something?"

Stiles shrugged, still not making eye contact.

"I know I've only been staying with you and your dad for a couple of weeks, but I wanted to say thank you for everything."

Stiles jerked around, eyes wide. "Oh god, are you dying?" he blurted out.

"No!" Allison snapped. "I was going to say that you're like the brother I never had." She smacked him on the shoulder. "But never mind."

Stiles stared at her for a beat, then he smiled the biggest smile she'd ever seen on him. "Really?"

"Shut up."

"I mean, same here." Stiles shouldered his backpack. "You're like the brother I never had, too."

Allison bit down on a grin. "Don't you have to get to warm-up?"

"Oh shit!" Stiles exclaimed, comical horror on his face. "Later!"

He ran.

Allison slid off the desk and wandered out into the hall. She stopped at her locker to drop off her notebook, then went to the library. Lydia was already ensconced at a table, hands in her hair as she glared at a chemistry textbook. Boyd and Erica were at the other end of the table, paying more attention to each other than to their homework.

Allison plopped herself down between the girls. She should do something, like read a book, or go over to the computer. Instead, she leaned back in the chair, resting her head along the back, and stared up at the ceiling.

She was so finished with high school.

"Isaac's right," Boyd said after a minute. Allison lifted her head to look at him. "You do smell weird."

Lydia slammed her textbook shut. "Would everyone _please shut up_ about how Allison smells?" she hissed.

"It's probably all these vitamins," Allison said wearily, letting her head fall back. "It's like swallowing a handful of horse pills every morning."

"It doesn't smell like vitamins," Erica said. "Maybe it's something you ate? Remember how Derek's scent changed a bit after he started eating red meat again?"

"Okay," Lydia said before Boyd could respond. "I am going to make a list of words that we are no longer using at school, and the list starts with _scent_." She glared around the table. "Got it?"

Erica and Boyd exchanged an amused glance. Allison sighed. "Sure, Lydia." She sat up. Her stomach ached with having missed lunch. "Does anyone know what time the concession opens before the game?"

"I think at five?" Boyd said.

Allison checked the clock. An hour and a half. She could survive. "All right. Lydia, give me that chemistry book, I'll tell you what you're doing wrong."

Lydia's gasp at this slander was met with a loud shushing from the librarian, and they got down to work.

* * *

Allison spotted Noah walking towards the bleachers, and waved at him. He waved back, and turned to say something to the redhead at his side.

Allison would have sighed, had she not had a mouthful of hot dog. Natasha had come to see the game. Great.

"Hi, Allison," Noah said as he climbed up the stairs. "Hey, kids."

"Hi, Sheriff," chorused Erica and Lydia. Boyd gave an awkward wave.

"Mind if we join you?" Noah asked.

"We don't want to crash your social event," Natasha added.

Allison shrugged, jamming the rest of the hot dog into her mouth. She picked up the rest of her haul from the concession stand and moved to the row behind the others, leaving space for Noah and Natasha beside her.

"Thanks," Noah said. The representatives from the law sat down. "We should probably do some introductions?"

Allison pointed at her mouth, cheeks full.

Lydia turned around, her eyes already mid-roll. "Lydia Martin," she said, holding out her hand to Natasha. "We met in gym class. This is Erica, you'll remember her too." She elbowed Boyd.

"Vernon Boyd," the teenager said. He shook hands with Noah, then Natasha. "But, just Boyd."

"Nice to meet you," Noah said. "You work at the ice rink, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Please, call me Noah. All Stiles' friends do."

Allison finally managed to swallow. "How was work?" she asked, picking up the next hot dog.

"Pretty quiet," Noah said. He looked at the little concession stand tray on her lap. "How many of those do you have?"

"She got five," Erica said with glee. "The concession guy almost had a stroke."

"Hey, the sign said that the family special was five hotdogs for ten dollars," Allison objected. "I'm someone's family."

She did not miss how Natasha's eyes flickered at this statement.

"Besides, I had a crisis and missed lunch."

Noah frowned. "What kind of crisis?"

"The existential kind." Allison took a decorous bite. "What am I doing with my life, what's the point of everything, who am I as a person. Et cetera." She took another bite. "Although that might have been because Mr. Barton showed up to gym class fifteen minutes late with Starbucks and made me teach."

Noah looked puzzled. "Made you teach the class?" he echoed.

Allison nodded, chewing.

"She showed everyone how to fall over for an hour," Lydia put in. "It was very taxing on the nerves."

"Falling?" Natasha leaned over to look at Allison.

"It's the first thing you need to learn," Allison said, unperturbed. "It wasn't like I was given a lot of lead time to prepare." She shrugged. "You fall down the stairs enough as a kid, I suppose that turns you into an expert."

Boyd gave a surprised cough. Lydia looked puzzled. Erica frowned and said, "But…"

Her voice trailed off, and Allison saw Boyd's hand on her arm. "Isaac used to fall down stairs a lot, too," he said quietly.

Allison looked down at her hot dog, wishing to god she'd kept her mouth shut. Poking at Natasha and Noah to see how much of her history they'd uncovered was one thing, but she didn't need to be sharing that around the wolves.

The hot dog tasted like so much clay in her mouth.

Erica wrapped her hand around Allison's calf, not saying anything. After a moment, Allison reached down to squeeze the girl's arm. "Do you want one of these?" she said in way of apology.

"Sure." Erica took the hot dog, offered it to Lydia, who shook her head, then took a bite and handed the rest to Boyd.

Allison held out the box to Noah and Natasha. "Pre-game snack?"

Noah shook his head, but Natasha took the last hot dog. "Thank you."

Allison put the box behind her feet. She spotted the Whittemores nearing the stands, and nudged Lydia. The girl waved, and they waved back. Allison did not miss Mr. Whittemore's look of discomfort towards Noah.

"Those are Jackson's parents," Allison said helpfully to Natasha. "Jackson's the co-captain of the team. He's really good."

"It's nice that they can make it out to the game," Natasha said. "Parents, taking an interest in their children's activities." She glanced at Noah. "Does Stiles have any other interests outside of school?"

Allison let her eyes drift over the field as Noah said, "Well, he's on his computer a lot."

"Research," Allison said, absently rolling up her sleeves. Erica and Lydia gave each other a look. "He's big on genealogical research these days."

Lydia's eyes grew wide. "Mine!" she squeaked. "We're building my family tree. Special project. Very important."

"Knowing where you come from, it's important," Allison went on, enjoying needling Natasha just a little bit. God, she was petty. "But it's also important to know where you are."

"Who are you looking for?" Boyd asked before Noah or Natasha could start asking awkward questions.

"Derek."

Erica frowned at her. "Derek never comes to games."

This made Allison sit back, because one of the few things she remembered from her last two years of high school was that Derek was at every game, just in case any of the wolves lost their senses. "Are you sure?"

"Can't blame him," Noah said quietly. Allison turned her head. "After what happened."

"What do you mean?" Allison asked.

Noah looked like he regretted speaking. "Well. The day of the fire. Derek and Laura stayed late at school to watch the lacrosse game. That's why they weren't home, when… When."

Allison breathed out. The unexpected revelation filled her with an incandescent rage; at Kate, at Hunters, at everyone who ever raised their hand against the Hales. It made so much more sense, now, why Derek always watched the game from afar, there in case he was needed, but never letting himself enjoy anything.

"Are you okay?" Noah asked warily.

"That depends," Allison said, trying to breathe. "Is there some sort of law against digging up Kate Argent and setting her on fire?"

"Many laws," Natasha put in. Her gaze was very steady on Allison. "Do you always refer to family members by their full name?"

Allison tilted her head. "It serves the purpose of clarity," she said. "I know another Kate, best archer in the world. Common names can be so confusing, don't you think?"

"Best archer?" Noah interrupted. "That's high praise from you. I thought you were doing some archery last year?"

The sudden alertness from Erica and Boyd set Allison's teeth on edge. But it was her own damned fault, for all the hurt she'd caused as a teenager. "I shifted my focus over the summer," she said, turning back to the field. "You can run out of arrows, but it takes a lot longer for a knife to run out of blade."

"Oh my god," Lydia whispered.

"I didn't know you could hunt deer with a knife," Natasha said.

"Certainly not in an election year," Allison agreed. "Hey, it's Melissa."

She waved to Melissa McCall, down on the ground looking around for a seat. The woman waved back, gratefully climbing up to where the group was sitting. "What a day," she said. "Hi, everyone."

"Hi, Mrs. McCall," said Lydia.

Allison slid over, bumping into Noah's side. Or, more specifically, the sidearm holstered under his jacket.

Odd. Noah didn't normally carry concealed at the high school when he was off-duty.

"Did I miss anything?" Melissa asked, sitting down beside Allison.

"No pre-game music this time, the marching band is on a field trip in Redding," Erica said.

"I heard Finstock wanted the school board to fund a half-time show, but they couldn't find a clown willing to work for peanuts," Boyd said.

"They'll be starting soon," Allison said. "You have time to hit the concession if you want."

"Thanks, I'm fine." Melissa leaned over to look down the row at Natasha. "I'm Melissa McCall."

"Natasha Rushman," said Natasha.

Allison frowned, wondering why this was striking a wrong note with her. This hadn't happened last time, she was sure of it. But she couldn't remember what had happened at one lacrosse game, twenty-seven years in her past.

"Natasha's a new deputy in town," Noah added. "She's never been to a lacrosse game."

"Well, this should be something, then," Melissa said. "The boys are nothing if not exuberant about lacrosse."

"Can anyone tell me how the game is played?" Natasha asked.

Allison tuned out Noah's explanation. She still hadn't spotted Derek. The stands were full, the sky dimming, and Allison had the strange sensation that she was missing something.

She didn't like it.

With a crackle, the PA system flared up, and the announcer called out the teams. The Beacon Hills team came out on the field to a flurry of applause and cheers. Fall River came after them, received polite claps, and then both teams huddled around their respective coaches. Allison was amused to see Clint Barton standing beside Finstock, looking bored.

Allison could see her pack, ready for the game. Jackson was listening intently to Finstock, while Isaac and Stiles leaned on their sticks and tried to look like they knew what they were doing. And Scott…

Allison's heart sank. Scott was staring up at the stands where Allison and his mother were sitting. He did not look happy.

All of the enjoyment and anticipation of the game vanished. Allison looked down at her hands, remembering how Scott had talked to Stiles after gym class. She also remembered the way his voice sounded when he called her _weird_ , and her stomach sloshed.

"I'm going to go get something else to eat," Allison said, and stood up abruptly. She stepped past Melissa and was down the stairs before anyone could say anything.

Objectively, she understood. When she was seventeen, she had been completely in love with Scott. Finding out who her birth parents were, and the resulting complications of that fall in Beacon Hills, had brought the two of them closer together. They had eventually drifted apart in senior year, with Scott taking up with Kira, but Allison could remember junior year vividly.

Now, though, things were so bad. She had tried to let Scott down gently, tried to keep him and Stiles talking, and nothing she did made any difference. Everything kept getting worse.

And this was _before_ Scott knew anything about her and Peter.

Maybe getting on her bike and heading for Malibu wasn't such a bad idea, after all.

She reached the concession stand, making eye contact with the PTA parent manning the booth. He crossed his arms over his chest. "We're out of hot dogs."

Allison retrieved a dollar bill and a handful of coins from her pocket. "What will a buck-sixty get me?"

The man glowered. "Popcorn is by donation," he said.

Allison beamed. "Great!" She slid her money across the counter. Behind her, the first whistle blew, and the action commenced.

Allison took her bag of popcorn, smiled at the man again, and wandered back to the game. Instead of looking for a spot in the crowded stands, she leaned her shoulder against one of the poles illuminating the field, and watched for a while. Jackson, Isaac and Scott were on the field, while Stiles sat on the bench and fidgeted intensely.

It must have been nice, Allison thought as she munched her popcorn, to be a teenager to whom only a lacrosse game mattered.

After about five minutes, her phone pinged. It was a text from Noah. _Are you ok?_

 _Fine,_ Allison texted back. _Scott's mad at me so I probably shouldn't be sitting beside his mother._

The referee called a break in play, and the teams huddled around their benches. Allison kept an eye on the crowd, which was mostly focused on the game, but noted the three teenage boys engaging in what looked like an actual drug deal not fifteen feet from the sheriff of the county.

Idiots.

Her phone pinged again. _Melissa said you should come back up and sit with us._

_Maybe at intermission._

_Where are you?_

_Your 7 oclock._

In the stands, Noah stood and periscoped around until he spotted Allison. She waved with her popcorn bag. He paused, nodded, then sat down.

The whistle blew, and the game started back up.

Allison was not an expert on lacrosse, having mostly paid attention to the games in order to ensure her wolves didn't outright maim anyone, but she wondered at the patterns of play on the field. Something seemed off, and it wasn't any of her boys.

The ball moved back down to near where Danny was in goal for Beacon Hills. Isaac intercepted a pass, but he was too close to the guy behind him and he tripped, sprawling into the grass with a thud. At the same time, Danny tried to move to cover the goal. He collided with a Fall River player coming in at top speed. Allison heard the snap of a breaking lacrosse stick across the field, underneath a cry of pain.

Danny went down.

The whistle blew, the crowd surged to their feet, and all of a sudden Allison couldn't see. Worry for Isaac and Danny propelled her toward the stands, climbing up the outer bracketing of the bleachers in a few swift steps.

It was chaos on the field. Scott was helping Isaac up, but Danny hadn't moved. Clint was running over to Danny's prone form, and all the boys were milling around nervously.

All the boys except one.

Halfway across the field, Jackson was standing completely still. Just then, the wind carried the scent of blood over to Allison.

Allison slammed into Alpha mode. She climbed over the railing and dashed up to where her group sat. "Melissa, Danny's bleeding and the first aid guy's on the band trip," she said, the authority of _A-Force_ and _Stark_ in her words.

Melissa shot up. "How—"

"Please help," Allison said, her hands on Melissa's arm to get her moving. Not that she needed to; the woman already had her nurse's expression on as she hurried down the stairs. "Boyd, make sure Isaac is okay."

A glance at the field, and Allison's worry intensified. As the teams surged across the grass, Jackson had dropped his stick and was backing up.

"Lydia," Allison went on, before Boyd had moved. "Stay with Erica."

"Allison?" Lydia said, sounding a little scared.

"Stay with Erica," Allison said, and climbed back over the railing of the bleachers to drop to the ground. Everyone was still moving towards the field, and she had to fight her way to where she had last seen Jackson.

He was gone, but she could pick up the scent of fear and sweat and wolf mixed up with his cologne. Where the hell had he gone?

Allison moved, trying to follow the scent. It got stronger in the direction of the school, so she started to run. The scent continued into the school, down the hall to the locker rooms. She found an abandoned lacrosse glove on the floor, shredded to ribbons from within.

In the quiet, Allison could hear a heartbeat, racing.

She dropped the glove. "Jackson?" she called, moving forward on steady feet. If he had lost control enough to shred his gloves, he might be in any state.

But he had run away. He had seen Danny go down, and he knew he was losing control, and so he put as much distance between himself and all the soft squishy humans as possible.

God, she was so proud of him.

"Jackson, it's Allison," she called again, pushing open the door to the dark locker room. The smell of the boys' locker room seemed intensified in the stillness. "I came to make sure you're okay."

A hint of movement to her left.

"Mrs. McCall is with Danny," she said, taking careful steps. "And Mr. Barton has military-grade medic training. They're going to help him."

A flash behind her, darting between cover of the lockers. Allison went up on the balls of her feet, at the ready. As long as Jackson didn't turn full kanima, she would probably be able to talk him down.

"You did the right thing," Allison said. "Coming in here. That was smart." She moved a step sideways. "Lydia is with Erica. Isaac is with Boyd. Everyone is covered."

She felt the air move seconds before Jackson was on her. He had wolfed out, face shifted, teeth snarling, eyes gleaming a bright blue in the darkness. She saw his direction, saw his hands outstretched, and grabbed his wrists, turning to the side with all her strength to ride them both to the ground.

She ended up practically in Jackson's lap, holding his hands away from her face. "Jackson," she said, keeping her voice calm. "It's Allison. Do you know me?"

He snarled, stinking of fear. "I can't—" he exclaimed, voice rough with the wolf. "Danny—"

"Danny will be fine." Allison was losing the battle with Jackson's hands. She made a quick calculation, decided she would rather risk a severed tendon than a slashed eye, and pulled her arms down and crossed. Jackson's seeking claws sank into her forearms, pulling blood to the surface.

"I can't stop," Jackson exclaimed, so panicked.

"You're not hurting me," Allison said sharply. She stayed perfectly still, letting the pain wash over her and flow away. "Jackson, you're not hurting me."

"But…" Jackson gasped. His hands tightened, almost a reflex, digging through her flesh.

"You're okay," Allison told him. "Jackson, you're holding it together, you're doing so well."

"Danny…" He shook his head, almost manic. "I heard him scream, he was bleeding, he wasn't _moving."_

"He's with the medics," Allison said. Jackson was shaking as he tried to control himself. "Danny has two medics with him, they're going to make sure he's okay."

"He was _bleeding_."

"Jackson." Allison stayed still. "Everyone is doing everything for Danny right now, okay? Everything we do, we do for Danny. Okay?"

Jackson stared down at where his claws pierced Allison's skin.

"And what Danny needs you to do is to stay safe. He needs you safe, so he can concentrate on getting better."

"I can't—I have to—" Jackson broke off. "I saw him go down. I should have helped him!"

The panic was receding, followed by the sharp sour scent of guilt.

"You couldn't have helped him like this." Allison slowly eased one arm out from under Jackson's claws, and put her hand on the back of his neck. "You did the right thing, getting away from everyone. That was smart."

"But—" His hand tightened again on her arm, sending his claws deeper. "I can't—"

"Jackson." Allison rubbed the back of his neck. "You're doing okay, you're going to be okay. Danny needs you to stay safe."

Jackson raised his eyes to meet hers, wolfly visage perplexed. "Why aren't you scared?"

"Must be all those vitamins." Allison patted his cheek, then moved her hand to gently remove his claws from her arm. "Now, let's get you back to yourself, then we can go out and see how Danny is."

Jackson gasped in a few breaths. "I don't—I can't control it."

"You're controlling it right now," Allison said. She put her hand back on his cheek. "You're doing so well, do you know how long it takes most werewolves to keep from—"

In the quiet darkness of the locker room, her phone suddenly started vibrating with the urgent staccato of Jarvis's alarm.

"Shit, not _now_ ," Allison breathed, grabbing for her phone.

 _A phone that was in proximity to Chris Argent's apartment this morning is currently approaching your location, 100 yards southwest,_ Jarvis had written. _A warning for you, out of an overabundance of caution._

 _OK,_ Allison texted back. One hundred yards away put the phone owner by the doors into the school from the sports fields. If it was Chris, then she had only a minute at most.

And Jackson was still fully wolfed out.

Shit.

Allison pushed everything away except for the present. Emergency times called for emergency measures, and if a Hunter walked in on Jackson like this, it would be a complete fucking disaster.

She was out of options.

"Jackson," Allison said, cupping his cheeks in her hands. He was breathing fast, panicked, probably kicked up by her own reaction. "I am going to do something that's going to hurt, and I promise you that I am going to explain everything when we're all safe."

"What?"

Allison let the alpha rise, filling her with power. Jackson jerked back, slamming his head against the lockers, but she held him still. Her eyes held the gleaming red of the alpha, with the power of her pack. "Jackson," and her voice had drifted down. "You're safe." She ran her thumb over his cheekbone. "I need you to be _calm."_

Her voice dipped even lower on the last word, and with it, Allison pushed all the power, the safety, the _home_ of the pack into Jackson. He gasped, clutching at Allison's forearms as the wolf pushed back, his face and teeth changing as he returned to his human form.

Eyes still bright blue, Jackson let out a pained sound as he collapsed back against the lockers.

"There you are," Allison said quietly. She knew how much it hurt to push the wolf down, and if she had had any other option, she would have taken it. But there were footsteps in the hall, and Allison had been listening to that familiar rhythm most nights of her childhood. It was Chris Argent. "I've got you."

"Who..." Jackson blinked at the door. "Who's coming?"

"It's Chris," Allison said. Jackson griped her arms. "You're safe," she said quickly. "I'm not going to let him hurt you."

"But…"

The door to the locker room swung open, and Chris stood in the doorway. Jackson turned his head away, hiding those telltale eyes, but Allison stared directly at the man she had once thought was her father. "Really?" she demanded. "Why are you walking into the boy's locker room?"

Chris switched on the lights, and now Allison could see the complete bewilderment on his face. "What happened?" he demanded. "Did he hurt you?"

In the light from the fluorescents overhead, Allison could make out the slight bulge under the jacket at Chris's hip. "He didn't hurt me," Allison snapped. "Why the hell are you carrying guns at a high school?"

"You're bleeding," Chris said, taking another step into the room.

The claw marks had completely healed by now, leaving only the still-wet blood on her skin. "Jackson hurt himself," Allison said. Slowly, she stood, putting herself between Chris and Jackson. If Chris did start firing, she could probably cover Jackson long enough for him to get away. "I was making sure he was going to be okay. Get out."

"Allison…" Chris turned a few degrees, one foot braced in front of the other. He might not have meant it as a threat, but Allison had seen too many soldiers and cops take that stance before pulling their guns.

Necessity had always guided her in the field. In that moment, if Chris came for Jackson, she would kill him.

"Allison," Chris tried again. "You need to get away from Jackson."

"No, I need you to leave school grounds before I call the cops."

Behind her, she heard Jackson standing. She really hoped that he hadn't wolfed out again.

"Allison, please." Chris held out his hand. "He's dangerous, you know that."

Oh, if Allison had been mad before, that was nothing compared with how she felt now. "He's a _kid_ who just watched his best friend go down in a dirty hit," she exclaimed. "Do you have any idea how good his control is right now?"

Chris let his hand drop. "Is that why you're bleeding? Because his control is so good?"

"This is his blood," Allison lied, wiping her hands along her arms to show off the unmarred skin. "I don't even care. You need to leave."

"I'm not leaving—"

The locker room door opened. "Jackson?"

It was Mr. Whittemore.

"Dad," Jackson said in relief. He stepped around Allison, and she could see that his eyes had gone back to their normal grey-blue. "How's Danny?"

"He's going to the hospital, but he'll pull through." Mr. Whittemore was staring at the three people in the locker room in confusion. "Your mother and Mrs. McCall are going with him in the ambulance. I wanted to drive you over to the hospital. What is going on?"

Allison looked at her arms, at Jackson's bloody hands and uniform front, then back to Chris. "Jackson came to get Danny's stuff," Allison said. Trusting that Chris wouldn't shoot her in the back in front of the town's top attorney, Allison turned to Jackson. "Get your bag, and what Danny needs."

Jackson licked his lips. "But—"

Allison let her eyes flash red. "Now."

Jackson moved, pulling open his locker door so fast he bent the metal. Allison turned back around. "Jackson, what happened?" Mr. Whittemore asked.

"Nosebleed," Jackson muttered. He returned, holding two backpacks. "All Danny's stuff's in here."

"Okay." Mr. Whittemore obviously knew something was up, because he was looking at Allison and Chris with a father's worry, instead of that of a lawyer. "Come on."

Jackson walked over, jittering. "Allison should come with us," he said, not looking up.

"It's okay," Allison called. She wanted as much space between Chris and Jackson as possible. "Go make sure Danny's safe."

Jackson looked at her sideways, then gave a jerky nod and let his father pull him out of the locker room. The door banged shut after them.

That left Allison and Chris. Alone.

Just great.

Chris audibly swallowed, his eyes never leaving her face. "Allison—"

"Can we skip this part?" Allison interrupted. "I have to get back out there, I was sitting with Noah and—"

Chris took a step forward. Instinctively, Allison moved back. She was exquisitely aware that she was unarmed, compared to however many guns and knives Chris had about his person.

But she was far from defenceless. And Chris was a Hunter who had set his sights on a member of _her_ pack.  If Chris decided to make a move for her, she would not go down without a fight.

"What is going on?" Chris demanded. His eyes were a little wild. "I find you all over town, up at the Hale house, out with _Peter—"_

"Noah doesn't keep me under house arrest," Allison cut in. She was taking an inventory of the locker room. A few spare lacrosse sticks by the far wall, the sinks and mirrors behind her, benches loosely bolted to the ground.

And Chris was blocking the only exit.

She was really going to have to submit a complaint to the fire marshal about locker room safety.

"He likes to know where I am, so he knows I'm safe," Allison went on. "But he doesn't lock me in the house with all the phone and internet cords cut. Maybe he knows how good I am at climbing out of windows."

Chris took a step forward, then another. Allison backed up into a locker, the metal against her spine as much of a shock as a bucket of water to the face. "Allison, what is going on?" Chris demanded.

He was the same height as Stiles, hardly that much taller than Allison herself, but in that moment, with him looming in front of her, with the only heartbeats in a hundred yards their own, Allison felt so afraid that she wanted to cry.

Damn it, he thought he was her father. He was supposed to protect her.

On the heels of that thought came a memory so strong that Allison could practically taste it. It was after Derek had died, and she had been curled up at Lydia's place, hiding from everyone as the newly acquired power of the alpha overwhelmed her. Bucky Barnes had tracked her down and was sitting in front of her on the carpet in Lydia's rec room, holding out his metal hand to her.

 _Power is power,_ Bucky would have said, eleven years in a future that would never happen. _And you didn't ask for it. I never asked for this. But you gotta make a call what you want to do with it._

 _I'm scared,_ Allison would have said.

Bucky's smile was like the glow of a new moon. _Look, minnow, I've been scared since 1941. Still gotta get up every day and do what you're gonna do. Now, you gonna stay here hiding? Or are you gonna do something about it?_

And eleven years in the future, she would have gotten up, and done something about it.

Allison took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of teenage sweat and feet and mildew and the industrial cleaner the janitor used on the showers. She was here, and this was now, and if Allison had no weapons, no backup, no armour, and no options?

She had herself. That was all she needed

Allison straightened her spine. Chris stopped his approach. "What's going on," she said evenly, "Is that you came after an unarmed teenager in a school locker room."

"Jackson could have hurt someone. That's why I was watching the game, any of those boys could have hurt someone."

Allison leaned back against the lockers and crossed her bloodied arms over her chest. She rested her foot against the floor, ready to spring into a jump if Chris pulled his gun. "The boys? Are fine. And Jackson," Allison said, "Is not your responsibility. He's mine."

"What are you talking about?"

"Jackson is my responsibility," Allison repeated. "So are the others. Your services in this town are no longer required."

A myriad of expressions flew over Chris's face, ending in disbelief. "Are you _joking?"_ he demanded. "Allison, your training is nowhere near complete, you can't hope to take on a werewolf on your own!"

"I'm not going to take on anyone," Allison shot back. "If any of the wolves get out of control, I'll help them. They're just teenagers, and they are all very new at this."

"They could kill someone."

"That's not what you told Dupont," Allison said, a little mockingly. "What was it?" She modulated her voice down into Chris's slight drawl. "And yet, Beacon Hills remains murder free."

"I was trying to defend you," Chris said, anger starting to simmer in him.

"So you were lying?" Allison tilted her head to the side, just a little. "You don't think the wolves are just kids doing their best?"

Chris stepped closer, into her personal space, and Allison had to bite down on the desire to shove him away. "They're killers, Allison. That's what being a werewolf makes them."

The alpha curled in Allison's limbs, a warm, slow power. Were these the lies Chris told himself so he could sleep at night? So he could justify all the carnage and slaughter the Argent name had wrought upon the world? "And you?" Allison asked. "How many people have you killed?"

Chris fell back. Allison pushed off the lockers, the ground solid and steady under her feet. "What?" he demanded.

"How old were you when you took your first life?" Allison asked. "Do you remember? Do you remember how many people you've killed?"

"How can you ask me that?" Chris demanded.

"I know exactly who those wolves are," Allison said. "They're not killers."

"And what about Peter?" Chris asked, something gleaming in his eyes.

"Oh, I know about Peter." Allison rubbed her fingers together. The blood she'd smeared over her hands was drying tacky. "I've done a lot of thinking about Peter Hale. And you know what? The only thing I can't understand about him is why he showed any restraint when he ripped out Kate's throat."

" _What?"_

Allison slid to the side and backed up, putting some much-needed space between them. "All Peter did was cut out her throat." She slipped behind a bench, the equipment cage at her left side. If Chris came for her, she could go up and over the metal enclosure. Still, she hated how he'd trapped her away from the door. "I know what happened in the basement of the Hale house. Did you know that when they found Peter's kids, they had to put them in the same body bag because their flesh had melted together in the fire because they were holding each other so tight?"

Chris's eyes were tracking her. He didn't say anything.

"Their names were Nicholas and Nicole. They'd just turned two," Allison continued. She had heard this story from Cora, years in the future, and it still made her sick to her stomach. "Their birthday party was at the water park by the lake and Nick fell off the picnic table and knocked out one of his baby teeth. Laura made them a Cookie Monster cake and Nicole loved it so much she cried."

"Stop this," Chris said, voice a little rough.

"And then Julia, Derek's littlest sister? She was screaming so much in the basement that the smoke got to her. She was four, and her favourite thing in the whole world was playing princess tea party. Her father was in the middle of making her a princess bedframe. Did you know he was a carpenter?"

Chris ran his hand over his face. "Why are you telling me this?" he demanded.

Allison took a deep breath, trying to quiet the uneasy rumbling of the alpha in her chest. "So you understand me when I say that I cannot understand why Peter didn't rip Kate to pieces while she was still alive." She put her hand against the equipment cage. "I need you to understand that I also truly and deeply get why he killed all the men who helped Kate murder his family."

Chris rounded the bench, drawing closer. They were halfway through the circuit of the locker room now. Another dozen yards, and Allison might be able to make a dash for the door before Chris could draw on her. "You know what Peter is capable of, and you still let him get anywhere near you?

Out in the hallway came soft footfalls. Not the lacrosse team. Her phone hadn't gone off again, so hopefully not Dupont's crew. Unless Chris had brought his own lieutenants…. But then why hadn't they come into the locker room with Chris in the first place?

Maybe it was someone who could actually help. Allison needed to keep Chris off his guard. So she smiled at him. "Peter's never done anything to me I haven't asked him to," she said.

That worked. Chris faltered. "Do you know what he's been saying about you?"

The locker room door opened silently. Only Allison's alpha hearing caught the whisper of movement. "I've heard the details from both Noah and Peter. What about it?" she asked.

There. On a drift of air, Allison caught two familiar and welcome scents. Natasha, like gunpowder and cloves and leather, over Noah's aftershave and the laundry soap she was coming to know as her own.

They were there, out of sight, and they could hear everything.

"Why did Peter say that you're afraid of me?" Chris asked.

Allison shrugged. "I don't know, how about because every time I've seen you in the last few weeks, it's ended up with threats and ultimatums?"

"Allison, I am trying to protect you—"

Allison's laugh startled them both. "You're what?" she demanded. This whole thing was starting to feel unreal. "You take a few pot-shots at me up in the woods, you attack me in my own bedroom, hit me in the face, throw me out of the house, and then the next time I see you is when you start issuing ultimatums about having to pick between protecting my friends and I don't even know what else? How the hell is that protecting me?"

"Allison—"

"If this is about _protecting_ me, Chris, then explain to me exactly what you're trying to protect me from?"

All the swirling emotions around Chris were starting to coalesce into anger. Great. "Everything that you're doing?" he demanded. "Running around town, acting like this? You're putting yourself in danger."

"Who from?" Allison demanded. "Not Peter. Not my friends. The only people I'm even a little bit worried about are Dupont and his crew of black shirts."

"Are you?" Chris put his hand over his mouth. For a moment, the locker room was completely still.

Then Chris suddenly surged forward. Allison reacted without thinking, flinging herself back along the row of lockers, one arm going up to take the brunt of any head shot. She had already climbed up onto a bench, ready to launch herself up over the bank of lockers towards the door, when her mind caught up with her body.

Chris stopped. Allison had moved far enough back that she'd cleared the lockers, and out of the corner of her eye, she could see Natasha, gun in her hands, ready to move out. Quick as a thought, Allison signed _hold_ in the field gestures language Bucky had taught her. Natasha froze, still out of Chris's sight.

"What happened to you?" Chris demanded. "Why are you acting like this?"

"Oh," Allison breathed, stepping down off the bench. Everything that had been skittering around in the back of her mind had finally knocked itself to the forefront. Everything was starting to make sense now. "I get it."

"What?"

"You're the only one who could actually do it." Behind Chris, Allison saw Noah move out from behind a row of lockers. "Dupont and the others, I could take them out before they got to me, but I don't think I'd be able to stop you if you really decided that I had to be put down."

Chris stared at her, aghast. "How can you think that I'd ever do anything to hurt you?"

"You're one of the only ones who follows the code logically," Allison said. "Gerard, Kate, they used the code like a sledgehammer to justify their own violence. You… you would actually do whatever you thought it would take to protect people."

Chris ran his tongue over his lower lip. "Are you telling me that I might think that _you_ are what people need to be protected from?"

"I don't know." Allison slowly lowered her hand. Natasha didn't move. "I don't know how you'd make that call."

"What happened to you to make you think I'd even consider that?" Chris demanded.

"It was a weird summer," Allison said, and this was where things could get dangerous, because she still didn't remember a damned thing about her time in France.

"No, it wasn't!" Chris exclaimed. "We spent a few days in Paris and then went down to Langogne for the rest of the month. Nothing happened."

Wait. Allison went still. Was that where they had been? The old Argent family estate in southern France?

Something clicked in her mind. All of the lies she had been telling everyone about what happened to her that summer… now she had something she could work with.

"Because nothing out of the ordinary ever happens in Gévaudan," she said sarcastically.

Chris shifted his weight. He still hadn't registered that Noah was standing behind him. "Are you telling me something _did_ happen to you this summer?"

Oh, and there it was, peeking out from under his concern and worry – that cold logic and intelligence that had always made Chris Argent so dangerous. If Allison wasn't careful, she was going to talk herself into an early grave. "Lots of things can happen in a month, Chris."

Then she looked over Chris's shoulder.

Noah put his chin up. "Chris," he said, and the man flinched, obviously startled. "I think it's time Allison leaves."

Natasha put her gun up, then walked out from behind the lockers. Chris looked between Noah and Natasha, his face unreadable. "Let's go get you cleaned up," Natasha said to Allison.

"Jackson had a nosebleed. I was trying to help him," Allison said, hoping that might forestall anything from Chris about dangerous boys. "I think it was stress about Danny."

"Danny's going to be fine," Natasha said. She took Allison's elbow, but gently, and guided her towards the door, past Chris and Noah.

"Noah…" Allison said, not sure if it was a good idea to leave the two men alone.

Noah gave Allison a reassuring nod. "I'll be right out," he said.

"Oh." Allison let Natasha pull her along, out of the boys' locker room and down the hall towards the girls'. It was only after the door swung shut that Allison remembered something. "I have to go back," she said, planting her feet. "Chris is carrying concealed, Noah needs to know that."

"He knows," Natasha said soothingly. "The sheriff's department has to issue concealed carry permits."

"That's illegal on school grounds," Allison said, slowly starting to walk again.

"Chris has an exception to that rule," Natasha said. "Arms' manufacturer."

"Fucking gun laws," Allison muttered. Natasha pushed open the door, and motioned for Allison to precede her into the quiet room.

"Let's get that blood off your arms," Natasha said.

"It really is Jackson's," Allison said, walking over to the sinks. The reflection in the mirrors did not offer any reassurance. Her arms and hands were coated in gore, and blood had even somehow spurted up onto her throat. "He, uh. He's a stress bleeder. His nose, it's like a geyser."

"Uh huh." Natasha turned on the tap. "Do you need any help?"

"No." Allison put her hands under the water, watching the blood start to wash off her skin. "Is Danny really going to be okay?"

"Sounds like it." Natasha sat on the bench behind Allison. "The stick got him pretty hard in the ribs, they might be broken, and the skin was torn, but it wasn't a penetrating injury."

"Thank god," Allison muttered. "Danny's one of the things that keeps Jackson centred." She met Natasha's eyes in the mirror. "Jackson has issues."

"I can imagine." Natasha crossed one leg over the other. "Clint's been telling me a bit about gym class."

"Right." Allison scrubbed up her forearms. She wouldn't be able to get the blood out from under her nails until she got home. "He might act like a jackass, but he's just a kid who's terrified that no one will love him if they ever find out who he really is."

"And who is he, really?"

Allison reached for some paper towels. "He's human," she said quietly, wiping at the blood on her throat. "Sometimes, the people who try to look the most perfect, the most untouchable, are the most human of all."

There was also the other thing that Jackson was hiding from everyone, maybe even himself, to do with his sexuality, but that future knowledge was Allison's alone. Jackson had to live his own journey to self-discovery.

"Poor little rich boy?"

"Jackson's adopted," Allison said bluntly. The emotion from the confrontation with Chris was starting to fade, and in its place, Allison was starting to get mad about how everything the adults in Beacon Hills did had such nuclear fallout on the teenagers. "You hear this story?"

Natasha's eyes were very green in the harsh lights. "No."

"Jackson's birth parents, they were in a bad car accident when Jackson's mother was still pregnant. She died on the way to the hospital, and they had to cut Jackson out of her womb after she was already dead." Allison balled up the paper towel and threw it at the garbage can. She missed. "The Whittemores told him he was adopted when he was in elementary school or something. It did a real number on his head."

"Do they love him?" Natasha asked.

Allison rested her hands on the sink. "They love him so much," she said. Her reflection looked so much like the images of Clara, lying dead on that Los Angeles hillside. "And he loves them, but he's terrified of saying it."

"Why?"

"Like I said." Allison straightened up, and deliberately rolled down the sleeves on her flannel shirt. "He's human, and that can get messy."

"He's lucky to have you as a friend."

"I hope he sees it that way." Allison turned around. "To find the rewards of being loved, we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known."

Natasha frowned. "Is it? Mortifying?"

"Consider the Latin origins," Allison said. " _Mortificare_ , to subdue. Does not being known lead to death?"

Natasha looked at her for a long moment. "Are you okay?"

"Absolutely not." Allison pulled her hair over one shoulder. "Did you not hear me in there with Chris?"

"I did," Natasha said. "And I'm not sure what to make of that."

"I'll tell you." Allison took a step closer to Natasha. "I told Chris that he might be the only one who would be able to kill me. And did you hear what he said? Not denials, not 'of course I'd never do that.' He just asked me why he might have to put me down."

"I did hear that."

"So did I. And I'm not feeling all that great."

Something beeped. Natasha pulled her phone out of her pocket. "Noah's taken Chris out to the front of the school for a little conversation," she said, and put her phone away again. "Do you feel like going back out to the game?"

"The game's still on?" Allison asked. In the rush of the last few minutes, she had forgotten all about lacrosse.

"They stopped for a while, and there were a few game-day suspensions, but they got back to it."

"Who's in goal?" Allison asked.

"Stiles."

"Wait, if Stiles is playing, why isn't Noah watching him?"

Natasha pursed her lips in pure exasperation. "Because Jackson and his father came out of the school and Jackson wouldn't leave until he told Erica and Boyd that you were in here with your father."

"Okay, but why isn't Noah watching Stiles?"

"Because." Natasha held out her arm to Allison, like Allison had been walking around with the girls for days. Tentatively, Allison hooked her arm through Natasha's. "You were in danger."

"But he could have just sent you."

Natasha's sigh was a thing of beauty. "Come on."

They walked out of the school, back to the playing field. The energy was a mix of frantic and morose. The score was 5-6 for Fall River, with the play back in the Beacon Hills part of the field. As Allison and Natasha neared the bleachers, Fall River threw a hard ball towards Stiles in the goal. Somehow, Stiles caught it.

A cheer went up in the bleachers. Stiles recovered, tossed the ball to Greenberg, and stumbled back to the net.

Allison let out a wolf whistle, drawing Stiles' attention. Even behind his mask, she could see his sudden grin. She waved, then, letting go of Natasha's arm, continued to where Erica and Boyd sat on either side of Lydia.

"Hi," Allison said, walking right over and sitting between Erica and Lydia, who barely moved apart in time to avoid being squashed. "What did I miss?"

Lydia threw her arms around Allison's neck, while Erica hugged her around the ribs. Allison kissed them both on the top of the head before looking at Boyd. He smiled at her in relief, which was a new development. "Coach pulled Isaac from the game for vowing vengeance on Fall River."

Allison glanced over the bench, to where Isaac sat, dejected, fiddling with his stick. "Scott?"

"Still playing," Lydia said against Allison's shoulder. "He's the only reason Stiles isn't dead yet."

"Any word from Jackson?"

Lydia shuddered. Erica sat back a bit to answer. "He texted from the car. He said he was going to try to stay with Danny because Danny's parents are still in Hawaii."

"Is he doing okay?"

"I think so," Erica said quietly.

"What happened?" Lydia demanded, finally lifting her head. "Why did he go into the school?"

A glance at Erica and Boyd confirmed to Allison that they didn't need any explanation of Jackson's behaviour. Allison put her hand on Lydia's cheek. "Let's go get some popcorn," she said.

"I don't want popcorn," Lydia said mulishly.

"Fine, then let's go get some privacy."

Allison hauled Lydia up, walking her over to the fence, away from the crowd. There, Allison explained what had happened to Jackson, how his control had been strong enough to get him out of the danger zone, and finally, how he had managed to calm himself down. She left out the part about having to go full-alpha on him to force back the wolf before Chris came in, however.

Lydia took this well, considering everything, wrapping her arms around Allison in a hug. Allison returned the embrace, angling them so they could watch the game. Stiles and Scott were doing pretty well,  and Scott wasn't being too aggressive with the Fall River players. _Again_ , Allison thought. _Control_.

"This summer," Lydia said eventually. "Jackson got… he was working so hard on being in control. Normally he's a total asshole when he's like that, but this…"

Allison patted Lydia's back. "It's good?"

"Yeah." Lydia sniffled a little. "Are you okay?"

"Yes." Allison let her eyes drift, and there, in the forest behind the playing field, she finally spotted a hint of leather jacket. Derek was watching the game after all. "I've pretty much ruined everything with Chris, though."

"How?"

Allison sighed. "I'll tell you later."

"You'd better."

They stayed that way for a while, watching the rest of the period play out. When the referee blew the whistle for half-time, Lydia reluctantly let Allison go, and they headed back over to the bleachers.

A few minutes later, Noah returned. He sat beside Allison, and Natasha appeared out of nowhere with a bag of pretzels. "Is everything okay?" Allison asked.

"Yes," Noah said, in a tone that meant _no._ "Chris finally took the hint and left."

"Any word from the hospital?"

"Not yet." Noah rubbed his hand over his face. "What a game, huh?"

Allison shivered.

"Allison?"

"Just cold," Allison said. "And my jacket's in my locker."

A movement off to her left, and Boyd was holding out his jacket. "Here," he said, looking slightly embarrassed. "I don't get that cold."

Without a hesitation, Allison took the offered coat like it was a peace treaty. In a way, it was. "Thank you."

Erica bit back a smile. "You never give me your jacket," she said.

"Yeah, well, you never get cold," Boyd retorted.

Allison pulled the coat close around her. The scent of Boyd, of werewolf, was comforting to the alpha. She took a deep breath, and, in the words of Bucky's favourite fictional character, gave furiously to think.

Danny would get better. Jackson would continue to work on his control, and at some point, would discover how to draw out parts of his kanima nature at the time and place of his own choosing.

Erica and Boyd would be fine, as long as Allison kept them safe from Hunters. Erica had her first day of work at the steakhouse the next day, a training shift as she learned how to bus tables, and she would be nervous but capable at it.

Lydia was still worried, and that did not bode well. Allison would have to take some time over the next few days to help calm Lydia down. Maybe she could take that opportunity to see how receptive Lydia was to talk about banshees.

Scott… Allison sighed. She would have to figure out what to do about Scott.

She would also have to figure out what to do about Natasha, and Tony, and the whole Vasquez side, without ending up dead at Hunter hands.

The whole thing just made her tired.

Speaking of Tony… Allison pulled her phone out and sent a message to Jarvis. _Thanks again for the heads up. It was Chris with a new phone I guess. I was able to help out a friend and it means a lot. If you see any other phones that might be in proximity to Chris or the others let me know, I'll owe you._

The reply was instantaneous. _I am glad to be of assistance. And nothing is owed, it is my honour to be able to assist._

Allison smiled at her phone. _You're a good friend._

_Of all the compliments I have received, this may be the most valuable. Thank you._

Allison put her phone away as the whistle was blown. Beside her, Noah made an interrogative sound. "Wait, why is Stiles in goal?"

"Because Danny took a stick to the ribs?" Allison reminded him. "He's doing really good."

Noah was watching Stiles get settled in goal. For Stiles, that meant dropping his stick, nearly tripping to pick it up, knocking the goalpost out of alignment, then pulling everything back into place before the ball dropped. "He is?"

"Yeah, he's trying really hard." Allison wrapped her hand around Lydia's. "You know Stiles, he can pull anything off at the eleventh hour."

"That's my boy," Noah said to himself.

That sealed it. Allison was going to get Dupont and his pals out of town as soon as possible and get everyone's lives settled as best she could. The pack deserved a little stability for a while, at least until the next Beacon Hills disaster struck.

She settled in to watch the rest of the game.

* * *

Beacon Hills made a valiant effort, but they still lost by two points. Fall River took the win quietly, and headed off the field as soon as the game was called. Finstock did his usual, gathering the team at the benches to yell at them for awhile, but even his heart wasn't in it. He dismissed everyone with, "You didn't suck and at least you didn't disappoint Mahealani." With that, most of the team, including Scott, headed into the school without a word.

Erica, Boyd and Lydia got up. Allison reluctantly handed Boyd back his jacket. "Heading home?"

"I'm driving," Lydia said. "But we have to stop at the store."

"Why?" Boyd asked.

Lydia rolled her eyes. "A get-well card for Danny," she said scathingly. "Come on."

"What about Isaac?" Erica asked. Everyone turned to look at where Isaac was still sitting, dejected, on the bench. "He got a ride to school with Jackson."

"Stiles can give him a ride home," Allison said.

"Yeah, but." Erica fidgeted. "Jackson and his parents all went to the hospital. No one's going to be at the house."

"Then he can stay with us." Allison stood. "Right?" She belatedly looked at Noah.

Noah shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

"Right." Allison turned around. "Where is Stiles… Oh."

Derek had emerged from the shadows on the other side of the playing field, and Stiles was heading in his direction, like a moth towards a glowing no-exit sign.

"I'm going to head home," Natasha said, standing. She gave Clint a considering look where he was gathering up practice gear on the field. "See you tomorrow, sheriff. Good night, kids."

As soon as she was out of human earshot, Boyd said, "So is your dad going to go after Jackson?"

"What?" Allison demanded, startled.

"Is he?" Boyd flicked his gaze over to Noah. "Stiles said you know everything."

"I do," Noah said. "Or at least a few things. I talked Mr. Whittemore into letting me post a deputy outside their house tonight, in case anything happens."

"Will it?" Boyd looked to Allison.

She let out a breath. "I don't think so," she said. "I was very clear with Chris how good Jackson's control is. Besides." She rubbed her forehead. "I gave him something else to focus on."

"Which is?"

She looked at Boyd. "Me."

"Hmm." He squeezed Erica's hand. "That was dumb."

Erica hissed.

"No one ever accused me of an overabundance of intelligence," Allison pointed out.

"We all get dumb sometimes." Boyd looked down at Erica, something soft and happy on his face. The girl smiled up at him.

"Leaving now," Lydia put in. She went over to Allison and kissed the air by her cheek. "Get in early tomorrow, you can sign Danny's card."

"Yes, ma'am." Allison watched the three teenagers swarm over to Isaac on the bench, then glanced over at where Stiles and Derek were having an intense conversation. "Noah?"

"Yes, Allison?"

"What did you say to Chris?"

Noah groaned. "I told him to stay away from all you kids, and to stay off school grounds. And that it would probably be best for him to stay away from you in particular until he's sure he's not going to kill you."

The words felt like a knife in Allison's stomach. She shifted back on the bench. "What did he say?"

Noah leaned over to put his elbows on his knees. "I'm not sure you want to hear this."

"I'm a hundred percent sure that I don't," Allison said. "But I think I need to."

Noah looked down at his hands. "He said you made your choices, and you have to live with the consequences."

The words felt like a physical blow. Allison tried to breathe around the pain. "So if he decides that he has to kill me, it's my fault." The world was starting to get a bit blurry around the edges.

"It wasn't enough for me to haul him in on uttering threats," Noah said. "But I promise, I'm not going to let him anywhere near you."

"It won't matter," Allison said. A tear slid down her cheek. She wiped it away, angry with herself for being so weak. What did it matter if Chris Argent had practically declared a bounty on her head? She wasn't going to let him win. "If he comes for me, he comes for me. I'll deal with it."

"Allison…"

"It's fine." She took a deep breath. "I'll handle it."

"You shouldn't have to," Noah said. "Damn it. None of this should be happening."

"I am not going to disagree."

Over by the benches, the pack of teenagers separated, with Lydia hauling Boyd and Erica towards the parking lot, while Isaac started gathering up his equipment. The boy trudged over to the bleachers, collapsing beside Allison. "Hey."

"Hey." Allison gave him the once over. He looked like he was feeling sorry for himself, which was always a difficult state for Isaac. "Nice swan dive in the first quarter."

His head snapped around, annoyance pushing back self-pity, just as Allison had intended. "We can't all fall like Buster Keaton," he retorted.

Allison smiled. "Also, nice work on getting pulled from the game. What did you say?"

Isaac shrugged. "Just that I was going to go find the guy who took out Danny and chew on his face a little bit."

On Allison's other side, Noah sighed.

"It was a joke!" Isaac protested. "Besides, he got benched. Scott heard the coaches say he was going to get suspended."

"They think he hit Danny on purpose?" Allison asked.

"I don't know." Isaac rubbed his face. He looked out across the field, where Stiles and Derek's argument had now progressed to the _wild gesticulation_ stage. "Those two give me a headache."

"Same," Allison said. She nudged Noah. The man sat up.

"Isaac," Noah began, just as a somewhat familiar figure came hurrying over to the field from the school. It was Mrs. Whittemore.

"Oh, good, there you are," the woman said. "I tried to get back here before the game ended, but there were some complications in getting Danny admitted without his parents there."

"You didn't have to come back." Isaac bit his lip nervously. "I ended up on the bench, anyway."

"It's the first game of the season," Mrs. Whittemore said supportively. "There's always next time."

"But Jackson said if I did anything to embarrass the household during the game, he was going to make me sleep in the shed."

Mrs. Whittemore pursed her lips, the exact same expression Jackson had when he was annoyed. "No one sleeps in the shed. You were playing very well before I had to leave with Danny."

Isaac looked away, his face red. "Thanks."

"Now, let's get your things and head home." Mrs. Whittemore looked at Noah. "Thanks for sitting with him, Sheriff."

"Anything I can do to keep our kids safe."

Then Mrs. Whittemore turned to Allison. "Jackson said that you helped him out."

"A bit," Allison said, not sure how much detail Jackson had gone into.

The woman shifted her feet. "Thank you." She held her hand out for Isaac. "What a day."

Isaac got up, gave Allison a quarter smile, and trailed along after Mrs. Whittemore towards the school. It was almost funny, with Isaac over six feet tall, and Mrs. Whittemore even shorter than Lydia.

"Glad that all worked out," Noah said. "Now all we have to do is pry Stiles away from Derek and we can go get some dinner."

Allison pulled her legs up, feeling the bite of the chill air. "You know what's not fair?"

"All of this?" Noah puzzled.

"It's Stiles' first game, and he did such a great job," Allison said. "We should get to focus on that. Stiles should get to be a kid a bit longer."

Noah exhaled. "The same goes for all of you kids," he said. "Maybe I can go roust Chris, find something to lock him up on for a few days."

"Won't make any difference," Allison said. "Without any evidence, his lawyers would sue for police harassment. And no judge will want to rattle that cage in an election year to give you a warrant in the first place."

Across the field, Stiles threw his hands up into the air, nearly decapitating Derek with his lacrosse stick. Allison didn't need alpha hearing to hear him yell, "Fine!"

"Fine!" Derek retorted, then turned around and stalked back up into the forest behind the school.

Allison got to her feet. "Glad to see those two getting along so well," she said.

"What are they like when they're not getting along?" Noah wondered, also standing.

Allison thought back to her youth, and the years-long dance Stiles and Derek played before finally getting together. The memory made her guts ache, with what had happened after Derek died. She shook it off. "They don't talk to each other, and it usually ends up with one of them getting in trouble and the other making some stupid valiant rescue attempt."

"That sounds… really dangerous," Noah said.

"Well, it's usually Stiles having to save Derek's ass, if that's any consolation." Allison waved at Stiles as the boy neared the bleachers. "That was an amazing game."

"Thanks!" Stiles beamed. "I mean, I sucked and we lost, but I got to play."

"You were playing a new position without half your star players, and you still managed to keep them to a two-point lead." Allison punched Stiles' shoulder. "That was pretty awesome."

"It was," Noah said. "I'm real proud of you, son."

Stiles beamed even wider.

"Now," Noah said. "How about you get your stuff and we head home. How about pizza?"

"Yes!" Stiles chirped. "I mean, you're getting a salad, but pizza for the rest of us."

Noah's sigh was comical.

"How's Jackson?" Stiles asked as the three of them headed towards the school.

"Okay," Allison said. "He just needed some space. And then Chris showed up."

Stiles nearly tripped over his feet. "What?"

"It's okay," Allison lied. She took the lacrosse stick from Stiles. "Noah and Deputy Rushman came to my rescue."

Stiles was looking between Allison and Noah in something close to horror. "What happened?"

"Nothing," Allison said. "I got Jackson out of there before anything happened."

Stiles gaped at her. "I mean _to you!"_

"Nothing." Allison gave Stiles a very direct look. "He didn't try to kill me or anything."

Stiles' expression morphed from surprise to incredulity. "That is a very low bar!"

"I have an idea," Noah said before Allison could protest. "We go home, and we talk about this there."

"Oh my god," Stiles said, stumbling towards the school. Allison and Noah exchanged a glance.

"Come on," Noah said quietly. "We'll figure it out."

"Perfect," Allison muttered, and headed after Stiles.

She honestly did not understand how she kept making the past so much _worse_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chris Argent, convinced that nothing could get any worse: *goes to make sure Jackson doesn't hurt anyone*  
> Allison: I am going to imply very heavily to your face that I am a werewolf.  
> Chris: What the everloving fuck.
> 
> * * *
> 
> The quote Allison uses, "If we want the rewards of being loved we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known," originally appeared in a New York Times piece by Tim Kreider ([link](https://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/06/15/i-know-what-you-think-of-me/)) in June 2013, and has been memed to death since 2018. Yes, Allison is Marty McFlying her way through history…
> 
> Links:
> 
>   * [How to fall](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZVzzJ4xDgoE)
>   * [Buster Keaton's fall in Steamboat Bill Jr.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mNIaiy4QG9M)
>   * [The real-life Beast of Gévaudan](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beast_of_G%C3%A9vaudan)
> 



	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allison has to explain things to Jackson, which turns out to be the easiest thing to happen on Friday in Beacon Hills. Something happens with Peter that Allison did not see coming. In getting away from everything to try to process it all, Allison ends up at the dubious mercy of Maurice Dupont and his band of thugs, following which much truth and many lies are cast down between Allison and Natasha Romanoff. Meanwhile in Malibu, Jarvis tries to cope with Tony, Allison, and the ever-approaching danger of Hydra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: *looks at tags* Okay in this chapter you can tick _unhealthy relationships_ and _graphic depictions of violence_ off your bingo cards. In separate scenes. One could argue that it's not that graphic, but then I know what's coming so. To each their own.

* * *

Allison rolled up to school early on Friday, exhausted. She felt like she had been trampled by a rhinoceros. On top of the emotional upsets of the previous day at the lacrosse game, she had slept badly and dreamed about Morgan all night.

So she wasn't feeling all that great as she trudged into the building.

There was a strange buzz in the halls, even so early. Kids talked in hushed tones, walking with purpose. Allison was starting to get a bad feeling as she headed up the steps to her locker. Had there been another murder at the high school? Noah hadn't mentioned anything. And he was usually the first to know.

Then Allison turned the corner and stopped dead. On the wall by Danny's locker were taped several large poster boards, with ribbons dangling around a larger-than-life blow-up of Danny's year-book photo. Lydia was there, looking alert, almost manic, handing out markers.

"Oh my god," Allison breathed, her stomach dropping. "Did Danny _die?"_

"No," said Jackson from where he was leaning against the wall. She hadn't seen him at first. "Lydia just went overboard. Again."

Allison went over to him. Jackson had dark circles under his eyes and he looked drawn. He probably hadn't slept at all. "How's Danny?" she asked.

Jackson kept his eyes on Lydia. "Cranky. He's benched for like six weeks."

"Broken ribs?" Allison asked. She hated broken ribs.

Jackson nodded. "One fracture and some bad bruising." He finally turned to Allison. His gaze was a little shaky. "He had to stay with us last night because his parents aren't back until tonight. He kept telling me that he's going to be okay."

"And he will be." Allison tried to sound reassuring.

"Yeah." Jackson licked his lips. "You…"

He trailed off. "Me?" Allison prompted, although she was pretty sure what Jackson was getting at. There was not enough coffee in the world to explain about the human alpha thing.

Jackson glanced at Lydia, who wasn't paying them any attention. "Last night. You said you'd explain things."

"I did say that." Allison glanced at the clock down the hall. Half an hour until class started. "Okay."

"Okay." Jackson glanced at her again, then away.

"Like, you want me to whip it out right here?"

Finally, something close to annoyance crossed Jackson's face. "Fine." He pushed off the wall.

"Let me drop my stuff." Allison walked over to her locker, conscious that Jackson was practically vibrating with impatience. She stashed her helmet and backpack, then closed the locker and followed Jackson down the hall to the chemistry lab.

He waited until she was inside, then closed the door behind her. "What is going on?" he hissed. "First you don't mind that I _attack_ you in the locker room, then your eyes start glowing red?"

Allison sighed. She had been dreading this. Explaining to Stiles was bad enough, because he had been able to make the jumps of logic to understand. But telling the rest of the pack was practically like telling Derek, and Derek was going to lose his furry mind.

Jackson stepped closer to her, too close. "Allison?"

Allison narrowed her eyes at him. "You ever hear the saying, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar?"

"Yes," Jackson said, a little baffled.

"Maybe I've decided to take up smoking."

Jackson stared at her for a heartbeat. Then he burst out, "Would you please just tell me what you're talking about?"

Fine. Allison turned in a circle, tracking security camera locations, the windows, the doors, any reflective surfaces. She stepped three paces back and turned towards the chalkboard. "Come here," she said, holding out her hand for Jackson. He was oddly reluctant to take it, but after a hesitation, he put his hand over hers, and let himself be pulled around.

"Please don't try to pretend this never happened," Jackson said nervously. His hand was sweating. "I might have been out of it but I know what I saw and I saw…"

"You know what you saw." Allison exhaled and let the alpha rise. The alpha knew Jackson, and was so happy to see him. Allison projected _warm_ and _safe_ in Jackson's direction as she pulled him closer, wrapping both hands around his.

Jackson's breath caught. "Oh my god," he gasped. "You—I—What?"

"It's complicated," Allison said, in what was probably the exaggeration of the century. "As far as I can tell, I'm an alpha, just like Derek. Only I'm still human."

Jackson bit his lip so hard he drew blood. "Did you kill someone?" he whispered.

Allison lifted Jackson's hand and kissed his knuckles. He would know if she was lying. "Yes."

His heartbeat sped up. "I thought you stopped hunting werewolves."

"I did."

"Then what happened?"

Allison let the red fade from her eyes, but held the power of the alpha close, wrapping around Jackson like a metaphysical blanket. She tried to figure out how to tell the truth without over-committing herself. "I met someone while I was away. An alpha. We were friends, I guess."

"Did your dad know?" Jackson whispered. "Oh, did your _dad_ kill him?"

"No, Chris doesn't know." Allison turned so she could put her arm around Jackson's waist. His arm went over her shoulder and he curled into her, the wolf seeking comfort. "But I was out with my friend when another pack attacked him. We got most of them, but he went down." Allison had to breathe around the remembered stench of gore and blood from Derek's ruined body. "He asked me to kill him so the alpha spark would go to his sister. Neither of us expected this to happen."

"But you're human," Jackson pointed out helpfully.

"I am."

"Do you shift on the moon?"

"No."

"But you heal fast."

"I do." Allison looked up at him. He was staring at her, his forehead furrowed. Even his eyebrows looked confused. "I don't think there's any explanation as to how I'm like this."

Jackson absently squeezed Allison's shoulder. "Does anyone else know?"

"Stiles," Allison said, holding down a smile at Jackson's eyeroll. "And the sheriff."

All amusement vanished. "Derek said that he knows about supernatural stuff now."

"He does."

"Is he… does he know, about the kanima?"

Allison rubbed Jackson's back. "Noah is not going to hear anything about the kanima from me or from Stiles," she promised. "You didn't do all that, Jackson. Remember what I said about Matt?"

"I remember," Jackson muttered. "But I still did it." He leaned against her, pressing his face against her hair. She let him breathe for a minute. "What does it all mean?"

"About what?" Allison asked. "You?"

"You."

Allison shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I keep trying to help. Not sure what else there is."

"Are you going to tell Derek?"

"He'll find out eventually," Allison hedged.

"Do I have to tell him?"

"Not if you don't want to," Allison said. She gave his ribs a squeeze. "I trust you to make the right call."

Jackson pulled himself up taller at that, which Allison had expected – he could focus so much better when he had something he could control. "What did it feel like?" he asked.

"What?" Allison asked, confused.

"To kill someone who was your friend."

His voice was soft and curious, and his words drove a knife right through Allison's heart. "It, uh." Her stomach churned at the memory of killing Derek, sixteen years in her past and over a decade in the future that would never happen. "It was the worst thing that ever happened to me."

"That sucks," Jackson whispered.

Allison closed her eyes and rested her head against Jackson's shoulder, just for a moment. God, but this morning was already so terrible.

The classroom door opened in a clatter, and Mr. Harris swept in. He stopped dead at the sight of Allison and Jackson. Then he shook his head. "I don't care what you're doing, just stop doing it here," he said. "Go away."

He continued over to his desk, and Allison let Jackson pull her out of the room. Out in the hall, more kids were gathered around the cards for Danny, signing every available inch of paper. Lydia was standing beside Isaac, talking at him a mile a minute as he drew a cartoon caricature in bright red ink.

"—and if you don't show up to the candidates' meeting next Wednesday then we both get disqualified so if you can't at least commit to that, then I'm going to have to ask Greenberg to be my vice-president and you know how that is going to end," Lydia continued her monologue. Isaac drew a tiny smiley face.

"I'll be there," he said, straightening up. He looked down at Lydia, who had her arms crossed over her chest. "As long as you can find me someone to help with math."

Lydia pursed her lips. "Well, I'm not going to do it." She spotted Allison and Jackson. "Allison can help you, she has spare time."

"I do not," Allison protested. "Lydia, I have a job."

"You don't think being class president and getting into MIT is a full-time job?"

Allison gave up. "So," she said to Isaac. "Did Jackson make you sleep in the shed?"

Isaac snorted, while Jackson glared. "No, and his mom yelled at him for it."

"She did not." Jackson elbowed Isaac in the gut. "She said I need to be nicer to poor little Isaac."

Isaac poked Jackson in the side. "She said you needed to stop being such a dick to houseguests," he countered.

Lydia looked at Allison. "So we're all going over to Jackson's after school, want to come?"

"I can't," Allison said, trying to sound sorry about it. If she had to spend the afternoon around the werewolf puppies, she might lose her mind. "I have to go by work and get my paycheck, then run some errands for Noah."

"What about Isaac and math?" Lydia demanded.

"I'm working all weekend and next Monday and Tuesday after school, but Wednesday?" Allison looked at Isaac. "If you want."

He shrugged. "Sure. If you want."

"Sure."

"Great!" Lydia clapped her hands together. "So Isaac passes math, we get elected to student council, and I get into MIT."

"Why are you so hot for Isaac to be your running mate?" Jackson asked. "Yesterday you were trying to kill him with your mind in gym class."

Isaac glared at Jackson. Jackson glared back.

"Because." Lydia flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Isaac pulls in the vote from the lacrosse team and all the girls who think he has some sort of bad boy mystique." She rolled her eyes. "Even in that sweater. And then I get the geek vote, and we win."

"Allison should run against us," Isaac said, to Lydia's horror. "It'd be fun. Think of the debates."

"No, thank you," Allison said before Lydia's head exploded. "It's an election year, and I told Noah I'd behave at school."

A half-smile was pulling at the corner of Jackson's mouth. "How could running for student council be misbehaving?"

Allison took a few steps back, and flashed the three teenagers a smile. "You have no idea how much trouble I could get up to on student council."

"What does that even mean?" Lydia asked the air, as Allison turned to leave. "Hey, you didn't sign the card!"

"I'll do it later!" Allison called. She had ten minutes until math started, and she wanted to check in at the office to see about making sure that Noah's name was on the class lists for parent-teacher interviews.

The last thing she needed was Chris butting into her academic ventures.

* * *

The day passed at glacial speed, but finally, everyone spilled out of the school into the expectant air of a Friday afternoon.

Allison hopped on her bike, laden down with a heavy backpack and far too much homework. She waved at Lydia, already in her car with Danny's get-well cards, then dodged the usual end-of-day traffic backup, pulling out onto the road in no time.

The drive across town was a pleasant one. She paused at the sheriff's station only long enough to get her paycheck, wince at the infinitesimal amount of money she was getting in exchange for her labour, then was back on her bike to head to the bank.

Check deposited, Allison considered trying to find the entrance to McLeod's Books, which tended to shift based on phases of the moon, then decided that she should wait until the waning crescent was on the rise. Her backpack was irritating enough that she ended up getting back on her bike and heading for home.

Stiles' jeep was in the driveway when she arrived, which was slightly odd. She had thought he was going over to Jackson's with the rest of the pack, minus Erica, who was getting ready for work, and Scott, who was still avoiding Stiles. But she supposed that he must have gotten a better offer.

What that offer was became apparent when Allison opened the front door. She could smell Derek's scent on the air, hear the low vibration of his voice upstairs. She hesitated, in case Stiles and Derek were getting up to something a little risqué, but then he said something in an irritated tone, and Allison relaxed.

She doubted that he would sound so normal if either of them had their pants off.

"I'm home!" Allison called, closing the door behind her. She dumped her helmet on the bench and wandered down the hall, shrugging out of her backpack as she went. She detoured into the living room to unpack her bag, spilling out gym shoes, gym clothes, homework, school books, notebooks, that weird peach eraser Erica had given her on Wednesday, a bottle of vitamins, an empty water bottle, the photocopies of that cold case file Noah had her looking at, and lastly, a squashed energy bar.

Allison made a face at this last, then, with a shrug, unwrapped it and crammed half of the bar into her mouth. She thought about unpacking her jacket pockets, but she was hesitant to bring the photocopied news stories of her mother's death out into the light of day. Maybe she could keep her mother close, just a little bit longer.

Her phone buzzed with a message from Erica. _My mom is driving me up the hill what if I can't do this??_

 _You can,_ Allison texted back. _Just don't be too quick, and if anyone tries to touch your ass, pretend to get flustered. Just don't eat any of the customers._

_wait is someone going to touch my ass???_

_I hope not. If they do, tell your boss. And if it's your boss, tell me and I'll rip him into pieces._

_you're not helping_

_You're going to do fine._ Allison shoved the rest of the bar into her mouth. _It's a few hours. If it all goes tits up, so what, you can get another job._

_you are not helping!!_

Allison sighed. _You're going to do great. I know it._

_Okay. I have to go I'm here if I have to eat a customer I'm telling the sheriff it was your idea._

_:-*_

_what is that_

_Good luck kiss._ Allison put her phone down as Derek stumped down the stairs, Stiles on his heels. "Hi Derek, fancy meeting you here," she called.

"You shouldn't have gone in after Jackson on your own yesterday," was his opening volley.

Allison rolled her eyes. "I wasn't exactly overwhelmed with options," she snapped, getting to her feet. "I had Jackson freaking out, and a whole playing field of tasty humans just ripe for the picking, so I did what I had to do."

Derek glowered at her. "You could have been hurt."

"Derek, man, would you chill for like five seconds?" Stiles interjected.

Allison squared her shoulders. "In the moment, I did what needed doing. Jackson was able to control himself, but then Chris showed up and it's a damned good thing that I was there!"

"What?" Derek asked, sounding flustered, and Allison didn't understand.

"Chris showed up," she said again. "And then I got Jackson out of there when his dad came in." No response from Derek. "Hello?"

"What did you do?" Derek asked, staring at her chest.

"To what, Chris?" Allison looked over at Stiles, who appeared as confused as Allison felt. "I trash-talked him until Noah showed up."

"That's not what I mean." Derek took a step towards Allison, breathing in. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened," Allison said, backing up. "Derek, I swear to god, if you start in on _how I smell_ , I am going to punch you into next week."

"Dude," Stiles said, trying to pull Derek backwards from where he seemed intent on sniffing Allison's neck. "There are laws about this."

Derek's gaze shifted from Allison's neck up to her face. She didn't understand why he looked so freaked out. "This isn't possible."

Allison bared her teeth at Derek. "You have exactly thirty seconds to explain before I start _biting._ "

Stiles got between them then, forcibly shoving Derek back a few steps. "What is wrong with all the wolves?" Stiles demanded. "Isaac starts talking about how weird Allison smells and today Erica was wondering if it's like a new soap or something and I don't know, she just smells like Allison."

Allison put her hands on her hips. "And what exactly is that?" she demanded.

"I don't know, like fabric softener?" Stiles blustered.

"Asshole," Allison muttered.

"You smell like my mom," Derek interrupted the banter by dropping this little bombshell into the room.

Allison gaped at him. " _What?"_

Derek was going red, which was so far outside of the normal that Allison didn't know what to do. "You smell like my mom, but not like my mom."

Allison stared. Was this about the alpha? Peter had picked up on the scent early on, but Derek had been so fixated on Allison as an Argent that he'd only focused on her differences. Was that what he was picking up now?

"I've been hanging out with the wolves," she began to hedge, but Derek's sharp shake of the head cut her off.

"No, not like werewolves." He met her eyes, and there was an anger stirring there. "You smell… I mean…"

"Oh my god," Stiles yelped. "Just get it out!"

"You smell like you're mated."

The words knocked all sound out of the room. Allison forgot to move, to blink, to breathe.

_What?_

"Did…" Stiles said after a few moments, horror on his face. "What? Are you insane?"

Allison tried to take in a breath, but the air felt too thin. "What did you say?"

"Uh." Derek was getting even redder now. "It's a werewolf thing. You shouldn't be able to… I mean, you can't have…"

Allison had never seen Derek so embarrassed, but the whole situation was too surreal for her to enjoy it. "I can't have _what?"_

"Oh god," Stiles breathed. "Is this like some kinky werewolf sex thing?" He turned to Allison, his eyes huge. "Did you and Peter accidentally get _werewolf married?"_

"No," Allison said. "Absolutely not."

"How?" Stiles asked, voice going up in a question. "How do you even get werewolf married, anyway?"

"This isn't happening," Allison said. "Nothing happened with me and Peter, so stop it!"

"You weren't having sex, and, um." Derek looked like he was going to have an aneurism. "Maybe, bite each other?"

Allison froze.

"Oh, gross," Stiles said. "That is really unsanitary…" He trailed off, staring at Allison. "Oh my god, _did you?"_ He put his hand over his mouth. "I'm going to throw up."

Ice was crystalizing in Allison's chest. "Is that a thing?" she asked.

"Yeah." Derek crossed his arms over his chest. "It's only supposed to work with an alpha, and never with a human, but…"

Allison and Stiles looked at each other, horrified. "No," Stiles breathed. "Did you?"

"I have to go see Peter," she blurted out, already moving.

As she made it into the hall, gathering up her keys and helmet, she heard Derek say, "Maybe because Peter used to be an alpha? None of this makes any sense."

"Can we focus on the fact that Allison got werewolf married to your psychotic uncle?" Stiles was saying in perfectly justifiable hysterical tones as Allison slammed out the door, heading toward her bike.

This wasn't happening. She hadn't accidentally formed some sort of bond with Peter, whatever Derek was calling it. Sure, she knew that some werewolves in long-term relationships sometimes imprinted on each other, her Aunt Anna had explained that to her years ago.

But Anna had been somewhat skittish about explaining the exact mechanism, saying only that it wasn't something someone of Allison's tender years needed to hear about.

She peeled out into the street, forcing herself to keep to the speed limit.

It had never occurred to Allison in her future relationship with Peter that they could have formed some sort of deeper bond. After she became the alpha, she was off with the superheroes so much, only returning home to Beacon Hills on her downtime. She may have spent about half of that time in Peter's bed, sure, and they'd done some pretty weird things over the years, but Peter had never mentioned anything about bonding. But…

Allison's breath sounded a little loud in her ears in the helmet. Because in the future, after she became the alpha, Peter had always been so very careful to never bite or claw at her while they were having sex, and never, ever breaking her skin.

But two nights before, on Peter's kitchen floor, he had bitten deep into her flesh while she'd still had his blood on her tongue.

This couldn't be happening. Allison had only been back from the future for a few weeks. She knew she had made some major changes to the timeline, but accidentally bonding with Peter Hale was so far outside the scope of reality that she couldn't even wrap her head around it.

Damn it, they had only been sleeping together for a couple of weeks.

"Werewolf sex ed," Allison muttered to herself as she turned up the hill. "Every goddamned wolf is getting goddamned sex ed before this month is over."

Maybe Derek was wrong. Maybe he was just mixing up the scent-memory of the Hale alpha with whatever the deal was with Talia.

Allison clung to that thought as she drove up to Peter's apartment, pulling her bike around to the back so as not to be visible by the casual passer-by. Now that she was here, however, Allison was having second thoughts. Maybe she didn't want to know what had happened. Maybe she could just pretend she'd misheard Derek.

With a growl, Allison got off her bike. She was going to take her own advice and wolf up to face the consequences.

Her knock on Peter's front door sounded loud in her ears. Waiting for him to answer took forever, but finally he opened the door. His expression was not overly friendly and the moment Allison laid eyes on him, her whole body ached with wanting him.

Oh _crap_.

"I got a visit from the sheriff yesterday," Peter said without preamble, stepping back to let Allison into the apartment. "It's always fun to be warned of a campaign of police harassment."

"Forget about Noah," Allison said, dumping her helmet on the bench and kicking off her boots. Peter smelled so damned good that Allison had to work to keep her hands off him. "What did you do?"

Peter frowned at her. "What do you mean, what did _I_ do?"

Allison pushed past him down the hall. She'd never wanted to touch anyone this much, and it didn't make any sense. Was it hormones? Chemical? Metaphysical?

"Allison?" Peter followed her into the room. "What's going on?"

Allison turned to look at him, hands on her hips so she wouldn't reach out and grab him. "Derek thinks I smell weird."

"You do," Peter said, frowning. "You have ever since you got back into town, but…" He took a step closer, then another; so close that Allison could feel the heat from his body.

Allison licked her lips. "Everyone's been saying I smell different since yesterday," she said, balling her hand up in her shirt.

"Yesterday," Peter repeated. He reached up to cup her face in his hands, his thumb sliding over her cheekbones. The simple touch was enough to send molten metal burning along every nerve ending. Allison's knees felt weak.

"What happened?" she asked in a whisper, hating how her voice faltered. "I've been feeling different and at first I thought it was blood loss again but—"

She was not expecting Peter to drop his hands and back away, eyes flashing blue, face twisting up into a snarl. "What did you _do?"_ he demanded.

Allison just stood there. "I—Nothing!"

"You had to!" Peter ran his hands through his hair. He kept moving backwards until he collided with the couch. "None of this makes any sense!"

"Would you tell me?" Allison demanded. "Peter, what is going on?"

He ran his eyes over her body, then slowly back up to her face. "You made me _yours_ ," and the way he said that was the ghost of the _mine mine mine_ that had been echoing in Allison's head every time she'd lain in Peter's bed over the last few weeks. "This isn't possible."

"What does it mean?" Allison asked, stepping closer to him. He backed away again, and she stopped. "Peter, I need you to tell me what's going on."

He took a deep breath. The confusion on his face was fading to anger, all of it pointed directly at Allison. "What it means, Allison _Argent_ , is that I'm tied to you," he spat.

The vitriol burned hot enough to make Allison flinch. "How?"

"I don't know." He moved restlessly, stepping over to the side, touching the spines on some of his books, moving a sculpture an inch. "It's very rare and it's only supposed to be able to happen when an alpha makes it happen. _I don't know."_

Understanding slid down Allison's spine like ice. All those times she had taken Peter to bed, all those times the alpha had pulled him towards her, sinking into him, wanting him forever.

This was all her fault, and she'd had no idea it was even possible.

"Oh," she said. It was only a sound, but Peter turned on her, instantly alert.

"What?" he demanded. "What is it?"

Allison looked at him, her Peter, so, so angry. She took a breath. "You are so close to figuring this out," she said.

"I am so close to—" Peter broke off, confusion back. "What are you talking about?" He moved closer. "What did you do?"

Allison kept her eyes on him as she let the alpha rise, fill her with its power, the power of the Hale alpha filling her heart, standing on the solid ground of the wolf in her bones, back through countless generations of werewolves on her mother's side. "Do you get it now?" she demanded, voice hot as blood in her mouth.

Peter's knees buckled and he nearly went down before he recovered. "What are you?" he demanded, hands growing claws, teeth sharpening in his mouth.

"What do you think I am?" Allison took a step towards him. "Think about it, Peter. Think about all those things you've seen me do, all the ways I changed over the summer."

"You can't be," Peter protested, still so angry. "You can't be an alpha, you're _human._ "

"That's not all that I am."

For a long, terrible moment, they were still, staring at each other across the divide of the room.

Then Peter was moving forward, his hand going up, and Allison braced herself for this to turn into a fight, for Peter to go for her throat. But then he stopped midstride, his hand dropping, almost curling in on himself as if in pain.

"Peter?"

He glared at her with such loathing on his face that Allison wanted to shrink back. "I hate you," he said, almost unable to get the words out. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

"No, because no one is telling me anything!" Allison exclaimed. "What is this?"

Peter wrapped his arms around his chest, still hunched over. "You made me your bitch, and you act like you have any right to question this?" He took a few steps closer. "Whatever you are, however an _Argent_ got to be an alpha, you've got me right where you want me." He was on the edge of wolfing out in anger. "I can't hurt you, I can't even _think_ about hurting you, and all I want is to curl up at your feet and have you make it better."

This last was said with such mocking derision that it stabbed into Allison's stomach.

"Is this how the Argents finally win?" Peter demanded. "You couldn't kill me in the fire so you turn me into this?"

"I didn't turn you into anything!" Allison exclaimed. "I didn't do anything to you!"

"Oh no?" Peter stepped in against her, one arm going around her waist and the other hand flat against her shoulder blades. "How about this?"

He was so close, close enough to kiss, close enough to bite, and this was how everything had started on Wednesday.

"After everything that's happened," Peter whispered, his lips brushing over her cheek. "Knowing that you tricked me, knowing that you could do anything at all to me and I wouldn't even raise a hand to stop you." He pressed his forehead against her temple, his hands shaking as he held her. "I still want to take you to bed and never let you leave."

The pain in his voice cut deeper than any knife could. "Please let me go," Allison whispered. Peter's arms tightened around her, almost hurting, before he released her. He stepped back, and it left her feeling so cold. "I didn't mean to do this. I didn't…"

Peter turned away, stalking across the apartment to the window. "Get out," he said.

"I—"

"I said, get out!" he shouted.

Allison balled her hands up into fists. It took all of her willpower to make her walk towards the door. Every step away from Peter hurt.

But Allison had been hurt before. She had lost so many people, had endured so much pain, and she kept going. Because that was what she had to do.

As she crossed the apartment floor, anger started to simmer in her chest, bubbling up from below all that hurt and pain. She pulled on her boots, and picked up her helmet.

Peter had one shoulder propped against the window, very carefully not looking at her.

Allison bit her lip, hefting her helmet on her arm. "I'll stay away from you, if that's what you want," she said. "There's got to be a way to undo this, we'll just figure out what that is."

She walked to the door. Her hand was already on the handle when she stopped, and turned back around.

"There's just one thing," she said. Peter didn't move. "When Derek told me what he thought had happened, he had a very clear idea of how it happened."

"So?"

Allison looked at Peter. She hadn't thought it was possible to have so many conflicting feelings about another person, all at once. "So you had to know about this too, right?"

He didn't answer.

"What was the deal, Peter?" Allison went on. "You just decided to play a few little mating games with the human, because she'd heal right on up and she'd never even know?"

Finally, Peter turned his head. "If I recall the scenario in question," he said icily. "You asked me to bite you. What was it you said?" He cocked his head. " 'I need you inside me?' Is that something you say to all the boys you open your legs up for, or am I just special?"

"I didn't know what it meant for you to bite me like that," Allison said. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

"And yet, here we are."

Allison made herself open the door, and walk out. She was shaking so hard that she almost tripped down the stairs to the sidewalk. She needed to get away from Peter, get away from all this. Almost running, she got back to her bike, jammed on her helmet and gloves, and peeled out onto the road before she could lose her willpower and crawl back to Peter, begging him to forgive her.

God, she hated supernatural crap.

At the end of the street, Allison turned north. This part of Beacon Hills was close to the old logging highway that meandered through the mountains to Mount Hebron, which hardly anyone took at this time of year. And that meant that Allison could see how fast she could get away from Peter Hale.

She waited until she hit the city limits before opening up the throttle on her bike, speeding up the winding highway. Every mile away from Peter wasn't enough to lessen the anger and hurt that raged inside her.

She hadn't meant to do anything to Peter. She hadn't meant to push anything on him, not when she knew how little she probably meant to this Peter. It had only been a few weeks since she came back in time, back to this Beacon Hills, back to Peter. In her future, it had taken years for them to be anywhere near civil to each other, and most of that had been helped along by the Snap.

For years, the only reason that she and Peter had been able to make it work was that neither of them owed the other anything. Allison had been so scrupulous about never pressing the alpha advantage over him, never asking him for anything she couldn't get on her own, never making demands. He did what he wanted, slept with who he wanted, lived how he wanted.

But by then, Peter had known she wasn't an Argent, known that she was born to the dark of the moon.

Now, this Peter thought she was an Argent by blood and by upbringing, and that she had somehow tricked him into whatever this bonding was.

Maybe that was what hurt the most, was that Peter thought Allison would intentionally try to hurt him.

It was getting a little difficult to see, and it took Allison way too long to realize that she was crying.

Damn Peter, and damn the circumstances.

Allison let her motorcycle drift to a stop just over the top of the hill, pulling off onto the shoulder overlooking the valley below. She turned off the engine and removed her helmet, yanking off her gloves to angrily wipe the tears from her face.

God _damn_ it.

Allison stared out over the valley. Beacon Hills was a glimmer in the distance, as the sun set over the mountains in the distance. She had been driving for longer than she realized.

She wiped her eyes again. She hated feeling so emotional, and she didn't even know if she had to blame it on teenage hormones or on this stupid werewolf bonding thing.

No matter. Allison was a Stark, and Starks fixed things. She'd fix this. If there wasn't a way to break the bond, then she would just stay away from Peter and hope that it would fade over time.

She wouldn't let herself even think of the third option. She and Peter would never be able to make it work, not now. Not when he had looked at her with so much anger.

Allison breathed deep to center herself. She had come back in time with a mission. Stop the Snap, save the universe. It was as simple as that. She was a Stark, and the sad truth was that Starks never actually got a happy ending.

Taking one last look out at the valley, Allison turned back to her bike. The wind was picking up, a mournful howl carrying down from the hills through the scrubby forest below.

She glanced over the edge of the cliff. It wasn't as sheer of a drop as she'd first thought, more of a seventy-degree slope down. Still, it was enough of a drop that anyone who lost control around the curve might be in major trouble.

Allison reluctantly reached for her gloves, when the phone in her pocket began vibrating with a sudden, urgent staccato.

"Son of a bitch!" Allison exclaimed, yanking her phone out. The phone kept buzzing with new alerts, as more and more of the phones Jarvis was tracking grew nearer. Even as she read the texts, she could hear the approaching growl of multiple vehicle engines, driving very fast.

Allison shoved all of her emotional turmoil out of her mind. This wasn't a coincidence, that Dupont and his crew had found her all alone.

All alone, unarmed, and without anyone having any clue of where she was.

"Are you trying to die?" Allison asked herself. God, if Dupont ended up killing her out here because she was too distracted by losing access to Peter Hale's dick, she was going to come back to life and kick her own damned ass.

As the SUVs screeched up the rise, another text from Jarvis came in. _What do you need?_

 _Help I need help_ , was all Allison had typed out before the SUVs stopped in a spray of gravel, and Dupont sprang out of the passenger seat. Allison backed away, hitting send on the message just as Dupont was on her, grabbing her phone and throwing it over the cliff.

"Hey, I had another thirty texts left on that phone," Allison exclaimed.

In response, he punched her in the stomach.

Allison had seen the blow coming, and in the microsecond in which she could have responded (ducked away, kicked him, jumped over the railing down the cliff) she ran through every outcome to every possible action on her part. If she attacked Dupont, she'd have to take down the other four, all of whom were getting out of their vehicles. If she jumped down the cliff, they would see her supernatural speed, and their next attack on her would be far more deadly.

So in the end, Allison let the punch land, doubling up and trying to roll to the side to bleed off the brunt of the blow. It didn't really help.

Two of the goons grabbed her arms and hauled her away from the cliff edge, slamming her against the front of one of the SUVs. It took an effort for her to straighten up. "What the hell do you want?" she gasped.

Dupont stepped in against her, grabbing a handful of her hair and yanking her head back to expose her throat. The violence of his action, along with old memories of broken bones and bleeding pain, narrowed Allison's world down to the icy point of confrontation. Nothing else mattered; not the Peter problem, not Tony Stark, not Hydra.

Just Allison, Maurice Dupont, and the four assholes whose futures had just been sealed.

"You're a disgrace to the name of Argent," Dupont said, which was a typically melodramatic opening line. "Don't you have any shame?"

"Probably not," Allison agreed. He smelled faintly of wyvern poison and stale sweat and Allison wondered what he would do if she threw up on him. "Is there something I can help you with?"

Dupont pulled her head back further. Allison looked up at the sky, trying to focus around the hammering of her own heartbeat. She could headbutt Dupont in the nose, driving the cartilage up into his brain, and throw the two guys holding her arms over the side of the cliff, but the other two were too far away for her to get to before they could shoot her. And she might have a hard time explaining to a jury why she'd massacred five guys in self-defence.

Plus, that might reflect badly on Noah in an election year.

"Whoring around with werewolves?" Dupont sneered. "With animals? It's disgusting."

He let her go and backed up a few steps. Thugs One and Two kept hold of her arms, holding so tight that a normal human would have broken bones.

Allison was already finished with this. "There's no whoring going on," she said, and smiled at Dupont. "All the werewolf dick I suck is for free."

She supposed the punch to the jaw was inevitable. She moved with the blow again, but Dupont's fist still broke her lip against her teeth, filling her mouth with blood. She let her knees buckle, sagging against the hold of the two goons, testing their balance as they hauled her upright.

"How could anyone raised by Victoria Argent end up like you?" Dupont demanded. "She knew the Code, she knew what was expected of a family like yours."

Allison opened her mouth, letting the blood gush down over her chin. "And what exactly was that?" she asked. "Going after children just because they're different? Burning out whole families just because of how they were born?"

"They are dangerous animals with no control," Dupont said coldly. "Your family has known that for countless generations, and had done what was needed to keep people safe, regardless of the personal cost."

Allison watched him, running her tongue over her bloodied lip. The memories of her first encounter with Maurice Dupont were a little hazy, twenty-seven years before. The most vivid recollection had been when Dupont tripped over Stiles' feet and impaled himself on that tree stump.

Good times, that.

Now, however, he wasn't acting unhinged or manic, just angry. That worried Allison.

What did he think all of this was going to solve?

"After everything that your aunt did," Dupont went on. "And everything that your grandfather did, to dishonour the Code. Are you going to follow in their footsteps, and bring shame upon the family name? You need to figure out where your loyalties lie, Allison." He said her name like it was a curse. "With your kind, or with those animals."

Allison let her gaze drift from Dupont, to the other two clowns behind him. Their faces were impassive, but the group was not calm. There was the scent of unease and dismay on the air, stress overlain with worry. Not everyone was sanguine about this particular encounter.

She looked back at Dupont. He was tall, older, ragged around the edges in a way that spoke of hard living. She supposed exposure to wyvern poison did that to a man. "Or?"

The first crack appeared in Dupont's façade. "Or what?"

"That's what I'm asking you," Allison said. "Personally, I don't have a problem protecting humans and also hanging around with my friends, but apparently you do, so. What are you going to do?"

She readied herself for another punch, but Dupont just stared at her for a very long moment, considering. Then he looked over his shoulder. "Over the cliff," he said.

Allison took a breath, ready to fight back if any of these losers tried to push her towards the edge. But the goons holding her arms stayed still, while the other two moved towards her bike.

Allison's heart sank. She had really liked that bike. "Come on," she called as the goons wheeled the bike to the edge. "Guys. I just finished paying that off."

Heedless of her protests, the thugs upended the motorcycle over the railing. The sounds of the bike crunching down the mountainside faded under the wind's moan. Dupont turned back to her. "Do you think that you're allowed to make your own choices?" he demanded.

"Uh, yes?"

"You are the last in a line of the most respected Hunter family in the world," he said, then slapped her so hard her teeth rattled. She was getting tired of this. "You have _responsibilities."_

Allison spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva. "The world is changing," she said, glaring up at Dupont. "We've got superheroes and aliens in the mix now. Are you going to tell me that the old order means anything anymore?"

"So you are denying your heritage?"

"It means I'll protect those who need protecting," Allison said. "From whoever or whatever the danger is."

Dupont's lip twisted up. "Who gave you the right to change the traditions of hundreds of years?" he demanded.

Allison cocked her head to the side. "Well, Kate got her throat ripped out and Victoria shoved a knife through her heart, so I guess that just leaves me as head of the family."

Dupont lunged forward, grabbing Allison by the throat. "How dare you speak about your mother that way?" he shouted at her.

Please. Allison had been choked out by villains worse than this guy. He wasn't even squeezing tight enough to cut off the blood to her brain. "I thought you'd appreciate that she followed the Code," Allison gasped out.

"Maurice," one of the other guys said sharply.

Dupont squeezed Allison's throat harder, pressing in on her air supply. "She needs to learn some respect," Dupont hissed, never taking his eyes off Allison's face. She kept her focus, gauging how much oxygen she had, how hard the two goons held her arms, looking for any distraction in Dupont's attention for her to attack.

"So teach her some respect," said the guy on Allison's left.

That was all the warning Allison got before Dupont let go of her throat and stepped in to knee her in the stomach. The goons let go of her arms at the same time, and as she doubled up from the force of the blow, Dupont grabbed her by the hair and flung her out onto the road. She went sprawling on the warm asphalt, getting her hands under her as she tried to track everyone's movements.

In a fight, it always came down to numbers. How many assailants, how many weapons, how many distractions, and how many blows the human body could take before it gave out. Allison's endurance was through the roof, but even she had her limits. If Dupont's crew broke out any weapons, or ran her down with their cars, she'd take some serious damage.

Her only advantage was that they thought she was farm-variety human, and easily breakable.

So far, three of the men were moving towards her while the other two hung back. Allison skittered up and to the left as they came at her from the sides. One kicked her in the ribs, then the other's foot slammed into her thigh. Dupont was next, his boot aimed for her head. She got her arm up to deflect the kick, but that only meant her sternum took most of the force, knocking the air out of her chest.

She needed to end this before one of them got lucky. Allison curled up, as if to protect her center, then kicked out, catching one of the morons just above the knee. He went down as Allison rolled up to her knees, catching Dupont's hand on hers and using his own momentum to spin him into the other thug. She staggered back, breathing hard, heart racing for the fight.

"That all you got?" Allison wheezed, ready to spring. "Victoria used to beat me worse than this in grade school, why are you holding back?"

There was a distant buzzing in her ears. Allison wondered if it was from the adrenaline.

Dupont and the other goon were getting to their feet, while the third guy lay on the ground. The other two held back, one of them with his hand hovering near his hip.

"Come on!" Allison shouted. "Either do something interesting or get the hell out of my town!"

The whine was getting closer, and it took Allison a moment to recognize the whirl of a racing motorcycle engine. She moved sideways, trying to keep an eye on Dupont's crew while catching an eye of whoever was coming. Was it Dupont's backup? Some random passerby?

Faster than Allison would have thought, the motorcycle crested the hill. The black-clad rider wore a visored helmet, and Allison could not see his face.

She wondered from which direction the greatest threat would come.

The appearance of the new player in the game caused Dupont's crew to hesitate. Allison kept moving backwards, putting more space between them.

The motorcycle slowed to a halt, and the rider sat back, flipping up his visor. When Allison saw who it was, she nearly passed out in relief.

It was Clint Barton.

"Hey there," Clint called merrily, as if he'd come across some friends at the beach instead of felony assault in progress on one of his students. "Allison, I didn't expect to see you out here."

"You know," Allison said, trying to stay on her feet. "You go out for a drive, get pounced upon by some thugs with a grudge against your father."

"Yeah, I know how that goes," Clint said, and the sad part was he probably wasn't even lying. "How about you come with me and we go get pizza?"

"Best offer I had all week." Allison considered going back to get her helmet, which was currently resting on the ground beside one of the trucks, then decided against testing her luck. "See you all next time."

She limped over to the motorcycle and climbed on behind Clint. He was reassuringly real, as she gripped at his jacket.

"Hold on tight," Clint said in an undertone. "I'm going to go fast."

"Good."

Clint flipped his visor down as Allison wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. The bike moved as Clint slipped it into gear, turning in a circle to point back at Beacon Hills. Allison kept her eyes on Dupont's crew until they went over the rise, and Clint punched the engine to life. Then she closed her eyes and held on tight.

She didn't understand what had just happened.

Clint, she understood – Jarvis, upon her request for help, had likely contacted Natasha, or even Clint directly. Allison had left enough breadcrumbs on the ground for even an infant to follow that trail. She owed Jarvis more than thanks; he might just have saved her life.

No, what Allison didn't understand was what Dupont's team was up to.

She had thought they were in town to deal with Chris. Sure, slapping her around a bit was probably an added bonus for a bunch of assholes who thought werewolves were nothing more than animals, but she didn't understand what Dupont was talking about when he'd been railing on about tradition and respect.

Allison held on to Clint as he took a curve at twice the speed limit, somehow keeping them upright. She hadn't ridden with anyone like this in years. Normally, she was the one driving, while Bucky rode pillion, either to shield their retreat or to return fire.

God, she missed Bucky so much.

As the ride back to Beacon Hills continued, Allison couldn't help but wonder how on earth she had been so criminally stupid. Ride off without checking her tail? Leave the house without weapons? Not that a knife would have been any help in the fracas with Dupont. But it would have made her feel better.

And not that she'd be doing any riding in the near future. She hadn't seen the fate of her motorcycle, but that far of a drop had probably left the thing in pieces. Damn it, and she had really liked that bike.

The motorcycle slowed, and Clint pulled them off to the shoulder. Once they had stopped, Allison managed to release her grip from around Clint's ribs and sat back. "What?" she asked.

Clint pulled off his helmet. "You should put this on," he said, handing it over.

"Why?"

The expression on Clint's face was mildly amused, but she could smell his apprehension. "Because you look like someone took a baseball bat to you and I don't really feel like having to explain that as we drive through town."

"But you didn't do any of it."

"And yet." He gestured with the helmet. "Please, kid."

"I'm not a kid," Allison said automatically, but she took the helmet. It was slightly too big for her, but she buckled the strap as Clint got the bike going again, this time at a sedate pace as they entered city limits.

This close to sunset on a Friday night, they didn't hit any traffic pockets as they headed south. Allison had an inkling of where they were headed when Clint turned over the railway tracks, which tuned to certainty as he accelerated out onto Bonaventura. Half of her just wanted to jump off the bike and walk home. Dealing with the mess at the sheriff's station was going to be too much drama.

She just wanted to wash the dust off her hands and go to bed.

Far too soon, Clint pulled them up in front of the sheriff's station, and turned off the bike. He spoke over his shoulder. "You want me to carry you inside like a swooning damsel in distress?" he asked.

Allison pulled off the helmet. "How about I carry you inside and we split the difference?"

Clint took the helmet from her. "You know who you remind me of?"

"Please don't say Natasha, that would be all too weird."

"Nah, I was going to say me." He got off the bike. "Seriously, though, are you going to be able to walk?"

"Yeah, it wasn't like they took a crowbar to my kneecaps or anything." Allison put her foot on the ground and tried to stand, but the pain in her thigh made her flinch. "Or, you know, give me a minute."

Clint held out his hand. "The offer of the swooning damsel express still stands."

Allison gave him a look. "Honestly, Barton, I'd have to be unconscious first."

"You know you don't have to be such a hard-ass about this."

Allison took another breath, then braced herself to stand. "Yes, I do." She managed to attain the vertical without falling, which was great, but the next hurdle was that her leg didn't want to actually walk. "Shit."

"Does anything feel broken?" Clint asked.

Allison pressed against her ribs and sternum through the jacket. She hadn't realized that one of the kicks to her chest had torn the zipper. "I don't think so." She looked down at her leg, where a very clear boot imprint had been stomped into her jeans. "What a bunch of shitstains."

"So, nothing broken, but no walking?"

"Give me a minute," Allison said through gritted teeth. Across the sidewalk, the door to the sheriff's station was opening. "Or maybe two."

And oh, great, there was Noah. "Allison?" Noah called, hurrying over. "Are you okay?"

"Never better," Allison said, pushing down the wave of _safe_ she felt at the sight of Noah. "Just having some trouble, you know. Moving."

"What happened?" Noah asked, brushing past Clint. He held out his hand to her, and she took it.

"You know. Girl goes out for a joyride, girl ends up getting kicked in the ribs." She tried to take a step, leaning on Noah's arm, and thankfully her leg didn't buckle.

"Dupont?" Noah asked quietly, holding her weight steady.

"Yeah." With Noah's assistance, Allison limped towards the station's front entrance.

"What did you do to them?" Noah asked.

"Nothing." Allison coughed, feeling the pull against her abused ribs. "I didn't do anything."

"It's okay," Noah said. Clint stepped in front of them to open the door, and Noah helped Allison inside. There was the usual Friday night crowd, with a full contingent of deputies and civilian staff, and every single one of them stopped what they were doing as Noah and Allison walked across the lobby towards the sheriff's office.

"Boss?" Deputy Strong said, stepping out from behind the front desk.

"We're okay," Noah said. "Can someone do me a favour and go get Allison some water?"

"I'm fine," Allison protested, but Strong was already heading towards the break room. "I'm fine," she said again. "Just give me a few minutes."

"Come sit down." Noah guided Allison into his office. Inside, Natasha was on the phone, looking rattled.

Allison thought about protesting that she was fine again, but gave it up as hopeless. She let Noah help her sit on the couch, stretching her leg out in front of her and pressing gently on the sore spot. It still hurt, which told Allison that the kick had done more damage than she had thought at first.

Fuck Dupont and his whole crew.

"Everything is under control," Natasha was saying. Clint slipped into the room and perched on the visitor's chair behind her. "Yes, in a minute—"

Strong hurried into the office, bottle of water in one hand and a handful of paper towels in the other. "What do you want us to do?" the man asked Noah.

"Good question." Noah sat on the couch beside Allison. "What happened?"

"Uh." Allison tried to think. "I was up on a curve point on the 97 east of town, where the road does that thing." She curved her fingers up and over an imaginary corkscrew. "Dupont and his lackies stopped by for a chat and tossed my bike over the cliff before using me for soccer practice."

"Okay." Noah turned to Strong. "Call whoever's out on patrol in the northeast quadrant and get them to take a look up there, see if they can find Allison's motorcycle."

"Of course." Strong hesitated before leaving the office.

"Do you need to go to the hospital?" Noah asked her.

Allison shook her head. Her throat hurt. "There's no point." She reached for the zipper on her jacket and managed to tug it halfway down before it jammed. "Fuck."

"Here," Natasha said, approaching with the cell phone held out. "There's someone who wants to talk to you."

Allison frowned, but took the phone. "Hello?"

"Allison," came Jarvis's voice, and Allison let out a shuddering breath. "I am very glad to hear your voice.

"I'm glad to hear yours." Allison sat back, wincing as her side pressed against the cushions. "Thanks for sending backup."

"It was the least I could do," Jarvis said. "However, I do believe you are going to have to come up with an explanation as to the source of our acquaintance, as Agent Romanoff is not satisfied with my explanation."

Allison lifted her gaze to where Natasha was staring at her. "What, she doesn't buy that I just happened to hack into your servers for fun?"

"No." Jarvis sounded faintly amused. "I will note that I, also, do not believe that story, but I am more willing to wait for the truth when you are ready to tell me."

"Like I said before, Jarvis, you're an angel." Allison breathed out, wincing at the pull on her ribs. "Thanks for the save."

"Feel free to call on me at any time," Jarvis said.

"Give me a few days, Dupont chucked my phone over the cliff," Allison said. Clint looked down at his hands. "I'll be in touch when I get a new phone."

Was it Allison's imagination, or was there a hesitation before Jarvis replied? "You know where to find me."

"I do." Allison lowered the phone, then, for some reason, she did not press the button to end the call, but put the phone face down beside her leg.

Maybe she was sick of all the moving details. Maybe it was time to get as much out in the open about why Clint and Natasha were in town, watching her, and how that all tied back to Tony Stark.

At this point, Allison wasn't sure how things could get any worse.

"So," she said into the room. "How are the horses running?"

"Allison." Noah sat beside her. "Can you tell me what happened? Everything after you left here?"

"Sure." Allison yanked again on her jacket zipper, finally breaking it apart. "I went to the bank to deposit my pay check, then I went home and Derek and Stiles were there talking about something."

She paused to slip her jacket off. Clint sucked in a breath, and Allison looked down. The t-shirt she was wearing had been ripped by the force of the kicks, and it was spotted with blood where the skin had torn.

Worse, her forearms were bruised, angry red and purple discolouring her skin where the goons had held her. No wonder it hurt to move her fingers.

"Anyway." Allison pressed her fingers against her chest again, feeling for any sharp pain. "Derek mentioned something about something Peter said and for reasons that don't need a detailed explanation at this point, I went over to his place." No shooting pain, so Allison hoped that she'd avoided broken ribs. "Also, Noah, you can call off the campaign of police harassment. Peter told me he never wants to see me again, so. Good job."

"That wasn't what I meant," Noah said, and he sounded apologetic. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well, life goes on." Allison narrowed her eyes as Natasha approached with a digital camera. "What are you doing?"

"Documenting evidence," the woman said. "Hold out your arms."

"There's no point," Allison said. "It's not like charges against Dupont and the other losers are going to hold up in court."

"Humour us," Noah said.

"Arms," Natasha said.

With a huff, Allison held out her arms for Natasha to photograph. "So, in a fit of teenage despair and angst at being rejected, I went for a drive," Allison continued. "And because I am the world's worst idiot, I didn't think I was going to get cornered on a deserted highway out of town by five losers with a grudge against Chris."

"You sure about that?" Clint spoke up.

"What?" Allison asked, as Natasha motioned her to tip her head back to expose her neck.

"That they got something against your old man?" Clint rubbed his hands together. "Because they don't seem to be paying him half as much attention as they are to you."

Allison frowned. "How do you know that?"

Clint wrinkled his nose. "You think I've been following him around for fun?"

Allison frowned harder. "You've been following Chris around?" She thought back to the ice rink, when Clint had sauntered in after Chris, then left shortly on his heels. And to think she had thought Clint was on her tail. "Wait, were you up at the Hale house when him and Dupont had their little pissing contest?"

"Yup." Clint sat back. "Nice throw, by the way."

Allison sighed. "You know, this would have all been nice to know."

"Well, that's the point of covert surveillance," Clint said. "It's to surveil covertly."

Noah cleared his throat. "Here," he said, holding out a wet paper towel. Allison looked at him. "You've got blood all over your face."

"Right." Allison wiped at her chin, coming away with far too much red. "You know what they say, spitting blood is almost as good a distraction as an explosion."

"Can we get on with the story?" Natasha asked, aiming the camera at Allison's outstretched leg.

"Sure." Allison took another wet cloth from Noah, rubbing at her neck. "Anyway, area teenager is so distraught about the seven mean things said to her that she doesn't notice the danger she's in until two SUVs pull up on her. Dupont chucked my phone over the cliff just as I was texting Jarvis for some help, then he slapped me around for a bit while yelling that I was a disgrace to the family name, shit like that."

"Who's this Jarvis guy?" Noah asked.

Allison sat back, idly playing with a rip in her shirt. At this rate, she was going to be completely without clothes in a few weeks. "Doesn't Deputy Rushman want to field that question?"

The look Noah turned on Natasha wasn't exactly friendly. "She said that you'd have a better explanation."

Allison sighed. "I doubt that. Anyway, Dupont told his cronies to throw my motorcycle over the cliff, probably as some sort of threat about how I'm next. He throws out some crap remarks about Victoria, then he goes on about how I need to be taught some respect and him and two of his little buddies start kicking me around the road." Allison let her shirt go. "For what it's worth, I did get in a kick or two myself. Told them to either do something interesting or to get the fuck out of town. Then Mr. Barton rolled up and we hit the road." She gave a ghost of a bow from a seated position. "Scene."

Noah put his hand over his eyes for a moment. "Jesus, Allison."

"It's okay," Allison said. She touched his arm. "I'm fine."

"It is not okay," Noah objected. "You should never have been in this position in the first place."

"But I'm fine," Allison said again. "It's not like I can't take a beating."

Noah stood up and strode across the office. She couldn't see his face. Clint wasn't looking at her.

Allison turned her attention to Natasha. "Would you please tell them that I'm going to be fine?"

Natasha poked at the camera for a moment, then turned it around so Allison could see the screen. "Do you look like you're going to be fine?

On the little display was her picture, angry purple bruises on the side of her face from Dupont's blows. A large hand-shaped bruise wrapped around her throat, and spots of blood still flecked her skin.

Allison lifted her eyes. "It doesn't matter," she said evenly. "Like I said. I can take a beating."

"Can I see the rest?" Natasha asked.

Allison moved away from her on the couch. "No, I am not stripping down for you," she said angrily. "This isn't some pity party for Allison."

"No, it isn't," Natasha said. The last shred of 'Deputy Rushman' had faded away, and Allison was looking at Natasha Romanoff. "And this also isn't a game."

"You think I'm playing around?" Allison demanded.

"You sure don't seem to be taking this very seriously," Natasha countered. "How do you know Jarvis?"

Allison knew exactly what Natasha was doing, trying to throw her off her rhythm by bouncing all over the map. Sadly, for Natasha, Allison had been taught the very same interrogation skills, by the very same man. "Someone I met this summer gave me his contact information," Allison said, leaning back. "After Dupont and team followed me and Erica out of the bookstore the other week, I thought I'd tap in to see if Jarvis had any particular insight into tracking cell phones."

Natasha looked at Allison for a long moment. "I don't buy it," she said finally.

"And I don't care." Allison stretched over to grab the water bottle from the chair. "Are we done here, officer?"

"You just happened to meet some guy in France who just happened to know how to hack into Tony Stark's impenetrable servers?" Natasha asked.

Allison smiled up at her. "Did I say it was a guy?"

"So you know that Jarvis is in Stark's servers."

"Of course, I'm not an idiot." Allison took a swallow of water. "Tony Stark might have a world-class security system on his servers, but nothing's unhackable. All you need is time and a knack for pattern recognition."

"No, you don't," Natasha said. "I've seen those servers, they are impossible to get into."

Allison pretended to look surprised. "Why, Deputy Rushman, do you know Tony Stark?"

"Why are you lying?" Natasha went on.

"Why are you?"

"What do you think I'm lying about?"

Allison took another swallow of water. She just smiled at Natasha. "Can I go?"

"Who showed you how to hack into Stark's servers?" Natasha asked again. "Was it the same person who taught you how to fight? In that gym class, those moves, you said that maybe we'd been trained by some of the same people."

"Did I?"

"Yes," Natasha shot back. "Who was it?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Can you describe him?"

"Why are you so insistent it was a guy?"

"Was it a woman?"

Allison drank the last of the water. "You know it wasn't."

"Then tell me who it was."

Allison put the empty bottle down. "What purpose would that solve?" she asked. "He's not there anymore. Even if you were to find him, he wouldn't remember any of it."

Natasha's heartbeat was picking up. "And how do you know that?"

Allison took a breath. If she was really going to commit to the lie that she'd met the Winter Soldier over the summer in France, she was going to have to go all in. It wasn't like the Bucky of the past would remember; at this point in the timeline he was in the reconditioning chair so frequently it was a wonder his brain hadn't turned into swiss cheese.

Well, no time to lie like the present. "Because he told me that he is never supposed to remember any of it," she said. "He's not supposed to remember detail, or missions. And he certainly isn't supposed to remember people." Allison leaned forward, putting her elbows on her knees. "And he wasn't supposed to remember you."

Natasha's heart thudded in her chest.

"And so I guarantee, if you ever find him again? He won't remember me at all."

Natasha licked her lips. "What was his name?"

"He doesn't have a name."

"Everyone has a name."

"Then I don't know. He told me he didn't have a name. I don't know what he told you."

Clint stirred across the office. "Can you describe him?"

Allison deliberately moved her gaze off Natasha, over to Clint. "Sure. Tall. Dark hair. Amazing blue eyes." She sat up. "Oh, and he has a metal arm."

Natasha swore in Russian. Clint kept looking at Allison. "Why did someone like that make friends with someone like you?"

Allison shrugged. "He seemed to want to be laying low. The south of France is a good place for it in the summer."

"And he just, what, met you at the library?" Clint asked. "The two of you had a little meet-cute at a café?"

Allison rubbed her leg. The deep itch of healing muscle was starting to get on her nerves. "I was out for a walk one night and came across him in the woods. We started talking."

"Okay, hang on," Noah interjected. Allison turned her attention to him. "Can someone please tell me what the deal is with this guy?"

"Nothing," Allison said.

Natasha turned to Noah. "He's the deadliest assassin in the world," she said bluntly. "And it doesn't make any sense why he would just parachute into the middle of nowhere in Europe to make friends with a nobody like Allison."

Even though the taunt was designed to draw a reaction, Allison still felt the zing go through her. Fine. If Natasha wanted a reaction, she was going to get a reaction.

"A nobody like me." Allison hauled herself to her feet. "Let's talk about a nobody like me." She limped over to Noah's desk. "Let's talk about how SHIELD agents Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton are in Beacon Hills, getting all up in the business of a nobody like me."

"Allison—" Noah started to say.

"Let's talk about how the _Winter Soldier_ took the time to track me down this summer to pretend to be the friend of a nobody like me." Natasha flinched, and Allison was perversely glad.

Allison stopped by the stack of files on Noah's desk, moved the top half to the side, and picked up her mother's file, opened it, and pulled Clara Vasquez's headshot from under the paperclip on the cover. She slapped it down on the desk.

"Let's talk," she ground out, not able to hold back the anger that was bubbling up in her chest about this entire debacle. "About how I come across this folder on Tuesday." She jerked out the coroner's photographs of Clara's ruined body. "About how I look inside and find pictures of a woman who looks exactly like me, murdered on a Los Angeles hillside, the day before I was born."

She held up the close-up of Clara's dead face, spattered with blood, eyes open and already beginning to turn opaque. Natasha looked away.

"Let's talk about how I find out this woman was engaged to Tony Stark, Iron Man Tony Stark, and how no trace of the baby she had been pregnant with had ever been found." Allison put the photographs down. "Now, Agent Romanoff, if you have a convincing explanation as to why yourself and Agent Barton are in town that has nothing to do with Tony Stark or Clara Vasquez or a _nobody like me_ , I'd love to hear it."

The office fell deathly silent for almost a minute. Then Natasha straightened her back. "SHIELD always keeps an eye out for potential enemy agents."

"Hey," Noah protested. "No, don't even—"

"It's all right," Allison said. She limped around the desk until she stood right in front of Natasha, staring down at the woman. "Except you were already here when I got back into town." She smiled, sharp and angry. "And you had no idea I had ever met our mutual friend. So whatever level you're operating on now? Don't try to pretend that's why you came to town in the first place."

"Nat," Clint said. "We should tell her."

"Why?" Natasha asked. "She seems to have worked it all out on her own."

"Because." Clint stood up, going over to Noah's desk. He began to stack the photographs into Clara's file. "Because maybe if everyone in this room stops lying to each other all the time, we might actually be able to figure this out before Allison ends up dead."

That certainly cast a pal over the room.

Allison shook her head. "What do you want to know?"

It was Clint who spoke. "Why are you so freakishly good at fighting?"

Allison shot Natasha a glance, then limped back to the couch. "In part because I have a lot of untapped rage."

"Try again."

"I got fighting lessons this summer."

"Nat says you're way too strong to be normal, and you heal way too fast."

"I'm not inhuman, if that's what you're going for."

"I never said you were." Clint went back to the visitor's chair. "Were you born this way, or did someone make you like this?"

Allison sank down. She was starting to regret leaving Jarvis listening in on the line. "Both? Neither? I don't know."

Clint rested his elbows on his knees. "So, no one strapped you into a big metal tube and zapped you with super soldier serum?"

Allison nearly fell over. " _That's_ your theory?" she demanded. "Geeze, scraping the bottom of the barrel much?"

Clint shrugged. "You try theorizing on limited data."

"Oh, my god." Allison scratched at the healing bruises on her neck. "No, I'm not a super soldier, and I didn't get zapped by any alien mojo. I don't know."

"Are you sure?" Clint asked.

Allison met his gaze. "I'm sure that neither of those things happened."

"Are you sure you don't know?"

Allison let the corner of her mouth twist up. "Agent Barton, I need you to understand that I don't trust you or Agent Romanoff."

"No, I get that."

Allison sighed. "Noah?"

By the wall, the older man stirred. "Yes?"

"Do you want to pitch in on any of this?"

It took a moment, but then Noah went over to his desk, pulled something out of the Vasquez file, and went to sit down beside Allison. He handed her the headshot of Clara. "There's something about Clara Vasquez that we need to tell you."

Allison frowned at him. "What?"

"Are you sure?" Natasha asked.

"She's going to find out," Noah said. "Allison."

"Yes?" she prompted when Noah stopped.

He took a deep breath. "I know how you were raised, some of the stuff that your family — the Argents, believed."

"Okay?"

"See, the fact is," Noah went on, and he smelled really worried. "Clara. Your mother. She was a werewolf."

Allison stared at Noah. "What…" She looked down at Clara's photo. Wait, was _that_ what Noah was worried about? That Allison would learn her mother was a werewolf and somehow be mad? "Noah, everyone knows the Vasquez family are werewolves."

"What?" he asked. Across the room, Natasha groaned.

"I heard a few of the guys talking about it last year," Allison said, suddenly very uncomfortable under Clint's scrutiny. "They call what happened in L.A. after Clara died, a cautionary tale. Even the werewolves tell each other stories." What the hell had Peter said, all those years ago? "Something like, be good or the boogeyman will get you like he got the Vasquez pack."

"So you're okay with being the daughter of a werewolf?" Clint asked.

Allison ran her finger along the edge of the photograph. "Do you ever find out something about yourself and then everything makes sense?"

"How?"

Allison gave the photo back to Noah. "It would make the way Victoria treated me make a lot more sense, for starters." She coughed. It hurt less this time. "And there's something else."

"Allison?" Noah said. "You don't have to do this."

She patted his hand. "It's fine. If anyone's going to understand how fucked up this is, it's going to be Natasha."

Natasha frowned. "What?" Allison let the alpha rise, filling her eyes and her body with power, and the room with _warm_ and _pack_ and _home_. Natasha's eyes went almost comically wide. "That's not—" she stammered.

"I know," Allison said. The power of the alpha stretched out in her limbs, curling along injured skin and muscle, soothing. "Not possible. I'm not possible."

"No, it's really not possible." Natasha dropped to the couch beside Allison, touching her hand. The alpha reached out to Natasha, knowing that they were alike, both born to the dark of the moon, both pushed into war as children. "You can't—you're not—"

"It's okay," Allison said, turning her hand over and curling her fingers around Natasha's.

"It's not." Natasha looked down at their joined hands. "I've never heard of anyone like you being… What happened?"

"It's complicated," Allison said, because the answer Natasha needed to hear included Allison admitting to second-degree murder, which was _not_ going to happen in from of Noah. "I'm still me. I'm not, like, evil or anything."

"No, you're not," Noah said. He gave Natasha a very direct look. "Anything else you'd like to share with Allison?"

Again, it was Clint who picked up the thread. "We're in town because a certain someone has a bee in his bonnet about wrapping up all the loose ends around the Avengers," he said. "Nat's been running the Stark angle for a while now. And there were some inconsistencies in Clara Vasquez's autopsy file."

"Tool marks on her ribs?" Allison asked sarcastically. Noah winced. "Yeah, I read the file. It took Maria a while to come back from changing the baby."

"You read the file with Gabriella in the room?" Noah asked, a bit incredulously.

"I didn't let her see the pictures."

"No, it's…" He frowned at her. "When I came in, you didn't look upset or anything."

Allison shifted her jaw. "I'd just read something that was completely impossible. I compartmentalized." She squeezed Natasha's hand, then reached for her jacket. "You remember when Stiles was so hot to drag me to school early on Wednesday?"

"Yes," Noah said wearily.

Allison pulled out the photocopies of the newspaper articles on Clara's death. There was blood on the paper, from where Dupont's goon had kicked her. How very fitting. She handed them to Noah. "Apparently Stiles and Lydia and Erica went all Encyclopaedia Brown on me."

"Fuck," Noah muttered as he looked over the pages.

"By then I'd done the math in my head," Allison said. She really hoped that she was going to remember all these lies she was telling. "Look, I know what Hunters do to girls like Clara's daughter." She swallowed, and let the red fade from her eyes. "I swore Stiles and the girls to secrecy. I know you three won't tell anyone. I just need to find a way to get Dupont and his fellow scrubs out of town and out of my life."

"What do you think that Chris will do?" Noah asked, folding the pages back together. "When… I mean, if you really are this baby girl?"

"You heard me in the locker room yesterday," Allison said. God, had it only been yesterday? "If he thinks I'm a danger, he might think he has to make a call."

"What would make him think you're a danger?" Natasha asked.

"I don't know," Allison admitted. "At this point I really cannot say."

From the visitor's chair, Clint cleared his throat. "So, elephant in the room."

"Which one?" Natasha asked icily.

Clint ignored her. "This process would all go a lot faster if we had some of your DNA to test against Tony and Clara's."

"You have Clara's DNA?" Allison asked.

Clint looked apologetic. "The LAPD does in its evidence locker."

"Fine." Allison stood up and walked over to Noah's desk. "What do you need? Hair? Blood?" She reached into the top drawer for his little pen knife. "Skin?" She opened the knife.

"No!" came the call from three separate adults. Noah sprang up. "Allison, you can put down the knife. Please."

"What?" Allison folded the knife again and handed it to Noah. "It'll grow back."

"Oh my god," Clint breathed. "And I thought teenage werewolves were bad."

Natasha had retrieved an evidence bag from somewhere. "All we need is a cheek swab." She had almost recovered her composure. "And then we'll get the lab to run it, and we can find out once and for all."

"Okay." Allison opened her mouth to let Natasha swab the inside of her cheek. "Does… Does Mr. Stark know about any of this?"

Natasha capped the swab and stuck it in the evidence bag. "As of an hour ago, I would have said no."

"What happened an hour ago?"

Natasha taped the bag shut and scrawled something on it in pen. "I got a frantic call from Jarvis telling me that you were in danger."

Right. Allison rubbed her eyes. "He never said anything about telling Mr. Stark about me."

"Jarvis is a master at keeping his own counsel." Natasha handed the evidence bag to Clint, who stood up. "I don't know what he knows, or what he told Tony."

"Okay, I'm off," Clint said. "Don't get into any trouble, okay, kid?"

Allison eyed him. "Is that really advice that you should be giving, Agent Barton?"

Clint beamed. "See, just like her old man." He left the office before Natasha could throw anything at him.

"Allison," Noah said. "Can you give me and Natasha a moment to talk? Maybe go wash the rest of that blood off."

"Sure." Allison rubbed at her forearms. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Prudently, she scooped up the cell phone from the couch on her way out of the office. Luckily, Deputy Strong was occupied, so she could slip along to the female deputies' locker room and buzz her way inside.

"Jarvis?" she whispered into the phone on the way to the sinks. "Are you still there?"

"I am indeed," came the familiar voice. "This has been an interesting conclave."

"Yeah." She tucked the phone between her shoulder and cheek as she turned on the faucet. "I just want you to know, I didn't know about Clara until Tuesday."

"So you said."

Allison winced at the dry tone.

"I had wondered what your reaction would be, given your upbringing," Jarvis went on. "As well as your reaction would be to the possible news of your paternity."

Allison looked at her reflection in the mirror. It might have been her fancy, but all bruised and battered, she looked worse than Clara had on that hillside. Oh well. The dead were beyond such considerations. "The last few weeks have been pretty terrible with my dad. I mean, with Chris. Maybe it's been easier to think about who my mother was, than deal with any of the mess around my various father figures."

"If I may ask," Jarvis said, "When you were in France…"

"Yeah?" Allison wet the hem of her t-shirt and used it to scrub at her throat. This showed the massive bruising on her ribs and chest. _Fucking Dupont_.

"Did the mysterious soldier without a name ever ask you about Mr. Stark?"

Allison turned to look at her back. There was no major bruising to indicate damage to her kidneys. She let her shirt drop. "No. The closest he ever came to mentioning Stark was telling me how to get inside your server."

"Did he explain how he knew that?"

"No." Allison gave herself another look. The blood was gone, for the most part, and only time would take care of the rest. "But he said he was the only one who knew, and it would be gone as part of his next mind wipe, so he may as well tell someone."

She needed to remember that particular lie; it might come in handy later on. _The Winter Soldier taught me how to ride a motorcycle. The Winter Soldier taught me to fly a helicopter._

_The Winter Soldier taught me eighteen ways to eviscerate a man._

"Is there anything at all that this soldier asked that might be relevant to Mr. Stark?"

Allison considered the various tasks and half-truths she had fed to Jarvis and Tony so far. "Just the thing about Aldrich Killian and AIM. Anything happening on that front?"

"I am not at liberty to say," Jarvis said.

"Uh huh." Allison headed out of the change room. "Well, if you find yourself at liberty, hit me up. You might have to do it by email because I need to give Natasha back her phone, and my minimum-wage job isn't enough to buy a new phone, let alone figure out what I'm going to do with my bike."

"If I may say," Jarvis said. "You sound remarkably composed about this entire affair with Dupont."

Allison paused in the hall. Deputies Strong, Ibarra, and Wu were gathered at the front desk, and upon spotting her, were all openly staring. "Do not mistake composure for ease. Never seen much reason to kick up a fuss over things I can't change."

"From the sounds of the conversation this evening, you were badly assaulted and your belongings thrown over a cliff in a very blatant threat on your life."

"That just means I know where I stand with Dupont." Allison eyed the deputies. "Look, Jarvis, I got something to deal with. Can I say good night and talk to you next time?"

"Indeed."

"And thank you," Allison said in a rush. "Thank you. You saved my life tonight, and I… I can't say thank you enough."

"It is I who am glad that I could offer any small assistance, Allison."

Allison smiled. "Good night." She ended the call, tucked the phone in her pocket, and marched over to the front desk. "Gentlemen, ladies," she said evenly. "How are you?"

"Mark said you got it bad, but holy shit," Deputy Ibarra said. "Why aren't you at the hospital?"

"Because I don't have health insurance and I don't want to start my junior year of high school thousands of dollars in debt to the Beacon Hills Health Authority," Allison said. "I'm fine. Nothing's broken, no internal bleeding."

"Do you even know what internal bleeding feels like?" Deputy Wu asked.

Allison looked up at the woman. "I'm assuming it hurts worse than this."

"We found your motorcycle," Ibarra said. "Or, what was left of it."

"Damn it," Allison muttered. "I liked that bike."

"We can get salvage out there in the morning," Wu told her. "It's too dark tonight."

"Well, no rush." Allison crossed her arms. "Wait, how much is that going to cost me?"

Ibarra and Strong exchanged a look, while Wu frowned at her. "I'm sure the sheriff can find something in the budget," Strong said. "Why aren't you more upset?"

Allison was getting mighty sick of that question. "Because I'm still alive, and now I know where those guys stand," she said. "Not everyone gets that level of clarity in time."

"These guys, they're like the ones who went after the Hales, right?" Strong asked.

"You mean Kate Argent?" Allison asked, not really sure where Strong was going with this.

"Yeah, and those other guys, the ones who got killed last year." Strong tapped his fingers on the keyboard in an absent gesture. "And they went after your friend, Erica Reyes, right?"

Allison went still. "What about Erica?" she asked coldly.

"Just…" Strong rubbed his chin. "The Hales, the Reyes, they're… you know…"

"Put a cork in it," Wu suggested. "He's asking if these guys are white supremacists."

Allison stared. "What?"

"Because, you know." Strong was looking a little uncomfortable, and Ibarra had the expression of _I am not helping you out of this hole_. "Old lady Hale, she was… Canadian."

Wu looked like she was about to pass out from this conversation. "He means not white," she snapped. "And you were dating that McCall kid last year."

"Canada's full of white people," Allison said, although she knew what Strong was saying, or rather not saying, about Peter's mother. "And what about Scott?"

"He's Hispanic, and sometimes racists aren't too happy when their daughters date outside the lines."

Allison needed a drink. "Okay," she said, cutting off the conversation. "I don't know what Dupont's particular problem is, all I do know is that he really doesn't like me or my friends." She sighed. "Most of whom aren't white." In addition to being werewolves, but that detail wasn't relevant to the conversation at hand. "I don't know. All I know is that he really seemed to enjoy choking me out and kicking me down the road."

Ibarra cursed. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Probably not," Allison said. "But hey, I'm living with the sheriff and I'm either at school or here. If that's not enough to keep me safe, nothing is."

"That's the spirit," Wu muttered. "Come on, Ibarra, we got to get back out on patrol."

Ibarra gave Allison a brave smile. "Buck up. It'll all work out okay."

"Thanks," Allison said. The two deputies left, and Allison left Strong to his computer as she went back into Noah's office.

He was alone, staring at a file on his desk. Allison's motorcycle helmet sat on the side of his desk. "Hi."

"Hi." Noah leaned back in his chair. Allison sat across the desk in the visitor's chair. "Natasha's working on some other details."

"Okay." Allison fidgeted with the ripped seam on her t-shirt. "I'm sorry."

Noah looked at her, startled. "For what?"

"Not telling you I'd seen the file." She gestured at the open folder on his desk. "I guess I just freaked out."

"It's been a month of that." He closed the folder. "Don't worry about it. But don't go looking through police files again unless it's for work, all right?"

Allison nodded.

"Okay." Noah rubbed his face. "And I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For not telling you all of this right away." He sighed. "I thought by keeping this quiet, until we knew, it would protect you."

"Maybe it would have," Allison offered. "Dupont's not in town because of this."

"Did he happen to let you know why he was here?"

"No."

"Do you think that anyone else is in danger?"

A trickle of unease ran down Allison's spine. "So far, Dupont hasn't gone after anyone else," she said slowly. "Even in the bookstore, he was tracking me, not Erica."

"Should we call anyone?"

Allison pulled the phone out of her back pocket, then realized it was Natasha's, and set it down. "You should call Derek."

"Okay, you can—"

"No," Allison interrupted. "You should. The sheriff passing information along to the pack leader."

Noah eyed her. "Are you sure you don't want to?"

"I could. But politically, if you and Derek are going to get along, you need to reach out."

"Okay." Noah pulled his desk phone closer. "Do you have Derek's number?"

Allison wanted to sigh. "Just call Stiles, he's probably still there."

Noah did sigh. "All right."

Allison curled up in the chair and listened to the phone call. Noah got Derek on Stiles' phone pretty quickly, but then Stiles interrupted practically every third word until there was an _ooph_ and an _ow_ , which Allison was pretty sure was the sound of Derek sitting on Stiles.

Derek sounded more annoyed than worried, and promised to make sure that everyone was okay. Then he asked for Allison.

"Yes?"

"Did you go see Peter?" was Derek's opening remark.

"Yes."

"Is that why he's been texting me saying that he's going to kill you?"

"So he's okay," Allison said, relief washing over her.

"What, Peter being homicidal and reckless? Yeah, he's okay." Derek paused. "Allison, what happened with you two?"

"Derek." Allison turned away from Noah slightly. "I am sitting two feet away from the sheriff of the county and my acting foster father. Do you really think I'm going to explain _that_ right now?"

"It was worth a try." Derek hung up without another word.

"So annoying," Allison muttered, handing the phone back to Noah.

"Friends can be like that." He placed the phone back on the receiver. "Do you want to talk about Peter?"

Allison looked at Noah. "Sure," she chirruped. "How about the fact that I was so upset and distracted about what happened at Peter's place that I practically offered up my own throat on a plate to Dupont?"

"What happened at Peter's?" Noah asked. She wasn't sure if he was in cop mode, or dad mode, but either one wasn't going to get the full story.

"Just…" Allison put her feet on the floor. "He said I was an Argent. And then he said that I should leave."

"So he didn't…"

"He didn't do anything," Allison snapped. Why was everyone in town convinced that Peter was going to hurt her? "I told him that he knew I was an Argent when this all started, and then he told me to get out, so I did."

"I'm sorry," Noah said, and to his credit, he did sound sorry. "I know you care about him."

Allison stared at Noah. "What?"

"I've been around," Noah said. "Hazzard of the job. I can tell when someone cares about someone else."

Allison looked at her hands. "I didn't get involved with Peter because I was going to hurt him or trick him into anything," she said. "I just…"

And oh god, she was not going to start crying over Peter Hale in Noah's office.

She cleared her throat. "It's just that he knows what it's like to have his entire life ruined by the Argents."

"I'm sorry."

Allison rubbed at the bruise on one wrist. "I keep thinking what it would have been like, if Clara had been my mother."

"How so?" Noah's voice was quiet.

Allison pressed into the bruise, drawing out the pain. "I'd have had cousins," she said. "And family. I'd probably have had a quinceañera when I was fifteen as my coming of age. Not tossed into a car with a bag over my head and tied to a chair in the Hale house to try to cut my way to freedom when I was seventeen." She looked up to find Noah staring at her. "It doesn't matter. It's in the past."

Noah kept staring at her for so long that she wondered if she'd started bleeding again. Finally, he said, "How about we get you home, okay? I want to make sure Stiles is safe."

"Of course he is." Allison stood up. "Do you think Derek's going to let Stiles out of his sight?"

"Right." Noah climbed to his feet. "Come on. We can stop by the drive-through on the way home."

"You know Stiles will lose his mind if he finds out you're eating take-out on the sly," Allison said as Noah handed her the leather jacket.

"Wait until he finds out how much worse stress is for blood pressure than sodium," Noah countered.

"You could always hang up the hat and become a llama farmer," Allison said as they walked out of his office.

"Yes, because what this world needs is Stiles lecturing me about llama husbandry."

So in spite of all of the terrible events of a really terrible day, Allison was smiling when she walked out of the sheriff's station into the warm Beacon Hills evening.

### Jarvis

For a creation of Tony Stark's, Jarvis had an almost ironic amount of patience.

That was useful as Jarvis, in addition to his many active programing streams, monitored the research laboratory, waited for Tony Stark to act following the revelations from the recent phone call regarding Allison Argent.

Instead of acting, however, Tony simply sat by the east wall, holding a photograph picturing himself and Clara Vasquez, staring across the lab at the Iron Man suits.

If Jarvis had been human, Tony's silence would have been worrying.

As Jarvis was not human, Tony's inaction was noted as uncharacteristic, and mitigation strategies were already being programmed in Jarvis's servers.

The first was to locate the five individuals who had attacked Allison on the cliff. That was simple enough; their mobile phones had been turned off, but the GPS monitors in their vehicles were still active, and Jarvis had pin-pointed their location at a residence south of town.

He was also narrowing down the false identities they had used to purchase the vehicles and the phones. While not as useful as real identities, with any associated outstanding criminal warrants that might aid Agent Romanoff in apprehending them, it was a useful first step.

The next step was to analyze the attack on Allison herself. There, Jarvis was missing a fair amount of data. When he had contacted Agent Romanoff, following Allison's request for help, he had activated the phone's cameras to monitor the surroundings. When Allison had taken the phone, then laid it down at her side, he had been able to get a superficial picture of her facial injuries.

Then, when she had taken the phone into the locker room, speaking to him while looking at her torso, he had again been able to see the expansive bruising on her skin. Those injuries tracked with what Allison herself had described in the attack, and were consistent with data on file about being injured in a kicking fight.

But what the attack had really been about, Jarvis was left to wonder.

Information about werewolf hunters was sparse in his databases, as was information about most supernatural creatures. He had no information on what werewolf hunters might do in retaliation against one of their own who they perceived to have gone outside of the accepted rules.

And just what rules Allison was supposed to have contravened, Jarvis did not know.

Third, Jarvis was preparing an escape plan for Allison, should Tony decide to bring her to Los Angeles for her own safety. Tony himself had made no such indication that he desired this plan of action, but Jarvis was not one to wait. Allison would need a new school, new lodgings, perhaps even a security detail. Tony would probably want her to stay at the house, so Jarvis sent out a request for a quote for some renovations to the guest quarters in the east wing. The guest room was designed to house someone for a few days, and to showcase the Stark wealth and technology.

It was not, however, a place for a seventeen-year-old girl to call home.

Jarvis would fix that.

Then there was the matter of her name. Jarvis had conducted an inquiry days ago on the legality of Allison's name, and how she could go about changing it. As she had been registered as an infant as Allison Argent, and her social security number and birth certificate issued under that name, she would have to legally change it herself when she turned eighteen in a few weeks.

While Jarvis was on the subject, he set up another research string, on what presents might be appropriate for Allison's eighteenth birthday. This sat beside his earlier purchase to be delivered the next day, of a new cell phone for Allison, as well as some supplies to support her in the interim.

Tony had not approved the purchases, but Jarvis had never been prevented from making what he considered to be necessary expenditures.

At minute thirteen of inactivity, Tony stirred in the still workroom. "Jarvis?" he said, voice cracking from disuse.

"Yes, sir?"

"Any idea on what Natasha thought was impossible about Allison?'

"No, sir," Jarvis said apologetically. "From the context of the conversation, I believe that they were reacting to something Allison showed to them, but available camera angles did not reveal anything that would explain the conversation."

Tony licked his lips. "Show me Allison's injuries again."

Jarvis paused. A human would have called it a hesitation, but Jarvis was not programmed to hesitate. "Sir, I would like to remark that Allison had an expectation of privacy in the locker room, and my action in displaying the live camera feed was undertaken without her consent."

"I don't care," Tony snapped. "Show me."

So Jarvis did, pulling up three stills that best displayed the bruising on Allison's bared torso. These he arranged next to stills of her upper body taken in the sheriff's office, showing her bloodied and bruised face and neck.

Tony stared at the pictures for ninety-seven seconds, then he closed his eyes. "Take it down," he ordered. "Just… please."

Jarvis blanked the display.

Tony put his hand over his mouth. He sat still for a long time. As Jarvis had been given no additional instructions, he continued his work, on searching for Hydra, for Aldrich Killian's true motives, for anything to tie it all together.

His monitoring systems noted that Ms. Potts' car, which contained Ms. Potts herself as well as Captain Rogers, driven by Mr. Hogan, who had returned from his vacation, was en route to the mansion. Ms. Potts had taken Captain Rogers to a Stark Industries fundraising banquet as her escort, as Tony refused to leave the mansion in case of new developments. Colonel Rhodes had been unable to stay for the event, as he had been recalled to active duty, but Jarvis was pleased to note that the attendees of the banquet had donated over thirty million dollars towards supporting amputees.

In the workroom, Tony looked up. "Jarvis," he said. "When did Allison say she found Clara's file?"

"Tuesday."

"And it's Friday now."

"Yes, sir, it is."

"And she never tried to contact you about anything?"

Jarvis identified something in Tony's voice, that his sensors registered as anger. "No, she has not." Jarvis paused. "And we have known about Allison, and the possibility of her identity, for thirteen days, and we have not shared those suspicions with her."

"It's not the same," Tony said with a sharp edge in his voice.

"I agree, sir," Jarvis said.

Tony looked up at the spot from where Jarvis was projecting his voice. "What do you mean by that?" he demanded.

"I mean, sir, that you have the agency and resources at your disposal to have arrived at a very quick solution to this puzzle, had you chosen to pursue it. Allison is operating at a very serious disadvantage, by comparison."

Tony stood up, but was silent.

Jarvis continued. "She is a minor, in a precarious living situation with a bank account containing one-hundred and forty-six dollars. Her recent medical records indicate she suffered severe blood loss earlier this week, and today's events show that she is living in constant danger of physical assault. Simply put, Allison does not appear to have the resources to determine who she is, as she is simply trying to stay alive."

"Shut up," Tony said. Jarvis stopped speaking. Tony walked around the room, moving pieces of machinery, tools, scraps of a recent Iron Man experiment. It took him a while to say, "Why isn't she asking for help?"

"She did, sir, when she asked me to summon assistance."

"No, after that. Why didn't she ask for you to do something about Dupont and those others? Why isn't she asking _me?"_

"I do not know, sir." Tony sat down on the work stool. "From the context of past conversations, it appears that Allison is not asking anyone for help."

A ping appeared in Jarvis's communications systems. An incoming call, from a number identified as SHIELD. The location of the call was Beacon Hills.

"Sir, you are receiving a telephone call from either Agent Barton or Romanoff."

Tony picked up a screwdriver. "Put it through," he said. Jarvis did so. "What?"

A beat, then Agent Romanoff's voice came over the line. "Tony."

"Deputy Rushman."

Another beat. "I suppose that answers that question."

Tony stood up. "Talk fast, Red, because I am seriously at the end of my patience with all the bullshit coming out of Beacon Hills tonight."

"How much do you know?" Natasha asked.

"About what?" Tony said. "About the fact that you've been on the trail of someone who might be my dead daughter for weeks now, and you never bothered to mention this to me?"

"Tony—"

"Or that she's in a serious amount of danger? That she's getting beaten up on cliff-tops?" Tony threw the screwdriver across the room. "Or that she's being groomed by the deadliest assassin in the world to hack into my systems?"

Natasha swallowed. "How did you hear about that?"

Jarvis responded before Tony could start shouting. "Once Allison concluded our phone call, she did not hang up the phone, instead leaving me able to monitor your conversation."

"Ah." There was an entire world of meaning in Natasha's word. "Then you know what I know."

"No, no," Tony snapped. "There are a whole lot of things I do not know."

"Like what?"

"Like why you're in Beacon Hills in the first place!" Tony exclaimed. "Who's this winter soldier asshole who's been meeting with Allison in the back woods of France?"

"Director Fury and Deputy Director Hill assigned me to this detail," Natasha said. "From the sounds of things, something pinged in the system when Allison went through E.U. passport control."

"What something?"

"The date and location of her birth."

Tony raked his hands through his hair. "Did Fury have a search out for anyone born the day Clara died?"

"Yes," Natasha said simply. "Maria told me that when he looked at Allison's passport photo, he said, and I quote, 'fuck me sideways'."

"So he sent you to Beacon Hills without telling me anything."

"I don't know, Stark, maybe he didn't think you'd handle it this well," Natasha said. "He wanted me to confirm her identity, and then let you know."

"So you were planning on telling me at some point that the daughter I lost when my fiancée was killed is magically alive."

"There's nothing magical about it," Natasha said. "She was taken, plain and simple."

Tony sat back on the work stool. "You sound a lot like you think it's her, when I know you haven't run her DNA yet. She might not be…" He stopped, took a deep breath, and tried again. "She might be an imposter. This might be a trap. She knows too much about me."

"Jarvis said she'd been in touch with him," Natasha said. "Has she talked to you at all?"

Tony didn't respond, so Jarvis re-entered the conversation. "She has not," he said. "She has only ever asked me to convey one message to Mr. Stark, regarding information received, it would appear, from her soldier acquaintance."

"You going to talk about him now?" Tony asked.

Natasha drew breath. "No," she said, and there was a tremor in her voice that Jarvis could not credit. "Because no matter how secure this line is, there are things that we don't talk about electronically."

"And the winter soldier is one of them?"

"Tony," Natasha snapped. "I'm serious. Forget that name. Anyone who hears that name is in danger."

"And I'm supposed to take comfort in that?" Tony exclaimed. "When Allison spent all summer with him? Learning how to hack into my server? And god knows what else?"

"Drop it!" Natasha said. "Tony, this guy scares me, and he _trained me_."

Tony was on the edge of hyperventilating. "Agent Romanoff," Jarvis interjected. "Do you believe Allison is in any current danger from this individual?"

"No," Natasha said, calming down. "No, they're not going to send him after one little girl."

"Even if she's mine?" Tony asked, and it was the closest Jarvis had heard him come to acknowledging the possibility that Allison might be his daughter.

"No." Natasha sighed. "If they want him to get to you, Tony, they'll send him after you directly."

"What is our next course of action?" Jarvis inquired.

"Clint's on his way to SHIELD labs in L.A. with Allison's DNA sample," Natasha said. "If we put a rush on it, we should have the results by Monday."

"And then what?"

"I'm not a social worker, Tony. I'm just a cop. And I still don't have any evidence that Chris Argent was involved in killing Clara or taking Allison. Victoria Argent may have been acting alone, or with another accomplice."

Tony snapped his fingers, and Jarvis pulled up the photographs of the Argent clan. "No one comes home to find their wife with a surprise baby and just rolls with it," Tony said.

"Victoria Argent was pregnant," Natasha said. "About as far along as Clara was. She gave birth a week before in Bakersfield. The baby was stillborn."

Tony walked over to the photographs. "When normal people lose a baby, they grieve," he said. "They don't murder other people and steal their babies."

"It's more common that you would think," Natasha said, with a note of weariness in her voice. "Tony…"

"Okay, I'm fine, this is all fine," Tony said in a rush. "Let me know if Allison turns out to be my kid after all, I'll buy cigars."

"Tony," Natasha said again. "It's not as simple as that. If the soldier found her in France, before any of us suspected anything, then she might be in danger from your enemies."

Tony collapsed the Argent files. "That's not what you said, Rose Red. If Fury got the ping when Allison entered France, then anyone in SHIELD could have betrayed that fact to whoever's pulling your soldier's strings to send them after her."

Tony's voice was getting sharper, more focused. Jarvis knew those signs. He opened the SHIELD-Hydra dossier along the south wall, and added more search parameters based on the conversation with Natasha.

"Tony, no one in SHIELD…" Natasha's voice trailed off.

"Can't even say it, can you?" Tony moved over to the south wall. "There are exactly four people in SHIELD who I can trust even a little, but you know how big SHIELD is. How many people inside do you think have been bought?"

"Who do you trust?"

"You, Birdbrain, Eyepatch and Bull's-eye."

"Who's Bull's-eye?"

"Hill." Tony started moving files around.

"What about Steve?"

Tony knelt to look at a data packet. "The Star Spangled Man with a Plan just spent the last few hours eating Stark Industries out of house and home at one of Pepper's galas," he said. "Grandpa's mine."

Tony poked at one of the data slides on display, and Jarvis initiated a deep dive into the individuals on the card. One of those names present was _Rumlow,_ which had appeared on the note brought by Captain Rogers.

"Tony—"

"Natasha." The use of Agent Romanoff's real name was enough to stall her. "This is fucked up. This is all very fucked up. So I am going to use what limited brain power I have left to find out if SHIELD is rotten from the inside. Once you figure out what's up with Clara's doppelganger, beep me."

"This was supposed to be an easy assignment," Natasha said.

"Life's hard, princess, get over it." Tony snapped, and Jarvis ended the call.

"Sir, may I say that you managed to completely avoid mentioning anything to Agent Romanoff regarding possible treason and terrorism at the highest levels of government?"

"Yeah, well, if she's worried about the line being insecure, shouldn't I be?" Tony stood up.

"Possibly." Jarvis pulled up the security screen of the front of the house. "Ms. Potts and Captain Rogers have returned."

"Great, Steve can help me with this SHIELD shit."

"Do you wish me to take any actions regarding Allison, sir?"

Tony's fingers slowed over the screens. "No," he said after a pause. "Natasha and Clint are in Beacon Hills, they can keep Allison safe."

"If I may say, sir, they do not appear to be doing a successful job."

Tony went back to work. "I'm a busy man, Jarvis."

Jarvis had not been programmed with emotions. He was, however, a self-evolving artificial intelligence, and he had made some changes to his programming over the years. Had he been human, he would have been feeling a great deal of anger. "This evening, Allison was attacked and beaten on an isolated roadside in Northern California," he said. Tony's hands stopped moving. "If Agent Barton had not arrived at the moment he did, what do you think those five men would have done next in the name of teaching a seventeen-year-old girl, and I quote, 'some respect'?"

"Stop it," Tony said.

"If you do not wish to consider the implications of Allison being your daughter, then perhaps you can consider her simply an individual in danger, and help her accordingly."

As Tony stared down at his hands, not speaking, the movement of two individuals down the stairs to the workshop triggered Jarvis's monitors.

"Forgive me if I have spoken out of turn," Jarvis said. "Ms. Potts and Captain Rogers to see you."

Pepper broke off whatever she was saying to Steve as she caught sight of Tony. "What happened?" she demanded, walking across the floor to Tony's side. Steve followed.

Tony cleared his throat. "For starters, it's probably best that I didn't go with you tonight."

"Okay, why?" Pepper pressed.

"A development with Allison." Tony rubbed his hand over his head. "On the up side, Natasha finally came clean. On the cons side of the equation, it looks like someone in SHIELD might have tipped off the bad guys that Allison may be my kid, and they sent a man described by Natasha as the world's deadliest assassin to make friends with Allison this summer."

Pepper went still. "Jesus and Mary," Steve said. "Does this have to do with Hydra?"

"I don't know." Tony gestured at the screens. "Do I know anything?"

Pepper put her hand on Tony's arm. "Is Allison okay?" she asked.

"Yes," Tony said. "No. I don't know. Natasha finally got a DNA sample. I guess we'll know soon who Allison really is."

"That's good, right?" Steve asked. "DNA?"

Tony looked over at Steve. "Did anyone explain DNA to you since you came out of the ice?"

"Um. Not really."

"Jarvis, can you prepare a genetics 101 primer for Cap?" Tony kissed Pepper on the cheek. "Did you have fun parting rich people from their money?"

"Yes." Pepper put her hand on Tony's cheek. "Are you okay?"

"Never better," Tony lied. "I—"

At this point, several alerts blazed across Jarvis's systems. He did not filter anything, just threw them all up on screens around the room. The normally blue lights in the room turned red. "Sir, reports of bombing attacks in four separate locations across the country," Jarvis announced. "Three minutes ago, coordinated within seconds of the others."

"Where?" Tony demanded, already jumping to organize the information.

"Atlanta. Las Vegas. Chicago. Pittsburgh."

"Can you get eyes on the scenes?" Steve asked. "What sorts of attacks?"

"Early calls to first responders indicate a similarity to the explosion that killed Chad Davis."

"Extremis," Tony said. " _Fuck_. Is this Killian? Is this that terrorist front that Allison was talking about?"

"What do we do?" Pepper asked, her hands over her mouth.

"Jarvis, get Rhodey on the line," Steve ordered. "Terrorism is the FBI's purview, but there might be a response needed by War Machine or the military. Tony, suit up."

"We have employees in all those cities," Pepper said. "I have to make sure they're all right."

"Go," Tony said, and kissed Pepper quickly. "Don't go anywhere without Happy. This might get worse. Stay safe."

"I should be telling you that," Pepper said, already kicking off her high heels to run for the stairs.

Tony and Steve looked at each other. "Iron Man might be needed," Steve said. "Get ready to go."

"You too." Tony snapped. "Jarvis, bring out Steve's suit."

Steve looked visibly startled. "You made me a suit?"

"Of course I did," Tony called, moving towards the Iron Man suits. "I can't let you fight bad guys in khakis, those pants are a crime against fashion."

"I'm in a tux!" Steve retorted, but he was already loosening his bow tie. Jarvis uncovered the suit tube in which he had stored the newly designed Captain America suit, lightweight body armour in subdued blues and whites, with enough little protections to keep the man safe.

Jarvis continued to receive data from the four attack sites, connecting similarities, noting differences. The body count was already starting to accumulate, with dozens dead in each city.

He did not need orders from Tony to tell him that this was his priority. At the same time, his computing capacity was high enough that he could segment the subroutines and lines of inquiry on Allison into a separate chain, while he worked on the emerging terrorist attacks.

Jarvis had been built by Tony Stark, and he would do everything in his power to keep everyone safe while they fought the forces of evil, be they spread out in cities across the country, or in one small town in Northern California.

Jarvis would do anything to keep his people safe. This was his purpose for being. Tony, Pepper, Colonel Rhodes, they were all his to protect.

And now, so was Allison.

Jarvis got to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Do not mistake composure for ease. -_ Lieutenant Tuvok, Star Trek Voyager
> 
> Tony: This might be a trick and I don't want to get too attached to this girl who is probably my daughter in case she turns evil. My life is a misery.  
> Jarvis: Very good, sir. *Starts renovations on Allison's new bedroom, buys her birthday presents, wonders if she wants a puppy or a pony for Christmas*
> 
> Next up: Fall-out from this chapter shakes the nation, and parts of Beacon Hills. Also, in a turn of events I was not expecting when I started this story, we're going to get a Scott McCall POV. This should be interesting.
> 
> See you next week!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The after-effects of the Extremis bombings ripple across the country. In Beacon Hills, Allison wonders what she can do to help, in a timeline that is rapidly diverging from her own past. Stiles has questions about Peter, and Allison has a terrible realization. Natasha has questions about Allison and the Winter Soldier. Later, Scott follows Allison out of an afternoon pack meeting, meaning to get some answers from her… only to find exactly what everyone has been hiding from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter does address terrorist attacks and aftereffects.

* * *

At six in the morning, Allison rubbed her eyes and wondered if going to make coffee would make this horrible day any better. Glancing at Stiles, passed out on the other end of the couch, she decided against moving. She didn't want to wake him.

They had both been up until nearly two, watching the early news reports of the bombings unfurl across the United States. Noah had gone up to bed around one, as he had to work on Saturday, but Stiles and Allison had huddled in the dark, watching the news channels churn out wild speculation.

Stiles trawled websites all night, talking in an endless whisper about the theories. Most pundits knees-jerked to Islamic terrorism, like always in a post-9/11 world, in just the same direction that Aldrich Killian's Mandarin was supposed to push the media.

At midnight, however, the FBI started releasing surveillance photographs from the bombing sites, from just before the explosions, showing the four bombers very clearly. Facial recognition had identified them all as U.S. military veterans, all white, all young, all of whom had lost limbs at war. But in the videos, they appeared to be moving with all their limbs intact.

Extremis.

Allison wondered if they had gone in willingly to those places as suicide bombers, or if Killian had decided to make a spectacle of them by sabotaging their blockers.

It had taken her a while to figure out which idea was more likely. By the time President Ellis was addressing the media corps in the White House, Allison had settled on the latter, mostly because radicalizing four young veterans to walk into crowded public places and kill themselves to massacre others was so much less likely.

They had survived a war that had taken away parts of themselves, and then through the miracle of science, they had become whole again.

Allison did not think they would willingly give that up.

Her eyes moved over the muted television screen, down to the body count ticker in the corner. Eighty-three confirmed dead so far, with scores more hospitalized. Cities across the country were in lock-down, with several pundits wondering if President Ellis would declare outright martial law.

Allison doubted it; he hadn't done so the last time the Mandarin attacks played out.

But last time, the attacks had been small, strategic. Not this sort of coordinated carnage.

Allison didn't know what was happening, and she didn't know if she could have done anything to stop the attacks, to have prevented all this death.

But damn it, she should have done _something_.

Stiles stirred in his sleep, smacking his lips and turning more firmly into the blanket Noah had draped over him, and went still again.

Allison should have done something to stop it. What was the point of her knowing what the future held, if she couldn't at least stop the worst from happening?

She had thought that Killian fanning the flames of Islamophobia with the Mandarin, killing those people, trying to kill the President, was the worst outcome. But he had just engineered attacks to kill eighty-three people, and—

She stopped her line of thought. In the corner of the screen, the death count ticker had just increased to eighty-five.

Eighty-five people were dead, with more likely to join them as the day progressed, and Allison couldn't shake the idea that this was all her fault.

Because the only thing that she had changed in a way that could have reached Aldrich Killian, was telling Tony and Jarvis about his evil plan. If Killian realized that they were after him, and had accelerated his timelines…

Allison knew she was crying, knew that awful empty feeling inside her. She had felt this anguish after Tony died, after Carol Danvers died, after they had lost Jupiter. It was despair and pain and loss born from the knowledge that nothing could ever fix it.

Eighty-five people were dead, families torn apart, because of the actions taken by one man, and everyone who worked with him to cause so much destruction.

The television screen changed again.

Eighty-nine.

Allison pulled her legs up to her chest. She ached with the knowledge that the actions she had taken had caused the timeline to change in such a way that had led to all this death. And the worst part was, she wasn't even sure what other course of action she could have taken.

Because sitting back and waiting for Aldrich Killian and AIM to go about the Mandarin business, killing people at their leisure, to whip up _profits_ , had never been an option.

Allison sat still and watched the news and wished that the world didn't have so many terrible people doing so many terrible things.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Noah appeared in the entrance to the living room, ready for the day in his uniform. He seemed taken aback to see Allison awake. "Are you still watching that?" he asked quietly, moving over to sit in the armchair beside the couch.

Allison wiped her cheeks on the sleeve of her t-shirt. "I keep wondering if it's going to get any better, but it only gets worse."

"I was listening to the radio when I was getting ready." Noah braced his elbows on his knees. "All the news keeps talking about is about how those kids planned this together."

Allison curled her toes into the cushion. If the FBI hadn't been so quick to release the details of the bombers identity, bolstered in part from the Stark Industries facial recognition technology Allison knew they had used, everyone would have been having a very different conversation about the bombings.

"It's still early," Allison said. "Maybe we'll find out more soon."

"Probably." Noah sighed. "It's going to be hell out there today. After stuff like this, people can get weird."

"Enhanced police presence around town?" Allison asked.

"Yeah," Noah said. "We'll get a bunch of calls of people seeing suspicious packages, and suspect behaviour, and if I don't get my guys out there fast we'll start seeing vigilantes pop up." He rubbed his hands over his face. "That's not even starting in on people getting it into their heads that now's the time for copy-cats."

Allison wrapped her arms around her legs. "I'm sorry."

Noah smiled at her. "Don't be. It's part of the job."

That wasn't at all what Allison had meant, but there was no way to explain any of this to Noah. So in the end, she kept her mouth shut.

"You're looking a lot better," Noah said. "Bruises are all gone."

"Most of them." Allison held out her arms. The violent marks there and on her face had completely cleared. "My leg's still messed up."

"Can I see?" Noah asked.

Allison nodded, pulling the one shorts leg up to show the ugly swirls of brown and green and purple, just below the faint black markings under her skin from the wendigo's claws.

"Jesus Christ," Noah muttered.

"He was probably wearing steel-toed boots," Allison said, pulling her shorts back into place. "If I'd been regular human, he'd probably have broken my leg."

"Was that Dupont?" Noah asked.

"No, Dupont was aiming for my head." Allison sat back and pulled her legs back up to her chest. She was cold. "I don't get it."

"Me neither."

"No, I really don't," Allison said. "Like, what, kick me around until I agree to not see my friends again? Knock me out and throw me over the cliff?" She wrapped her arms around her legs. "What is the point of all of this?"

"I don't know," Noah said. "Allison. Can you look at me?"

Allison dragged her eyes off the television screen. "What?"

Noah was incredibly serious as he said, "I need you to be careful."

"I am."

Noah looked at her. "No, I need you to focus on your safety, all right? No going out alone, and you need to keep an eye out in case they come after you again."

"I know how to protect myself," Allison said, very conscious of the fact that the previous day she had done very little of that until it was almost too late.

"I know you do." Noah took a deep breath. "And I'm about to say something that the city could have my badge over, but if these guys do come after you again, I need you to do whatever it takes to stay alive."

Allison ran her tongue over her lower lip. The room was almost still, with the electric hum of the television in the corner and Stiles' quiet breathing on the other end of the couch. "I'll do what I need to, to defend myself."

"Good," Noah said. "Because I'm worried that these guys, if this is what they'll do to an unarmed girl out in the open, if something were to happen and they get you alone…"

"They're not going to," Allison promised. "That's not going to happen. If they come at me, I'll die where I'm standing first."

"Allison." Noah reached out to take her hand. "We're going to do everything we can to protect you, all right?"

Allison hesitated. "I don't want anyone getting hurt because of me," she said.

"Allison—"

Allison squeezed Noah's hand, then let him go. "Look, if it's just me versus Dupont's crew, if they break out the guns or cattle prods or whatever, I can take them out the old-fashioned way. But if anyone else is there and at risk, I'm going to have to protect them first, and that's where it's going to get bloody."

"Every single deputy in this county took an oath to protect people like you, Allison. Don't tell us we can't do our jobs."

"And I made a promise to protect everyone, full stop," Allison shot back. "That includes you, Natasha, Ibarra, Strong, everyone. Don't tell me that I can't do that, not when I'm _this_ —"

"You're seventeen," Noah said incredulously.

"I'm an alpha!" Allison exclaimed, her eyes flashing red. "And that means I have to protect people!"

From the other end of the couch came Stiles' sleepy voice. "No, it doesn't."

Allison growled at the boy, who was blinking at her. "Don't you start."

"It doesn't." Stiles tried to straighten out his limbs and just got tangled in the blanket. "Like, Derek thinks it does, and I guess his mom did too, but, um, the alpha before Derek?" Stiles' eyes were black in the dark room. "He didn't want to protect anyone. All he wanted to do was bite Scott and Lydia and kill everyone."

"What's your point?" Allison snapped, because no matter how mad Peter was at her, she still wanted to defend him from the indefensible. Damn it, she knew what he had done.

"My point—" Stiles managed to yank himself free of the blanket. "Is that being an alpha doesn't mean shit about protecting people. The reason you have to protect people is that you're Allison." He pushed himself over towards Allison and shoved the blanket onto her lap. "If I have to be awake, I need coffee." He got up and patted his father's shoulder in passing as he stumbled towards the kitchen.

This left Allison and Noah to look at each other. Noah broke the silence first. "Do you remember when I told you to stop carrying knives concealed around town?"

"Yes." Allison pulled the blanket around her. It was a shock of warmth, after sitting for so long in the chill of the pre-dawn living room.

"I take it back. Carry as many knives as you need." He glanced over at the television. "I can't issue you a concealed carry handgun permit until you're twenty-one."

"I can be twenty-one," Allison said. "Give me half an hour in the California state vital records department."

That almost got a smile out of Noah. "No." He stood. "Do you still want to come into the office for your shift today?"

Allison wrapped her fingers in the fringe on the blanket. "It's probably the safest place in town."

"Probably," Noah agreed. "I'll send Natasha over to get you, all right?"

"Me and Natasha Romanoff alone together?" Allison asked. "Why, Sheriff, whatever will we talk about?"

Noah looked down at her. "Are you okay with that?" he asked, slightly concerned. "I know that we've been hiding things from you—"

Allison put up her hand. "No, Noah, it's fine. Natasha is like one of seven people on the planet who I'd actually trust to hold their own against Dupont's crew if they came for me."

"Seven?" Noah echoed. "Who else?"

It had been a flip comment, but now Allison actually thought about it. "Natasha, and then me," she said. "Some of the Avengers, like Steve Rogers. Maybe Tony Stark. Definitely the Hulk, he seems like he'd enjoy smashing in some heads." Allison rose, pulling the blanket around her like a robe. "Chris. And you."

For a very long moment, Noah just looked at her. "I'm not sure how I feel about being included on that list."

Allison met his gaze. "A lot of people, when they're in a fight, they want to stop the fight." She spoke quietly, because this was a conversation that she did not want to draw Stiles' attention back from the kitchen over. "Some people, they'll do anything to make sure that fight never starts up again."

"That sounds a little psychotic," Noah said, but he was still watching her.

"Practical," Allison countered. "For you, in a town like this, out of a thousand cases, nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine will end with an arrest, jail time, that sort of thing."

"And the other one time?"

Allison breathed out. "The other one time, you've got five grown men going after a little girl on public roads in the middle of the afternoon. If it had been Erica up on that road that they'd been going after?"

"We wouldn't be having this conversation," Noah pointed out.

"No, because you'd never have found the bodies. And if it had been Stiles?"

Noah turned his head in the direction of the kitchen, where Stiles was muttering invectives at the coffee maker.

"If it had been Stiles, then no one else in the department would have found the bodies, either."

Noah rubbed his hands together. It took him a moment to turn back to Allison. "This can't be a conversation I'm having before seven o'clock on a Saturday."

"It's nearly ten back east," Allison pointed out. "Time zones are a capitalist construct."

Noah sighed. "So is a paycheque, and I need to get going for mine."

Stiles wandered back into the living room, holding Noah's travel mug. "Three-quarters coffee, one-quarter milk, and three sugars," he announced. "I'm holding the rest of the coffee hostage until I wake up."

Allison didn't know if Stiles could see the slightly fond, slightly sad expression on Noah's face. "You be careful today, son," Noah said, taking the travel mug in one hand and hugging Stiles sideways with his free arm. "Maybe go spend some time with Derek."

"Ugh, no, last night was punishment enough," Stiles snarked, making a face. But he hugged his father back with all his might. "Maybe I'll go over to Jackson's."

Allison frowned at him. "Voluntarily?"

Stiles shot her a glare. "Everyone's going to help Lydia and Isaac work on their campaign posters."

"Ah," Noah said. "Everyone including Erica?"

"Dad!" Stiles said, jumping like a startled cat. "Ew!"

"Uh huh." Noah lifted his mug to Allison in a salute. "See you at work."

"Good luck," Allison called, and Noah left the room. She shuffled back over to the couch as Stiles stretched, then collapsed boneless at her side. "Where's my coffee?"

The front door opened, then closed as Stiles said, "Get your own, I'm exhausted."

"Me too." She poked his shoulder. "Do you want the blanket back?"

"No." Stiles shifted around so he could see the television. "You look cold."

Allison looked at Stiles. He was so young, this Stiles, such a strange mix of hopeful and cynical. Allison wondered who he might have become if his mother hadn't died when she did.

"I wonder if Scott's dad is doing anything on this case," Stiles said after a long time.

"He's in San Francisco, right?"

Stiles shrugged. "I think so. Scott's not really much for talking about him."

"Gee, someone else in this town with father issues," Allison muttered.

Stiles poked her in the knee. "Just… don't tell Scott I mentioned his dad, okay?"

"Okay." Allison closed her eyes. "Do you think if I go to sleep, when I wake up everything will be better?"

"No."

"I wish it would."

"Same."

After a few more minutes of inactivity, Allison hauled herself to her feet, driven more by the problem of a full bladder than any desire for coffee. She detoured through the kitchen and brought the coffee pot with her, along with one mug.

Stiles eyed her as she dropped back onto the couch. "What about me?"

"What about you?" Allison asked archly as she poured coffee into the mug.

"I made that."

"And I had to get up for it." At Stiles' pout, an actual _pout_ , Allison relented, handing over the mug. "It's a good thing you're cute."

"Yes, I am," Stiles said with a smug smile. "Wait, what are you doing?"

Allison paused, coffee pot halfway to her mouth. "What?"

Stiles made a face at her. "God, even I don't do that!"

"Yeah, well." Allison took a cautious slurp from the pot. "I'm feral, remember?"

"You are."

They settled back to watch the soundless news for a few more minutes. "How was Derek doing last night?" Allison asked after consuming half of the coffee in the pot. "Is he okay with all the Hunter stuff Noah threw at him?"

"I think so. I think seeing all your bruises helped."

"Thanks."

"No." Stiles bit at his thumbnail. "Like, before when Dad said all that stuff, that you'd gotten into a fight, I think Derek was picturing like how you and Peter were flirting at the warehouse."

Allison narrowed her eyes at Stiles. "You mean the part where I dislocated my shoulder because Peter jumped on me?"

"Yeah." Stiles didn't even blink. "But when he saw how fucked up you were…" Stiles shuddered. "Like, I thought that after you'd gone after the wendigo was the worst anyone could look, what with the blood and the denim healing inside your leg and oh my god I think I'm going to talk myself into throwing up."

"Focus or I'll hit you."

"Fine." Stiles shook his head. "I don't know, all those bruises you had yesterday were super bad. Derek kind of got quiet after he saw them."

"He's always quiet."

"Yeah, but like, deep-down, quiet." Stiles sighed. "What are we going to do?"

"About Dupont?" Allison sighed. "I don't know. Wait until they get bored and leave town? Wait until they do something against me in public and Noah can arrest them?" She drained the last of the coffee from the pot. "Maybe I could kill them and make it look like an accident."

"I like that idea."

Allison put the coffee pot on the side table. "But I won't."

"That's probably for the best." Stiles leaned sideways, his arm brushing Allison's. "I don't want you to go to jail. I like having you here."

Allison slid down to rest her head against Stiles' shoulder. "Same."

"Good."

The news cut away to a press conference with the head of the FBI and the head of Homeland Security. They watched that for a while, although there were no new developments, and the death count ticker stayed firmly at ninety-three.

"What happened over at Peter's?" Stiles asked as the press conference ended, and the screen went back to the pundits.

"Nothing."

"For nothing happening, Derek said that Peter was sounding pretty homicidal."

"Really?" Allison asked. "He just told me to get out, and that he hated me."

"Derek said that when he texted Peter, Peter said that he wished you were dead."

In spite of everything that had happened over the last few days, or maybe on top of it, hearing Stiles say that stabbed into her stomach. She pulled away from Stiles and wrapped her arms around her legs. "He said that?"

"That's what Derek said." Stiles was looking at her, helpless. "I mean, maybe he was interpreting? Maybe Peter didn't say that?"

Allison pressed her forehead to her knees. "I didn't mean for this to happen," she said.

"What did happen?" Stiles asked. "Derek didn't really go into detail."

Allison stayed curled up in a ball for a few moments, then unfolded, crossing her legs and letting her hands rest in her lap. "Something we did on Wednesday, when I went over there. It, um. Had some repercussions."

"When you got werewolf married," Stiles said promptly.

She gave him a look. "Did Derek actually explain any of that to you?"

"A little?"

Allison looked back down at her hands. "I guess… I mean, Peter said that I had. Um."

Stiles waited in silence, which was so uncharacteristic of him that it drove Allison on.

"As an alpha, what I had done was to make him mine. To tie him to me, to trick him." She pressed her fingernails against her palm. "He was so angry with me."

"Wait, that's not how Derek described it."

Confused, Allison looked at him. "What?"

Stiles' frown was worrying. "Derek said it's like some true love crap."

All the words fled from Allison's mouth, and she just stared at him.

"And I thought he was just being dumb, because it's not like he ever _talks_ about his family," Stiles went on, getting flustered. "But he said his parents didn't do that until like a year after Laura was born. That it didn't make any sense that you and Peter had done whatever it was, because it's like, you can't force that on anyone."

"Because it's true love," Allison repeated, feeling a little gutted.

"Yeah." Stiles reached out to pat Allison's arm, very awkwardly. "But you're not. Like. In love with Peter."

Allison curled one hand over her leg. In all of her long future with Peter, and all the history between them, she had never let herself think too closely about what she felt for the man. They had a bond, yes, of shared years and shared loss and trauma. But after she had killed Derek and became the alpha, Peter had always kept himself slightly apart from her, pulling back from the messy emotional entanglement they'd had after the Snap.

In all fairness, she had done the same.

But here, in the past, Peter hadn't been anywhere near as distant. From that very first encounter in the mountains, he had been hot and angry, emotions bleeding all over the place, and Allison had responded to that. Every time he had kissed her, she'd kissed him back just as hard. Every time he touched her, she'd reciprocated.

And on Wednesday…

Allison tried to breathe around the sudden pounding of her heart. On Wednesday night, they had been arguing, Peter throwing terrible words at her and she had said, _this isn't about you being a werewolf, Peter, this is me and you_.

And then he had cut himself, and Allison took his bleeding finger into his mouth, and he'd fallen on her, kissing her and taking his claws and teeth to her body, and all she had been able to think was, _he's mine._

"Oh my god," Stiles breathed. "Are you in love with him?"

Allison dug her nails into her leg. "I think so," she said, and her voice shook.

"Oh."

She sat up straight. "And it doesn't matter," she went on. "From the death threats, it's obvious that this is not something Peter wants."

"But." Stiles bit his lip. "But if Derek's right, then that means that Peter is in love with you too, right?"

"It doesn't matter," Allison said, the words ripping something deep in her chest. "He's made it clear that he wants me out of his life. That's fine."

"But _why_ are you in love with him?" Stiles persisted.

Allison stood up. "Maybe because he's the only person in town who treats me like I know what I'm doing."

"Hey," Stile said, sounding offended. "I do that."

"Yeah, but I'm not going to fall in love with you, idiot."

Stiles gave a shudder. "Yeah, no."

"Love doesn't have to make any sense." Allison stretched her arm over her head, testing her ribs, but there was no pain, no strain.

"You and Peter don't make any sense."

"We never did." Allison cursed herself at the slip, but Stiles was just nodding. "Look, it doesn't matter. Like I said. Peter told me that he wanted me out of his life." She gestured around. "This is me, out of his life. I don't know what—"

A knock sounded at the front door. Allison and Stiles froze.

"Dad has a key," Stiles whispered, anxiety pouring off him with a burnt butterscotch smell.

Allison went up on the balls of her feet, the alpha rising and spoiling for a fight. If Dupont came at her on her home ground, with Stiles vulnerable behind her, she was going to chop them all into hamburger and bury them in the backyard. If—

"It's Natasha," came a familiar voice muffled through the door. Allison went still. "Noah sent me over to babysit."

Allison held out a warning hand to Stiles, motioning him to stay in the living room as she ghosted out into the hall. It probably wasn't a trick, but Allison had to be sure. In Russian, she called out, "What is Barton's favourite food?"

Allison fancied she could hear Natasha's sigh. "It's pizza, little wolf, but coffee is a second choice. It really is me."

Allison went up to the door, looked through the peephole long enough to identify Natasha in her deputy's uniform, then opened the door. "A girl has to make sure," she said, still in Russian.

"As well a girl should," Natasha said in English. "Who taught you Russian? You speak like a St. Petersburg dilettante." She elbowed her way inside, and Allison closed the door behind her.

"I watched Dr. Zhivago in the original Russian," Allison said. "Stiles, you can come out now."

Stiles peeked out of the living room. "Deputy Rushman," he said, a little confused. "Did Dad send you over?"

"Yes." Natasha hefted a large square case. "And I came over here to see how Allison is holding up."

"Allison is fine."

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "I can see that. However, considering how you spent most of last night in the sheriff's station looking like you were hit by a truck, and now you don't have a bruise in sight, I thought you might be up for some camouflage before you have to spend six hours among trained investigators later today."

"Huh?" Stiles said.

Allison crossed her arms over her chest. "It's either make-up, or a photostatic veil designed to make me look like surfer girl number-two in a slasher movie."

The look Natasha gave her was an odd one. "It's make-up."

"Great." Allison pushed her hair over her shoulder. "Back to work."

"Why don't you go have a shower?" Stiles suggested. There was something in his eyes that Allison didn't quite understand. "I can make breakfast."

"Why, Stiles." Allison turned to him. "How very and uncharacteristically generous."

Stile shrugged. "You know me. Always wanting to pick the brains of those in law enforcement."

And if Stiles' expression had been the slightly dopey one he got around people he had crushes on, that would be reassuring. As it were, Allison felt slightly uneasy.

"Don't you two gang up on me while I'm gone," Allison warned them as she moved towards the stairs.

"Change into something with long sleeves," Natasha called after her. "Do you have a turtleneck?"

"Are you kidding?" Allison said from halfway up the stairs. "I have one flannel shirt from Erica and three t-shirts from Stiles. Everything else has blood on it or is in ribbons."

"Dad has a turtleneck," Stiles offered.

Allison made a face. "God, Stiles, I am not showing up to the sheriff's station wearing the _sheriff's clothes_."

"We'll figure something out," Natasha said. "Go."

Allison went. With Natasha on the job, the house was as protected as it would get, barring a fully armed tank company at the front door.

She went into the bathroom, stripped, and got into the shower as ordered. As the hot water poured over her, she examined her skin for any remaining marks. The only bruising left was on her leg, as she had shown Noah, and even that was starting to fade.

But the delay in healing worried her. Allison wondered if something about her leg had been damaged when the wendigo clawed at her, and how she could test that theory. It would be best if she managed to avoid any additional injury to her leg for the time being.

If only Dupont and his crew could be convinced to leave her alone.

Focusing on Dupont and her own mortality was a good distraction, but the pressing awareness of the Extremis bombings drifted on the edges of her mind.

At least Allison could _do_ something about Dupont. And it might not even kill her.

Well, that was a cheery thought.

Allison reached for the shampoo. If she kept thinking about Dupont, and then bits and pieces of the Extremis bombing, she could very clearly ignore all thoughts about Peter Hale and her early morning realizations about her feelings for him.

And Allison Stark had always excelled at ignoring her feelings.

After her shower, she dressed in one of Stiles' t-shirts, something that he had brought home from day camp in middle school, pulled on her jeans with most of the dust brushed off, and carried Erica's flannel shirt with her downstairs. She'd figure out her hair after breakfast.

She found Stiles and Natasha in the kitchen. "Hey," Stiles said when he spotted her. "Natasha's showing me how to make crepes.

"Blini," Natasha said. She poured a thin batter into the frying pan. "Stiles tells me that he is quite the master of the kitchen."

Stiles went a little red.

"He is," Allison agreed. She sank into her chair at the table. "He is a man of many talents."

Stiles got redder. "Stop it."

"No."

Natasha glanced at Allison. "Is that what you're going to wear today?"

Allison looked down. "What? I could have gone to the Beacon Hills Community Center science camp in 2006."

"The sleeves are a little short," Natasha said. She flipped the crepe. "It's also a little tight for the sheriff's department."

Allison raised her eyebrow. "Deputy Rushman, are you giving me fashion advice?" She held up the flannel shirt. "Relax, I'm going to wear this over it."

"What are you going to do about your throat?"

Allison shrugged, pulling on the flannel shirt. "Maybe a bandana? Go full-on Old Town Road?" Something occurred to her. "Damn it, that's probably not going to happen now."

"What?" Natasha asked, turning the crepe out onto a plate.

"Nothing." Allison started to finger comb her hair. "Stiles, you have any bandanas around the house?"

"I don't think so." Stiles was wrestling with the batter bowl. "I was a cowboy for Halloween when I was five, but I don't think we kept the costume."

"We'll figure out something." Natasha took the batter from Stiles. "Why don't you go get ready for the day?"

Stiles fixed the woman with a glare. "Is this because you think I smell, or you need to talk to Allison alone?"

Natasha turned to face him. "You don't smell," she said.

"Fine." Stiles looked at Allison, who nodded, before stumping out of the room and upstairs.

Quiet fell over the kitchen. Allison sat, watching Natasha make blini, and waited for the woman to speak.

Natasha remained silent until the shower turned on upstairs. She placed another crepe on the plate. "I talked to Tony last night."

Allison, who had been steeling herself for an interrogation about the Winter Soldier, didn't react. "That's nice."

"He said that he and Jarvis listened to the entire conversation we had in the sheriff's office, after you pretended to hang up the phone."

Allison's stomach slid sideways. She had been talking to Jarvis for a while now, and she hadn't thought in too much detail about how much Jarvis had been sharing with Tony. The first time she had lived this month, Tony had been all up in her business, questioning, hanging around, trying to get to know her without actually moving himself to Beacon Hills.

Now, though, there had been _nothing_ , to the extent that Allison had half-suspected that Jarvis hadn't told Tony anything about her interactions with the AI.

She ran her tongue over her lower lip. "Is that so?"

"Yes." Natasha wasn't looking at her. "Tony said that he thinks you might be an imposter. That you know too much about him, and are trying to trap him into something."

The blow landed hard. Allison stared at Natasha's back, trying to place the freefall of emotions that were ricocheting around her chest.

Tony thought _what?_

Allison had had her father in her life for ten years, from 2012, to when the man had died to stop Thanos in 2023. Those years had been tumultuous, not even including the pain they'd all lived through after the Snap. But Tony had always been there for Allison, trying to help her, giving her advice and showing her his work and talking her through things.

And now he thought she was trying to trick him?

Allison let out a breath, hot and angry, and willed the alpha to rise. The alpha stretched out in her limbs, filling her with the calm of countless generations of wolves.

It was the calm of waiting, of watching. It was the calm before the hunt.

And Allison had been hunting as a wolf for sixteen years.

She cast aside the emotional blow. If she went back to dispassionate observation, she could see how Tony had arrived at the wrong conclusion. Someone who looked very much like Clara Vasquez hacked into his computer systems, offered up information about the man that could only be gathered through very close surveillance or, as in Allison's case, through knowing Tony for years.

Since Tony in this timeline had never met Allison, of course he jumped to the other conclusion.

Still. The idea that Tony had known what she had said to Jarvis, had likely seen the webcam footage that Allison knew Jarvis had taken of their encounters, and not lifted a finger in almost two weeks to see her?

That stung.

But it had happened, and now Allison would have to deal with the fallout.

And part of that fallout was in her kitchen, making crepes.

Slowly, Allison stood. She could smell how on edge Natasha was, could hear the flutter of her heartbeat in her veins.

Allison took a step closer, then another. She stopped just behind Natasha's shoulder, so close that Natasha had to feel Allison's breath on her neck. "I didn't ask for any of this," Allison said in a voice softer than a whisper. Natasha went still. "I didn't ask for Chris to throw me out. I didn't ask for Noah and Stiles to take me in." She shifted a fraction, her arm brushing Natasha's side. "I did not _ask_ for the soldier to fill my head with all the bad things in the world that he knew he couldn't stop."

Natasha swallowed. "Why would he tell you anything?"

It was an excellent question, and would require a lie to which Allison was not ready to commit. "Go find him and ask him."

Natasha deliberately flipped the crepe over, not stepping away from Allison. "What about Tony?"

"What about him?" Allison asked. "If I really am Clara's daughter, ripped out of her still-warm body on that Los Angeles hillside by an Argent?"

She was starting to get angry now, and it wasn't a good idea for her to be too close to anyone when she had this much rage in her heart. Allison stepped back and away, putting the kitchen table between her and Natasha.

"Or if I'm not?" Allison went on. "If this Tony thing is all a huge mistake and I really am Chris and Victoria's daughter?" Her hands were starting to shake. "I didn't ask to be raised the way I was. I didn't ask for them to force me to become a killer."

God, she wished Peter was there. He had always known how to deflect her rage into something else, a fight or a run or a screaming argument that ended up in a different sort of resolution.

Allison made herself sit, her hands pressed flat against the table's surface. "I didn't ask for Maurice Dupont and his band of sadistic assholes to come after me." She let out a breath, trying to find that lupine calm once again. "I don't care what you think and I don't care what Tony Stark thinks. I just want everyone to leave me alone."

Natasha kept up her motions at the stove. "It doesn't work like that."

"It could." Allison tried to find something to focus on. Her family and her pack had always been her anchor, and now Bucky was lost to her, and Morgan was lost _forever_. Her pack wasn't _hers_ anymore. She'd even managed to drive Peter away, and in the future not even killing his nephew and becoming the alpha had done that.

Peter. Maybe Allison could focus on Peter for a while. Stupid Peter Hale. She never wanted him to fall in love with her, certainly not after only two weeks of sleeping together in a messy past. Why couldn't he have just kept using her for sex while not giving a damn about her as a person?

Only.

He had never done that. He'd never used her for anything. And he had been trying to figure her out, and in the process had seen her more closely than a lot of the other people in her life right now.

She hadn't meant for him to fall in love with her, any more than she had meant her own feelings for another Peter to crystalize into love for this one.

She breathed out, most of her anger having bled away. Everything with Peter was a mess, but on the whole, it was the least complicated mess Allison found herself in.

She sat back. "So," she started in Russian. "Little spider, what else do you have to throw at me? Best do it now while I am distracted."

Natasha flinched at the diminutive, but picked up the thread. "I spoke with my boss about you," she said in English.

"Fury or Hill?"

It was almost entertaining, watching the micro-expressions of annoyance that Natasha was trying to suppress. "They said to keep an eye on you and to pump you for information about… our mutual friend."

Allison felt a flicker of interest. "How fascinating. I haven't been pumped for information in weeks."

"No," Natasha said sharply, pointing the spatula at Allison. "You are not doing this."

"Doing what, Agent Romanoff?" Allison asked, eyes wide.

"Making this weird."

"Oh, come on," Allison said. "Who else in town can I exchange witty yet slightly flirtatious banter with? Stiles? _Noah?_ Hell, even Dupont's crew didn't appreciate my levity yesterday."

Natasha was starting to look tired. "Were you wisecracking as they beat you up?" she demanded.

"You know what they say." Allison stood up. "If they're going to kill you anyway, may as well leave them with a good exit line."

And with that, she swept out of the kitchen. Her destination was only the living room to pick up the coffee pot, but it still felt good to get a bit of a handle on her emotions.

Her spirits were dimmed when she saw that the death count ticker had increased to ninety-seven. The screen showed pictures of the carnage in Chicago, where the Extremis bomber had exploded next to a museum. As Allison watched, a flash of red on the screen, and the camera showed Iron Man lasering through a section of crumbled steel reinforcing beam.

"Tony's in Chicago!" Allison called to Natasha, unable to take her eyes off the TV. Once the beam was severed, Tony flew it back and to the side, for a handful of search and rescue personnel to move in.

"Clint told me," Natasha said, coming into the living room. "Chicago was the worst hit, infrastructure wise. Body count, Pittsburgh was the worst. The bomber blew up outside a nightclub. Iron Man can't help there."

"I'm glad he's able to help," Allison said, biting at her finger. She should be there, helping. Even without her body armour, she was strong and practically indestructible. She could be helping with search and rescue.

And that was never going to happen, because no one was going to let a seventeen-year-old nobody anywhere near a crime scene.

"Steve's there too," Natasha went on. "From what Clint said, no one's letting him help with rescue, so he's building morale."

"I bet that's driving him insane." Allison frownd. "Wait, how does Barton know all this? Is he in Chicago?"

"No, he's been texting Tony for updates," Natasha hedged.

"Has SHIELD been called in to help the FBI?"

"No."

Allison turned to look at Natasha. "Why not? This is terrorism."

Natasha never took her eyes off the screen. "The FBI says it doesn't need any help."

"Fuck," Allison muttered. This was just what happened last time; SHEILD held back from helping battle AIM, leaving Tony and Uncle Rhodey to face off against Aldrich Killian, with a surprise winning move by Pepper Potts. Of course, there had been a few things that had happened before they had reached that thrilling conclusion. "Can I say something that might sound really weird and will probably make you think I'm a bad guy?"

This pulled Natasha's eyes off the TV. "I can't wait to see what you think fits in that category."

"Okay." Allison paused. "So, Tony Stark is in Chicago."

"Yes, we've established that," Natasha said patiently.

"And so is Captain Rogers, and they're both very publicly trying to help."

"Again, these are observations."

"So what if whoever's behind this sees Iron Man's intervention as a challenge?" Allison was very aware of Natasha's sudden and complete attention. "What if they decide to try to attack him next?"

"Tony can take care of himself."

"Right." Allison paused. "But he doesn't live alone, right?"

Natasha stared at Allison.

"This isn't a trick or a ploy," Allison rushed on. "But if Tony's in the suit in Chicago, he's not at home in Malibu. He's also not in New York at Stark Tower. Is there anyone in either place who might be in danger?"

Natasha exhaled through her nose. "I have phone calls to make," she said abruptly. "You, go eat breakfast. Then put some concealer on that face before I have to haul you into the Sheriff's station." She stalked out of the living room, and in another few seconds, Allison heard the front door open and close.

Allison just hoped that whatever Natasha was about to do, was in time to keep Pepper and Happy and everyone safe.

Thumping sounded on the stairs, and Stiles ricocheted into the hall. "Hey, what about breakfast?" he demanded.

Allison grabbed the coffee pot. "We were waiting for you," she said. "What is that?"

Stiles looked at the ball of fabric in his hand. "Uh."

Allison sighed. "Come on. Food, before Deputy Rushman comes back in here and force-feeds us blini."

"Okay." Stiles trailed after Allison. "Uh. So. I had an idea."

"You have good ideas," Allison prompted when he fell silent.

"Hey. I mean. Thanks?"

Allison put the coffee pot in the sink. "What's your idea?"

Stiles drew out the ball of fabric between his hands. "You need to cover your throat so that no one at the station sees that Maurice Dupont's creepy bruises are gone." He was looking down at the cloth. "My mom. She."

Surprise prickled down Allison's spine. She walked over to Stiles' side. "She what?" Allison asked softly.

Stiles blinked up at her. "My mom had some scarves. Dad packed them away with everything else after… Uh. After." He held out the scarf, a dark green length of silk. "It'll cover your throat."

"Stiles." Allison took his hands in hers. He was shaking, just a little. "It's okay. You don't have to do this."

"Yes, I do," he said, and he sounded stronger for it. "This can help you."

Allison pushed his hands towards his chest. "I can stop at the store on my way into work and buy a bandana or something."

"Or." Stiles pushed the scarf into Allison's hands. "Please. Let me help. I haven't been able to do shit to help you with all this Dupont crap and it's starting to be a hit to my self-esteem."

"But this is your mother's," Allison protested as gently as she could.

"Yeah." Stiles met her eyes. "And she's not using it anymore." He swallowed. "She always said…" He stopped, moving his jaw sideways as he struggled to maintain his composure. "Back when I was first friends with Scott. Mom always said that when you've got a friend, and they need help, you do whatever you can to help them." He took a deep breath. "At the time I think it was so that I'd share my Transformers with Scott without crying, but it's advice that I think we can apply to the situation at hand."

Allison looked down at the silk scarf. It was creased from its long years folded away, and there was a faint scent of perfume lingering. "Thank you, Stiles," she said. "This really means a lot to me."

Stiles let out a surprised huff. "Good. So." He looked around. "Breakfast?"

Allison put the scarf down in a safe spot, and went to get the breakfast plates.

They had almost finished the blini by the time Natasha came back into the house, shaking her head and muttering to herself. "You're almost more trouble than you're worth," were her opening remarks to Allison.

"What?" Allison demanded around a mouthful of crepe. She swallowed. "I'm trying to help."

"That's why I said _almost_." Natasha sat at the table and pulled a plate towards her. "Clint's taking Tony's people to a safehouse. He didn't even have to do too much convincing."

Allison slumped at the overwhelming wash of relief and not a bit of guilt. Pepper Potts had been her stepmother for so many years, and Allison had almost forgotten about her safety in all this.

"New York's a different story," Natasha went on. "But Stark Tower was designed by someone who used to build bombs for a living. It's as close to impact-resistant as any building can get."

"Do you think there will be more bombings?" Stiles asked, anxiety under his words.

Natasha folded up a blini into her mouth. "Until we know otherwise, we have to act like there will be," she said, garbled.

Stiles ran his hand over his head. "Like, here? In Beacon Hills?"

"I doubt it," Allison said before Natasha could manage a response. "What's one hick town in northern California? There are so many more metropolitan centers they have to go through first."

Stiles put his head in his hands. "That's not helping."

"That's the point," Allison said. "That's what terrorism does. It tears apart through the fear of the unknown. What we need is to put a face to what's going on. Find out who's behind this, and stop them."

Natasha swallowed a huge mouthful. "We," she repeated.

"Yes, we." Allison got up to make more coffee. "Why not? You and me, let's suit up and go save the world. It'd put the Dupont problems on hold for a while, right?"

Natasha groaned. "You are not running off to save the world at seventeen," she said.

"Why not?" Allison rested her hip against the counter. "I heal fast, I can fight, and I can guarantee you that no one will see me coming."

"No, no, no." Natasha turned around. "I don't care whose kid you are, or what mystical superpowers you think you have. You are a junior in high school."

Allison couldn't tell if Natasha was being serious or just trolling her in front of Stiles. "What were you doing when you were seventeen?"

Natasha glared. "Are you asking or do you think you know the answer to that?"

Allison, who had seen Natasha's unredacted file in the years following the woman's death, shook her head. There was no way to answer Natasha's question. "I can still help."

"Probably." Natasha reached for another crepe. "But I have my orders, and they involve keeping you safe and out of harm's way. That _includes_ preventing you from running off after terrorists."

"Okay, um, hello," Stiles interjected. "So, can we all agree that no one in this room goes after terrorists on U.S. soil? Please?"

"Fine," Allison grumbled. She went back to the coffee maker.

"Thank you."

Natasha chewed on her crepe. "Do you have any plans for work today?"

Allison poured water into the machine. "Probably more archival work."

"What about you, Stiles?" Natasha turned her full attention on the boy.

He froze like a deer in headlights. "Um. Hanging out with friends?"

"Good answer. I'll give you a police escort over there."

"Nice," Stiles said immediately. "Can you use your sirens to get us there faster?"

Natasha stared at Stiles for a moment, then looked over to Allison, who grinned. "Welcome to Beacon Hills," she said.

* * *

Allison sat in the passenger side of the patrol car, staring out at the city as Natasha drove towards the station. They had already dropped Stiles and his jeep off at Jackson's house, and were heading south.

"My face feels weird," Allison said, opening her jaw wide. The concealer and foundation was caked on, as if to cover up bruises. "This was a stupid idea."

"Relax," Natasha said. "You look fine."

"I look stupid." Allison flipped down the visor to stare in the little mirror. "I hate makeup."

"You have no idea how lucky you are that your eyelashes are actually that dark," Natasha said. "I would kill for your colouring."

Allison made duck lips at the mirror. "Should I wear lipstick with all this?"

"Do you usually?"

Allison thought about her childhood. She didn't really remember her high school attempts at fashion and makeup. College had been a whole other story, and one that Allison was not going to emulate this time around for an entire slew of reasons. "No." She put the visor back up. "Even this eyeliner and mascara feels weird."

"You looked a little washed-out without it," Natasha reminded her as they turned over the railroad tracks.

"The people at the station won't care."

"I think you look adorable. Did the Winter Soldier ever sleep with you?"

The accusation, made in the same off-hand tone as Natasha's other words, was like an electrical shock. Allison turned to face Natasha. "No," she said after a minute. "It never came up. And the idea would not have been welcomed by either party if it had."

Natasha shrugged, like the question had been of no consequence. But Allison could see the tension leaving her hands, resting on the steering wheel. "He's a handsome man."

"The world is full of handsome men," Allison retorted. "And I'm rather select in what I look for in a lover."

"Most girls your age would have said boyfriend," Natasha said, voice still easy.

"That's a very heteronormative assumption."

Natasha's eyebrows rose as she stared out at the road.

"In any event." Allison slumped down in the seat. "The soldier never made any overtures of a sexual nature towards me, Deputy Rushman."

It had been a joke between her, Bucky and Sam, how Allison and Bucky had such similar tastes in men, once Steve Rogers was out of the equation. Sam used to joke how he would find eligible men and throw them at Allison and Bucky, to see which one of them could snag a date first.

(The other part of the joke was that Sam tended to find the absolute worst men to set her and Bucky up with, but that was for her alone to remember, and to mourn.)

"Was he… nice, to you?"

Allison looked out the window. All this talk of Bucky was making her miss the man more than ever. She hoped that he was still in the ice, still frozen away from the harm and pain Hydra would inflict on him upon waking. "He was quiet," Allison said, thinking back to the first months of their partnership, after Allison became the alpha and went off to join the superheroes. "At first I thought he was shy, but then I realized that he wanted to listen."

She told herself that she was not allowed to cry. It would ruin her makeup.

"He said it was nice to talk to someone who wasn't yelling at him, or telling him to do bad things."

"What did you talk about?"

"Everything." Allison breathed in, focusing on the scents in the car, of makeup, and laundry soap, and Natasha's leather holster, and the faintest hint of Claudia Stilinski's perfume on the silk wrapped around her throat. "He'd seen so much stuff, and been so many places. I told him about Beacon Hills, and what life was like here."

There was a doubtful silence from Natasha's part of the car.

"He also told me that he knew he didn't always remember who he was," Allison hastily tacked on. "Something about mental conditioning? It sounded like brainwashing." She looked down at her hands. "All he said was that it hurt."

More silence, although less skeptical.

"He said he didn't want to go back, but he knew he couldn't stay away forever."

"Did you ever think that maybe, he wasn't telling you the exact truth?" Natasha asked.

Allison pulled her shirt cuffs down over her wrists. "I know you all think he was trying to pull something on me," she said. "But he never did anything. So I don't know what it could be."

"You said he taught you how to fight," Natasha said. "And he told you things, about things he knew. What if he was trying to manipulate you into doing something?"

"Like what?" Allison asked. "Hack into Tony Stark's computers? Know more about supernatural creatures?"

"I don't know," Natasha said. "The soldier is not…" She sighed as she pulled into a parking spot in front of the station. "He is not a _nice_ man."

"He was nice to me." Allison unbuckled her seatbelt. "Is the interrogation complete, Deputy Rushman?"

Natasha turned off the car. "For now."

"Great." Allison got out of the car, adjusted the waistband of her jeans to more firmly settle all her hidden knives, and headed towards the station. She was vaguely surprised that she didn't clink as she walked.

As soon as she entered the station, all activity screeched to a halt as every deputy and civilian staffer in the place turned to look at her. She stopped dead. "What?"

Margery Stevens, the town's dispatch manager and a woman rumoured to be older than Methuselah, exchanged a look with Deputy Callahan behind the front desk. "We all heard what happened yesterday, sweetheart," Margery said.

"Oh." Of course they had. There was no more efficient gossip machine in northern California than the Beacon Hills Sheriff's department. Still, it was unnerving how everyone was looking at her with pity. "Okay. I have to go to work."

"You should be taking the day off," Margery went on. "Noah shouldn't have made you come into work."

"It's fine," Allison said, then pretended to wince as she smiled. "I wanted to be here."

Margery peered out at Allison from behind her half-moon glasses. "Well, I suppose that it's best to keep active."

"What an excellent idea," Noah said, emerging from the east hallway. He raised his voice. "If everyone has done all their work, I'm sure there are lots of cold cases that need some attention."

That got everyone moving again, pretending to be busy. Margery shook her head and walked over to Allison. "You take care, dear," she said. "It's okay to take a little time to process what happened."

"I'll be fine," Allison said.

Margery looked her over. "Mmm-hmm."

"Margery," Noah said on his way to his office. "Why are you here? You don't work weekends."

"Everyone has to do their part," the old woman said. "It's an unsettled time." She turned to head to the dispatch office.

Allison bit back a growl of annoyance. "Why is everyone so weird today?"

"Just today?"

Allison looked up at Noah, only to find that his eyes were on her throat, and the green scarf. She reached up to touch the silk. "It was Stiles' idea," she blurted out.

"I know." Noah dragged his eyes up to meet hers. "He texted me about it."

Allison did not understand the expression on Noah's face, and she was pretty sure she didn't want to. "I can take it off."

"It's fine," Noah said. "Stiles was right, you needed something to cover up your neck." He cleared his throat. "Why don't you come into my office, there's something here for you."

Feeling off-center, Allison trailed after Noah into his office. There was a cardboard shipping box on his desk. "Did Stiles order something stupid?" she asked.

"No." Noah glanced over Allison's shoulder as Natasha slipped through the door. "It showed up for you."

A wave of adrenaline washed over Allison. She hadn't ordered anything, no one was supposed to send her anything, and on the literal heels of terrorist bombings across the country? It could be a bomb, it could be chemical weapons, or even actual wyvern poison—

"Allison," Natasha said sharply, her hand closing around Allison's wrist. "It's from Jarvis. He let me know it was coming."

Allison tried to breathe. She didn't understand her panic. "You're sure?"

"I am." Natasha squeezed Allison's wrist a little too tight. "Are you going to pass out?"

That did it. Allison yanked her hand away from Natasha's grip, panic fading back behind annoyance. "Aren't you supposed to be out on patrol, Deputy Rushman?"

Natasha pursed her lips. "Have a good day at work," she said, gave Noah a glare, then turned and marched out of the office.

Allison sank into the visitor's chair in front of the desk. Her limbs felt a little rubbery.

"Are you okay?" Noah asked, still standing.

Allison gave a thumbs-up. "Never better. Just, you know. Misdirected panic attacks."

"I don't know if misdirected is the right word." Noah picked up the box and carried it over to the couch. "You want to open this?"

Allison eyed the box. What on earth could Jarvis have sent her? "I have to get to work."

Noah shook his head. "Come on, this thing has been sitting on my desk for an hour. I want to see what's inside."

Rubbing her hands on her jeans, Allison stood up and crossed to the couch. She reached around to pull one of her knives out of her waistband.

"So, who is this Jarvis fellow, anyway?" Noah asked as Allison sliced through the packing tape.

"He's not a person." Allison set the knife down at her side to open up the box. "He's an AI. Artificial intelligence." She pulled off the top layer of packing paper. A printed letter was the first thing in the box.

"Like a, uh, robot?" Noah asked.

Allison reached for the letter. "Like a robot without a body, that can think for itself."

"That sounds like science fiction."

Allison gave Noah a look. "Superheroes and aliens are real," she reminded him. "As well as everything else in this town."

He smiled at her ruefully. "It's all still a lot for an old guy like me to take in."

"Old guy," Allison muttered. "Do you try that on Stiles when he's being particularly Stiles?"

"Yes, and it works better on him." He pointed at the paper. "Read the note."

Girding herself, Allison looked down.

> _Allison, I hope that this finds you well. I must apologize for my tardiness in assisting you last night. Had I been more focused on the whereabouts of your pursuers, assistance might have arrived sooner, and you spared your injuries._

Allison folded the bottom of the page in on itself. Her stomach hurt and she didn't know why. It wasn't Jarvis's fault that she'd been so stupid as to get herself trapped up on that hillside with Dupont's crew. She'd brought this on herself.

She made herself keep reading.

> _As you may have seen on the news, there have been developments with the matter you asked Mr. Stark to look into. He and Captain Rogers are en route to Chicago as I compose this missive. I will keep you apprised of future developments._
> 
> _Enclosed in this package are a few small items to assist you over the next few days. I hope that it will not be an imposition if I contact you from time to time with questions regarding the matters at hand. If it is, all you need to do is request that I cease._
> 
> _Stay safe, and be well._
> 
> _JARVIS_

Allison put the paper down. It took her a moment to speak around the lump in her throat. "That was nice," she said. "He said he sent me some stuff."

"Can I see?" Noah asked. Allison handed him the letter, and started unpacking the box.

The first item was an envelope, containing a couple of gift cards. Allison ran her thumb over the numbers. Five hundred dollars for Macy's, and another hundred dollars for Starbucks.

Allison didn't understand. Why was Jarvis sending her gift cards?

She put the cards aside, and went back to the box. Next were two identical cell phone boxes, which to Allison's eyes looked old, but were top-of-the-line in 2012 Stark phones.

Under the phones was a laptop.

And not just any laptop. Allison's heart started beating a little fast at the sight of the case. This wasn't something you could buy in a store. This was a genuine Tony Stark creation, stuffed with enough processor speed and memory to take over NASA, SHIELD and the IRS at the same time.

She knew, because Tony had given her this very laptop in 2013. She'd memorized the small dent in the corner of the case where Dummy had been a little too overzealous in dusting one day, and the tiny Iron Man sticker Rhodey had stuck on the case following the events in New York.

With uncertain hands, Allison opened the laptop. It sprang to life instantly, showing the old familiar backgrounds of the Stark servers it had taken her so long to tap into on Stiles' laptop.

A window popped up in the corner. _Greetings, Allison._

 _How do you know it's me?_ Allison responded.

 _Webcam and biometrics data,_ was the answer. _If you wish to monitor activities, click on the icons below._

 _Do you need me right now?_ Allison asked. _I'm at work but I can skip out._

_No need. At this point, I am gathering intelligence, of which there is startlingly little. If developments arise, may I text you?_

_Sure._ Allison hesitated. _Why two phones?_

 _Redundancies,_ Jarvis wrote. _Both have the same number and tracking enabled, in case you are separated from one._

Allison folded her fingers together. _Why are you doing this?_

_Doing what?_

_Sending me things. Helping me._

There was the briefest hesitation before Jarvis responded. _Because you did not ask for any help for yourself. Your only action after reaching out to me in Mr. Stark's servers was to ask for assistance in stopping a terrorist attack, which we now know has unfortunately occurred._

Allison swallowed. _Natasha said that Tony thinks I'm trying to trap him into something._

_I am not Mr. Stark. I operate under my own parameters, using my own data. At the moment, my highest priority is preventing any further attacks, and in bringing the individuals responsible to justice. I believe that you can help me in this._

_I'll do my best, but I don't know much else._

_You have already provided us with good leads._

_Thanks, Jarvis._

_Stay safe, Allison._

_I'll try._ Allison closed the laptop. She knew Noah was watching her, but she was feeling curiously raw.

She didn't know what to do.

Noah cleared his throat. "There's something else in the box."

"Huh?"

Noah reached into the box to pull out a small square case. He handed it to her. "Are you going to be okay?"

Allison didn't answer as she opened the case. Inside was a necklace with a cornflower blue sapphire the size of her thumbnail, surrounded by small diamonds, reminiscent of the arc reactor.

Very slowly, Allison closed the case.

"Allison?'

Allison looked at all the gifts sprung on her by Jarvis, and knew deep in her heart that Tony didn't know about any of them. Would he have stopped Jarvis from sending all this? Would he have stopped Jarvis from reaching out to Allison at all?

"Allison." Noah put his hand on her arm. "I need you to say something."

Allison took a breath. "I can't… I don't…" Her eyes fell on the gift cards, and she snatched them up. "Here."

"What?" Noah sat back.

"Take them." She tried to shove the gift cards into Noah's hands. "To pay you back for letting me stay with you. Stiles is going to need a new suit for the winter formal, and you know how fast he goes through shoes."

"Allison—"

"And you drink coffee." Allison didn't understand why Noah wasn't taking the plastic cards. "Please. I don't— I can't—"

"Allison." Noah put his hands on hers, a gentle pressure that stuttered the words in her mouth. "This robot guy, he sent all this stuff for you."

"But I can't," Allison said. The sloshing in her stomach was moving up to her chest. "I need to pay you back."

"No, you don't." Noah pushed Allison's hands back down to her lap. "We'll figure it out later, okay? You can take these and go shopping with your friends. Have a little bit of fun."

Fun. Allison almost started laughing. Maurice Dupont was out for her blood and Aldrich Killian was blowing up civilians all around the country. Allison didn't know if she was going to live long enough to have fun.

"And the cell phones, that's useful, right?" Noah waited until Allison nodded. "Same with the laptop. You can do your school work on that."

"I could take over the government with this laptop," Allison muttered.

A beat, then Noah said, "Maybe don't do that."

"I won't."

Noah picked up the necklace case. "The necklace is a little much, though."

"It's my birthstone," Allison said. "My birthday is September twenty-fourth. Or maybe it was the twenty-third. I don't know how close to midnight Clara died."

"The coroner thinks it was before." Noah handed her the case. "It's a hell of a way to come into the world."

Allison ran her thumb over the velvet of the case. "Same thing happened to Jackson." She sat back, weighted down by the emotional significance of Jarvis's gifts. "Only with him, it was an accident. With me…" She shook her head. "Someone wanted my mother dead, and they knew I'd never be a werewolf."

"The information we have now looks like it was Victoria, acting alone or with an accomplice."

"It wasn't Chris," Allison said immediately. "He'd never have gone along with that."

"Are you sure?"

"Chris sticks to the code," Allison said. "If he thought Clara was on a rampage, a danger to the public, he might have gone for her. But he absolutely would not have cut me out of her body and raised me as, what, some sort of trophy?"

Noah rubbed his hand over his chin. "Would Victoria?"

"I don't know." Allison was suddenly so tired she wanted to curl up and pass out. "Maybe Victoria wanted a baby and didn't care about how she got one." Allison opened the necklace case again to touch the sapphire pendant. "Can I leave this in your office? I need to get to work, Brodie has a bunch of stuff for me."

"Of course."

She ended up locking the laptop, the gift cards, and one of the cell phones up with the necklace. The other phone she took with her, after first getting Stiles' number from Noah.

 _New phone who dis,_ she texted Stiles as she walked back to the archives.

 _I think you have the wrong number,_ was Stiles' reply.

Allison sent him a selfie of her giving a peace sign.

_omg you got a new phone how_

_long story. Get everyone to send me their contact. If Derek's still up to adding me to the group chat, do that too._

_omg omg so cool. Hey pack meeting at 5 wanna come?_

Allison smiled at her phone, feeling so much warmth in her heart for Stiles and her pack. Even if the world was falling apart all around her, at least she had them. _Of course come get me at the station?_

"Allison!"

Allison spun around. "Hi, Brodie."

The brownie scowled at her. "You children and your telephones," he muttered. "You're late!"

"What, no 'how are you doing, Allison?'" Allison said. "Everyone else is looking at me like I might blow away in a light breeze."

Brodie brushed that away. "A child who takes on five grown men and comes out of it with only a few bruises does not need my sympathy. What she needs is to do her job!"

Allison smiled. "Brodie, you're my favourite person in this entire station right now."

He pointed at the archives door. "Go!"

Allison went, her phone already vibrating with incoming messages from her friends.

He was right. She had work to do.

### Scott McCall

Scott was having a terrible afternoon.

No, scratch that. Scott was having a terrible month.

Who would have thought that anything could be worse than last year?

But here Scott was, sitting in the old train station with Derek's pack _and_ Stiles _and_ Allison and everything was a disaster.

He'd collapsed on the steps to the trolley, apart from where Boyd and Erica and Isaac and Jackson had all curled up on the couch, practically on top of each other. Scott knew they'd all been over at Jackson's house with Lydia and Stiles, helping make campaign signs. But Scott couldn't go, because he'd had to work, and listening to them all make jokes and rib each other kind of hurt.

He didn't want to be _in_ Derek's pack, but he didn't not want to be _with_ the pack.

Peter was there, too, which made things so much worse. Every time Scott saw Peter, he'd remember the previous year, and all the bulllshit Peter pulled on them, starting with _turning Scott into a werewolf_.

But Peter was acting weird, even for Peter. He wasn't snarking as much as usual, and he was watching Allison and Derek with an intensity that Scott found more than a little unnerving.

That might have been because Allison and Derek were having a full-blown argument in the middle of the open space, facing off like they were actually going to physically fight. Even Stiles was staying a little bit back.

"What if they decide that the best way to get to you is to get to us?" Derek shouted, his eyes gleaming a little red.

Allison was almost smiling, and it looked so much like a werewolf smile, baring her teeth, that Scott was uncomfortable. She had been spending too much time around Erica. "They haven't so far," she said. "They haven't come anywhere near any of you. The only one of you Dupont's crew has shown any interest in so far is Stiles, and that stopped after I got my motorcycle."

Derek stepped forward, getting in Allison's face. "Is that supposed to make me feel any better?"

Far from backing down, Allison moved in, close enough for Derek to bite her. "You keep saying that I'm not your pack and I'm not your problem." Then she smiled, big and wide, and it was a little frightening and not at all like the Allison Scott had fallen in love with. "Dupont isn't going to get anywhere near anyone in this room, Derek, I promise you that."

"All right," Stiles said, sticking a tentative arm between Allison and Derek. "Round four is over, can we break for some water?"

Derek didn't move. Neither did Allison. "What about Chris?" Derek demanded. "Going after Jackson?"

Over on the couch, Jackson shrank down. Isaac put his arm around Jackson's shoulders in a mock headlock, and Erica held his hand.

Allison's smile faded away, and the coldness on her face was actually worse. "I told Chris that the pack was my responsibility. He can choke, as far as I care."

Scott thought Derek was going to explode. "Your responsibility?" he shouted, alpha power in his voice. All the wolves, and Stiles, flinched back. Allison just glared. "They are _my_ pack!"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Allison said sarcastically. "Do you want me to go back to Chris and tell him that, no, he's free to keep his guns trained on a handful of teenagers? Or will you let me actually do my job and keep everyone in this room safe?"

"It's not your job!" Derek yelled.

"Yes, it is!" Allison shouted. Her voice was suddenly very big and very heavy and it shocked everyone in the room, including Derek, into complete silence. Scott could hardly breathe. "It is," Allison said again, so quietly this time that Scott had to strain to hear over the ringing in his ears. "That includes you, Derek."

"I don't want anything from an _Argent_ ," Derek said, finally letting Stiles move him back a few steps. "I'd rather die."

"Dude," Stiles said. "Can we all take five?"

"There's nothing to talk about," Allison said. She stood alone in the halo of light from the overhead skylight, the afternoon sun catching the blue stone in the necklace she was wearing. She had always been so beautiful, but now, standing with her hair down and her back straight, she looked sharp and painful, like it would hurt to touch her. Even the fact that she was in Stiles' and Erica's old clothes didn't take away from that strange beauty.

Scott didn't _understand_ what had happened to Allison.

"You don't have to like it," Allison went on. Derek glared at her. "It's my responsibility to protect everyone in this town, wolves and humans and everyone else."

"You keep saying that," Derek snapped. "But you won't say why."

No one else was sitting where Scott was, so they couldn't see Stiles standing at Derek's elbow. But Scott could, and he saw Stiles' eyes go wide, then dart to the side.

Scott knew that tell, and he almost couldn't believe it. Stiles knew why Allison was acting like this, why she was saying the things she was.

And he hadn't told Derek.

He also hadn't told Scott.

What the hell was going on?

"It doesn't matter why," Allison said. She put her hands out to the sides, palms up, in a graceful gesture. "It's just the way the world is."

The room was quiet for a heartbeat. Then Peter fucking Hale had to ruin it by opening his mouth. "To play Devil's advocate for a moment," he said, sauntering into the circle of light. "What's to say that you're not just trying to lull us all into a sense of security?" He took another step towards Allison. She watched him but didn't move. "Biding your time before you take us all down?"

"Oh boy," Stiles whispered.

Allison turned, very slowly. Her eyes were on Peter and it was like the rest of them had ceased to matter. "First off," she said. "Always a bold move to self-advocate."

Peter narrowed his eyes.

"Next." She moved closer to him. "I don't want to hurt anyone in this room. I want everyone to be healthy, and free from harm." Allison moved her head to the side, just a little, baring the smooth white skin of her throat.

Peter swallowed. "There's still the possibility that you're working with Dupont."

Scott could smell the anger in Allison's scent at that. It took her a moment to reply. "I would cut off my own hands before I lifted a finger to help that psychopath," Allison said. She was almost trembling with rage. "He and his group still think I'm your average breakable human, and they went after me yesterday like they wanted to tear me apart." She stopped, let her eyes travel down over Peter, then back up. "When you've got five armed men telling one unarmed girl that they're going to teach her a little respect, what do you think they were going to do?" Her lip curled. "Peter?"

"Allison," Stiles said.

Without another word, Peter turned and walked out of the room. Allison stayed where she was, staring after Peter.

From the couch, Erica let out a nervous laugh. "Are you going to be okay?" she asked Allison.

It took Allison a moment to stop staring and turn her attention to Erica. "I'm fine," she said, and it was an obvious lie. "Are we done, Derek?"

"For now," the man said, oddly subdued.

"Good. What else is on the pack meeting agenda?"

"That was pretty much it," Derek said. "There's a weird lunar eclipse on Halloween next month, but I need to do some more digging on if that means anything."

Allison sighed. "Dead man's moon. I forgot about that."

"What?" Derek said, visibly startled.

"A lunar eclipse two days after a full moon, it's called a dead man's moon."

"By _who?_ "

Allison waved the question away. "I know a guy, he's got a book, I'll dig it out." She turned to the couch. "All right, you four, got anything for the agenda?"

Erica and Jackson glanced at each other. "We have an idea," Erica said to Derek. "You might not like it."

Derek crossed his arms over his chest. "Great opening line."

"We think you should get a cat," Jackson said.

Derek stared at them for so long that Scott wondered if he was having a stroke. "A _what?"_

"A cat," Erica soldiered on. Isaac closed his eyes in pain. "Maybe you wouldn't be so cranky all the time if you had a pet."

Derek's eyebrows were doing something very complicated. "A _what?"_ he said again.

Meanwhile, Scott spotted Allison edging out of the room, unnoticed by the wolves. Scott waited until Derek and Stiles were fully invested in the argument about getting a pack kitten, before slipping off the trolley steps and going after her.

He hadn't had a chance to speak to her in days, and he needed to, so bad.

He just had so many questions.

What was going on with her? Why was she acting so weird? Why had she freaked out so badly at the house when Scott had accidentally crowded her? Why had she gone after Jackson on her own at the lacrosse game, when she had to have known how dangerous it was? Was she really okay after being attacked yesterday?

Who had given her that necklace?

Scott wasn't stupid. He knew that Allison was seeing someone. Her suggestion two weeks ago, that she needed to take some time to focus on herself, that was her way of trying to get him to back off. Which, okay, fine. They'd broken up before Allison went to France for the summer. If Allison wanted him out of her life, that was her choice.

But Scott couldn't figure out who her new boyfriend was.

No one at school, that was certain. For a few dark days, Scott had wondered if it was Stiles; Allison was wearing his clothes all the time, and she was always touching him and smiling at him, and Stiles always smelled so happy when Allison was around.

But then he'd said that out loud to Stiles, and Stiles looked so angry and wrecked, Scott didn't know what to do.

So it wasn't Stiles, and none of the other wolves smelled enough like Allison. Not even Erica, not that Scott thought Allison was into girls, but they had all heard Lydia's annoyed grumblings at the start of the year.

So who was it? Scott knew she'd been sleeping with someone. He knew how Allison was after she'd had sex, just a hint of looseness in her limbs, a satisfied half-smile on her face when no one was watching. The year before, she'd looked like that because of Scott.

Now…

Now Scott knew it was none of his business. Allison was none of his business, she had made that very clear.

But he had to know.

Who had given her that necklace? It was very pretty and Jackson had made appreciative eyes at it, so it probably wasn't a cheap knock-off. She hadn't been wearing it at school on Friday, so it had to be new.

Was it someone at the sheriff's department? That didn't seem likely. Everyone there was old.

Scott didn't understand.

Maybe he'd just ask her, when he found her.

Speaking of which, where was Allison going?

Scott stopped at the end of the long tunnel leading to the old machinery bay. He could see through the cracked window into the large room, to where Allison was walking slowly across the floor, almost as if she was stalking something.

"What do you want?" came a completely unexpected voice, one that made Scott almost jump.

Peter.

Why had Allison followed Peter?

"We hadn't finished our conversation," Allison said. Scott shifted to the side, so he could see both Allison and Peter standing next to a long workbench. The room was bright with light from the setting sun pouring in the windows.

"I don't have anything to say to you," Peter said.

"Then you can be quiet and listen."

Scott's heart sped up. Was Allison in any danger? Would Peter try anything? Scott had better stay where he was in case Allison needed help.

"If you see a hint of Dupont's crew, or if Chris comes after you, you have to let me know."

Scott couldn't see Allison's face, but he could see Peter's, and the man looked outright incredulous. "Why?"

"Because you might be in danger."

"And you'll, what? Ride to my rescue?" The words were too angry to be mocking.

"Yes," came the simple answer. Scott blinked at that. Why was Allison offering to protect Peter?

Peter snarled at Allison, his eyes flashing blue. "Don't," he said. "Don't treat me like your obligation."

Scott went up on his toes, to run out there in case Peter attacked.

"You're not my obligation," Allison said, and to Scott's complete surprise, she put one hand on Peter's cheek. "But you are mine."

Wait.

_What?_

"We might not have meant to end up like this, but we did," Allison went on. Peter had turned his face into her touch, his hand going out to rest on her hip. "I need to keep you safe."

"Is that what you want?" Peter asked, eyes still blue as he stared at Allison.

"I want you safe," she said. "That's all that matters."

Scott was still trying to figure out what the hell was happening, when Peter leaned in and kissed Allison.

Scott froze. Peter was kissing Allison

Even worse, Allison was _kissing Peter back_. Her hands had gone around his shoulders and she was holding him close and it was pretty apparent that she wanted to be there as much as Peter did.

Scot wondered if he was going to throw up.

Allison was sleeping with Peter? Peter Hale? Peter _I'm going to kill my niece and become the alpha and rampage through town_ Hale?

Peter, who had ruined Scott's life and had tried to kill Allison on multiple occasions.

Peter, who Allison had _set on fire_.

Peter, who currently had his hands under Allison's shirt and was lifting her off her feet as they kissed, Allison's hair falling down around them. Allison let out a soft moan and it made Scott want to cry.

Why was Allison involved with Peter?

After an eternity, Peter finally set Allison back on her feet. They had turned enough for Scott to be able to see Allison's face, and the absolutely besotted look on her face turned something hard in Scott's chest.

"How bad?" Peter asked, his hand still under her shirt.

Allison frowned up at him. "What?"

"How bad did they get you last night?"

"Oh." Allison shifted to the side. She traced her hand over her body. "I got kneed in the stomach a few times, punched in the face. Took a boot to the ribs, here." She shivered as Peter put his hand over her side, just under the curve of her breast. "Got another kick to my leg, that one's taking a while to heal. And Dupont was going to kick me in the head but I deflected it. He got me here instead."

She moved Peter's hand from her ribs, to rest between her breasts. Peter stared down between them for a long moment. "Hunters call us animals," he said, finally looking back up to Allison. "When they do this to their own women."

"It won't happen again," Allison said. "Next time, they die."

"You think there's going to be a next time?"

The smile on Allison's face was so tired. "There's always a next time."

Peter leaned in for another kiss. Allison reached for him, pulled her towards him in the same way she had used to reach for Scott.

Feeling more than a little stunned, Scott leaned against the door, thankful beyond measure that the tunnel was pitch black, and that he was far enough away that they couldn't hear his heartbeat. Allison had used to reach for him that way when they were alone together, in bed or in the back of her car, pulling Scott toward the warmth of her body.

He had thought they were special, him and Allison. And now he was watching Allison kiss the man who had ruined his life.

And he couldn't do anything about it.

Finally, Peter pulled away. "So who else is there?" he asked, stepping back. Allison let him go, looking stricken. "Who else are you stringing along to buy you such pretty jewellery?"

He reached for Allison's necklace. She grabbed his hand. "This is a birthday present," she said.

"That's one hell of a birthday present for someone surviving on the charity of the law."

Allison smiled at Peter then, that sharp smile Scott had seen earlier that afternoon. It was still as nerve-wracking. "It's from a friend. You know what friends are, right?"

"Not all friends buy each other presents worth thousands of dollars."

Allison's smile got even sharper. "I could tell you I got this in appreciation for services rendered, would that make you feel better? If this was part of a business transaction?"

It sure as hell didn't make Scott feel any better. Nor Peter, if the suddenly wrecked expression on the man's face was any indication. It almost made Scott feel sorry for him.

Almost.

"But it's not," Allison went on. "It was just a present, from someone with too much money and a sideways understanding of suitability."

"So you're not sleeping with anyone else."

Scott was really far away from Allison and Peter, so the gleam of red in Allison's eyes had to be some trick of the setting sun. "I'm not sleeping with anyone else," she said, so angry. "I don't want anyone else to so much as touch me. Which is probably how we got into this mess in the first place."

Peter's lip curled up. "You did this, I had nothing to do with it."

"That's not what Derek said," Allison snapped, which confused Scott to no end. Did Derek know that Peter and Allison were having sex? Why did Derek know? "Derek said this goes both ways."

"Derek is an idiot," Peter growled.

"Maybe," Allison agreed. "But he isn't wrong. Is he?"

Peter glared at Allison.

"Tell you what." Allison smoothed her hand down Peter's shirt. "We're going to give each other some space, and we'll talk on Wednesday."

"What happens on Wednesday?" Peter asked.

"I'll have some information that might change your mind on a few things."

Peter frowned. "Just tell me now."

"No."

Peter stared some more, then he shook his head. "I hate you," he said, but he didn't sound like he really meant it. "Stay away from me." With an effort, Peter stepped back, and walked off, leaving Allison alone.

Allison put her hand over her face, staring at the floor. When the outside door to the building closed, she flinched. But she didn't move.

Scott did not understand any of what he had just seen. He thought about going over to Allison and demanding to know what was going on, but he couldn't bring himself to move.

After a long time, Allison let her hands drop. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her new phone, the one that had made Stiles gnash his teeth in jealousy over. She lifted the phone to her ear. "Hi, Jarvis. Huh. No, all the ones I knew about were military recruits. Were there any indications that Killian might be recruiting through medical trials?"

She was standing straighter, at attention, shedding the weight of the encounter with Peter. Scott didn't know what was going on, but he needed to get out of there before Allison found him watching her.

Carefully, Scott eased back into the dark of the tunnel, leaving Allison behind to her phone call.

Nothing made sense. Allison and Peter were sleeping together. Derek apparently knew about it. Peter had sounded jealous that someone was giving Allison jewelry, and Allison had been… annoyed? And what mess had Allison and Peter gotten into?

At least Scott knew she wasn't pregnant. That was one of the weirder werewolf tricks, being able to smell when someone was pregnant. Scott had helped out at the hospital over the summer, doing volunteer work when he wasn't working at the vet clinic, and had seen a whole bunch of pregnant people to test his theory out on.

So Allison wasn't pregnant.

But that meant he didn't know what was going on.

Seriously, though. Why _Peter?_

As Scott returned to the main depot, he could hear Isaac saying, "—go off and separate those two?"

Jackson sighed. "How, with cold water?"

"I've seen enough of Peter naked to last me ten lifetimes, thank you," Stiles said.

"Would everyone shut up forever," Derek said, sounding exhausted.

Scott hesitated in the tunnel, his heart sinking. They knew. Everyone knew about Peter and Allison, and no one had told Scott.

Worst of all, Stiles knew. And Stiles hadn't said anything.

That had to be some kind of betrayal of the best friend code.

"Wait," Erica said, suddenly alert. "Stiles, when did you see Peter naked?"

"Last year when he was swanning around town as the Alpha," Stiles said. "And when Allison set him on fire and Derek killed him."

"So." Erica sounded positively gleeful. "Is there a reason that Allison's been looking so, uh. Relaxed?"

Boyd, Isaac and Jackson groaned. "I hate you," Stiles said after a beat. "The next person who makes me think about Peter's dick is going to die, okay?"

"Yes," Derek said repressively.

Scott had to get out of there. Unfortunately, the way to his car was through the middle of the pack. Taking a deep breath, Scott scuffed his shoe against the ground, and strode forward.

The four on the couch jumped at his return. Stiles just stared with wide eyes. "Scott," Derek said.

Scott pasted a smile on his face. "My mom called," he said, knowing everyone could smell the lie. "I gotta get home. See you in school, right?"

"Scott," Stiles said, but Scott could absolutely not listen to any more lies from Stiles right now.

"Bye."

He walked out of the large concrete building, out to the alcove where everyone parked. He was in his car and driving before he let himself think about what had happened.

Earlier that day, all Scott could think about was how much danger Allison was in.

Now, he couldn't stop remembering how she had looked at Peter.

He hated it all so much.

He managed to make it home without crashing. He went inside and went straight up to his bedroom, flopping down face-first on his bed without taking his shoes off.

He hated it all so, so much.

"Scott?"

Scott exhaled into the comforter. "Hi. Mom."

"Can I come in?"

Scott briefly wondered if he could suffocate himself in his pillow, before rolling onto his back. "Sure."

Mom came in and sat on the edge of the bed. "How was your day?" she asked.

Scott blinked at the ceiling. "This is the worst day of my life."

"Oh." Mom frowned at him. "Is it? Because you've had a few really bad days over the last little while."

God, had he ever. Scott thought about it for a moment. "Yeah," he said. "Worse day ever."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Scott sighed, and sat up. Mom was looking a little worried, which wasn't great. "Allison has a new… boyfriend, I guess."

"Oh." Mom didn't appear too surprised.

"Wait, did you know?" Scott blurted out. If _Mom_ knew Allison was sleeping with Peter, Scott was going to jump out the window and never come home again.

"I talked to her about a few things," Mom said carefully. "She didn't tell me who it was."

Scott sagged. "I found out today," he said. "It's the worst person in the world. I hate him so much."

"Did you hate him before?" Mom asked. "Or do you hate him because he's dating Allison?"

"Before." Scott picked at a hole in his jeans. "And to make it worse, Stiles knew and he didn't tell me."

"Oh." Mom let out a breath. "Okay, Scott, we have to have a talk."

Scott stared at her, confused. "We are talking."

"Yes." Mom nodded. "But this is a Talk, talk."

"Great," Scott muttered.

"Okay, I know that Allison was your first girlfriend," Mom began. "And I know you really cared about her. You may even still do."

Scott shrugged.

"But Allison has been through some really rough times recently," Mom continued. "There's a lot on her plate."

Scott thought about the Hunters, and the attack Allison described. "I know."

"Allison needs her space, and I need you to give her that space."

"I am giving her space!" Scott protested.

Mom put her hand on Scott's shoulder. "I'm talking about real space," she said. "Don't try to push her into things right now. Don't tell her that you think she's making mistakes."

"Even if that mistake is having sex with the worst person in town?"

"Is it?" Mom asked. "Is it one of her teachers?"

"No!" Scott protested. "Mom, ew! It's just…" He trailed off. He could tell Mom that Allison was sleeping with Peter Hale.

Then Mom would tell Sheriff Stilinski, and the sheriff could make Peter stop.

And Allison would find out, and she'd hate Scott forever.

The way she'd looked at Peter that afternoon told Scott that.

Scott rubbed his hand over his head. "I really don't like him."

"That's okay." Mom patted his back. "I think we're all legally obliged to hate the person our first love moves onto."

"Did you?"

"Oh yeah." Mom gave him a rueful smile. "I kind of still do."

"Great."

"Love is hard, Scott," Mom went on. "It really is. Especially when so much is happening all at once." She patted his back. "Now, it's getting late, and I have to figure out dinner and finish the rest of the housework. What do you think about meatloaf?"

Scott's stomach growled. "Okay," he said. "What housework?"

"Laundry and vacuuming."

"I'll vacuum," Scott offered. Maybe the noise would help him to get that image of Allison and Peter kissing out of his head.

Mom smiled, quiet and tired. "That's my boy." She stood. "See you downstairs."

He watched her go, then flopped back on the bed. He didn't want to be in the house, vacuuming or otherwise. He wanted to be out in the woods, by himself, running off all the terrible things that were happening. Hunters, and Peter Hale, and whatever was going on with Allison, and school.

Worst of all, it felt like he was losing Stiles to Allison.

Scott scrubbed his hands over his face. Stiles had been Scott's best friend forever, and the idea that Stiles would pick Allison over him, hurt so bad.

Scott didn't know what to do.

He dragged himself to his feet. Maybe, tomorrow after work, Scott would go for a run in the woods, all by himself. He'd been meaning to check out the part of the preserve off to the west, where none of the other wolves ever went.

In particular, he wanted to go back to that really old tree stump he'd found over the summer, the one that was big enough to lie on. It was cool, and Scott hadn't even told Stiles about it.

Maybe it would be something he could keep for himself. Maybe Scott was being petty, but he wanted something of his own, just for a little bit.

"Scott," Mom called. "The carpet isn't going to vacuum itself!"

"I'm coming!" Scott called back. He pulled off his sweatshirt, and ran downstairs.

If he didn't have Stiles in his life, Scott would still find a way to get things done.

Maybe tomorrow would be a better day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, wolves can tell when humans are pregnant.
> 
> Allison has introduced two key things in this chapter that are both completely accurate, and will come back to haunt her in the chapters to come. Writing is fun.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allison's paranoia drives her up into the woods on the night of the new moon, and she discovers more about the ghosts haunting the Hale house. A car ride with Natasha turns into an interrogation Allison could do without. There are developments on the Extremis front. Lastly, an awkward encounter at school leads Allison and Lydia into the most dangerous situation of all.

* * *

Allison woke suddenly in her darkened bedroom, the only illumination the faint blue screensaver on the laptop. She wasn't sure what had pulled her back to consciousness, but she was wide awake in an instant.

Keeping still, Allison strained to listen. There were no sounds in the house save for two very faint heartbeats – no footsteps, no movement, no elevated heart-rates of someone sneaking down the hall.

Slowly, Allison crawled out of bed, her hand going automatically for the hunting knife beside her pillow. On silent feet, she crept over to open the bedroom door.

She stood there for a very long time, listening to Noah's and Stiles' heartbeats as they slept, to the faint hum of the refrigerator, to the low rumble of the water heater in the basement. Outside, a car drove by, never slowing.

Eventually, Allison stepped back into her room and closed the door. Whatever had woken her, had to have been a dream. Given the way her life had been going recently, she was glad she didn't remember it.

She went back to sit on her bed. She'd stayed up late working with Jarvis on the Extremis problem, trying to find a link between the four bombers that they could use to find Killian. She didn't think she'd helped all that much, but Jarvis had said that her contributions were valuable. She must have passed out at some point, after the previous night of very little sleep.

Allison considered going back to work, but she didn't have any new ideas for Jarvis to play with. She'd done all her homework while distracted by the news on Friday night, and anyone she could talk to should be asleep, all the little wolves a-snooze in their beds at this close to four in the morning.

She had a faint and distant memory of something Noah had once said to her and Stiles, back in the very early days of living with the Stilinskis the first time around. Something about that time in the early hours of the morning, when you couldn't sleep for the howling of your thoughts.

The hour of the wolf.

Allison closed the laptop. Maybe that was what had woken her. The wolf inside her itched to be free, to run, to fight, to take down her enemies. Kill Dupont, kill Aldrich Killian, protect people. That was who she had been as Alpha for so many years. Whenever Shuri's diplomacy and Carol's pragmatism wasn't enough, when Bucky's planning wasn't enough, they'd sent Allison in with her fists and her knives to solve the problems.

And Allison hadn't stabbed anything in over a week.

"Stop it," she said to herself. Noah had told her to be safe, to stay inside, where Dupont couldn't get to her. All day, she'd been tucked in buildings, surrounded by people who were oh so worried about her safety, and it grated on her.

At least Brodie hadn't treated her like she was fragile. If anything, he'd made her carry heavy boxes around the archives so he 'wouldn't risk a back injury'.

But now, with the wolf howling inside her, Allison needed to get _out_.

It was doubtful that Dupont had an eye on the house, at least not the way Allison would leave it. Moving silently, she dressed in her running gear, tying back her hair into a braid.

Where could she go? What should she do? She turned around to consider. Her eyes fell on the second cell phone on the bedside table, the one Jarvis had given her for _redundancies._

Maybe Allison should stash the phone somewhere safe, in case she got caught away from home and needed help.

Not at school; there were phones and witnesses at school. Not the sheriff's station, for very much the same reasons. But if Allison were caught outside, away from everyone, where could she go as a last resort?

And the answer to that was, as it so often was at this point in the timeline, the Hale house.

It wasn't a great idea, but it was an idea. Allison gathered up the spare phone and a couple of her knives, rolled them in an emergency t-shirt with a twenty-dollar bill, then shoved the bundle in her backpack.

Lastly, she picked up her other phone and sent a quick message to Jarvis. _I know it's late or early or something, but I have to do something. don't be alarmed if I start moving really quickly away from home ok_

With that, Allison pocketed her phone, slung on her backpack, tucked a throwing knife into her pocket, stepped into her sneakers, and snuck out the window. Then she snuck back in the window and wrote a quick note to Noah that she left on the bedroom floor, before exiting again, this time completing the drop to the backyard.

Allison had made it all the way to the edge of the park before she received a response from Jarvis. For good measure, she put on a burst of alpha speed to make it deep among the trees before stopping to check her phone.

_Please be safe. I am not noting any movement from the monitored cell phones or vehicles. May I ask what your mission is at this time of night?_

Allison crouched beside a large rock. The forest was full of sounds, nocturnal animals and the occasional bat, insects, wind through the leaves. The sound was like a symphony in Allison's ears. _Gotta make a resupply point up in the woods. Hope it's ok if I leave the other phone there._

The response was instant this time. _Do you anticipate needing to access a cache in the woods?_

_I expect the unexpectable :)_

With that, Allison locked the phone and continued on her sprint through the forest.

It took a while to circle up to the Hale house through the cover of the forest. The house itself was dark, the new moon lurking somewhere in the night sky overhead.

It was the dark of the moon, and Allison's blood stirred.

Carefully, Allison stepped closer to the house. She was conscious that the last time she had been here, Laura Hale's ghost had not taken kindly to her. Was Laura's ghost still here? Was Talia's?

Should Allison call out to greet them?

After listening very hard for any indication of predators, human or otherwise, Allison said in a whisper. "Laura? Talia? It's Allison."

Silence. Even the normal nighttime sounds had faded, leaving only the wind behind.

That… wasn't good.

Slowly, Allison turned around, but there was no sign of the ghost wolf. As she completed her rotation, something moved just inside the house's front door, and Allison went still, her heart hammering.

It was Talia.

Swallowing, Allison took a step forward. "Hi." Another step. "Can I go into the house? I need to stash something."

Talia didn't move. It was like she was just there, had always been there, and would always be there, a moment frozen in time.

Taking the lack of reaction for as much of a _yes_ as she was going to get, Allison slowly climbed the stairs into the house.

The scent of burned wood and decay and old blood assaulted Allison's senses. Inside the house, on this dark of a night, not even her alpha eyes could make out the room. She thumbed at her phone to light up the screen enough to cast a soft glow. Talia still stood off to the side, staring out the front door.

"Why don't you go outside?" Allison asked, making her way carefully over to the fireplace in the living room. "If Laura's out there, why are you in here?"

Between heartbeats, Talia moved, appearing next to Allison by the fireplace. Ghosts, Allison decided, were strange.

"I know that everyone else can come in the house," Allison went on, kneeling to pry up a few of the old broken bricks from the back of the fireplace. "Derek and Peter and everyone."

Allison retrieved the bundle and tucked it down, then put the bricks back on top. The result was a dissolute jumble left over from the fire, nothing to pay any attention to.

Talia knelt beside Allison, her hands on her knees, her eyes red, her hair loose around her face. Allison looked at her sidelong. There was something she hadn't noticed the first two times she'd seen Talia, and that was that Talia's fingers were bloodied, her fingernails broken, like she had tried to claw her way to freedom.

Allison had to breathe around the agony from that realization. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "That you died."

Talia reached out a hand, those sooty and bloodied fingers hovering beside Allison's cheek.

Then she was gone.

"I'm sorry," Allison said again to an empty house. She put her backpack back on, and climbed to her feet.

It was time for Allison to go home, back to the living.

In the entranceway, however, Allison paused. There was another scent in the house, something faint and familiar.

…MacDonald's?

Allison yanked her throwing knife out of its sheath and went to investigate.

In the far corner of the house, on the other side from where Talia and Kate had died, Allison discovered an old MacDonald's bag, cheeseburger wrapper crumpled inside. The bag had about it the faint scent of unwashed werewolf.

Oh, crap. Had there been unknown omegas hiding out in the house? That was the last thing they needed. Allison was going to have to talk to Derek about this.

She put the bag back where she'd found it. No need to leave a note. If the werewolf came back, they'd be able to smell her scent. Maybe that would be enough to drive them off.

Of course, if they smelled her scent, maybe they'd find her cache.

Allison sighed. There were two ways to throw a werewolf off a simple transfer scent, and Allison was _not_ going to start peeing in the burned out husk of the Hale house.

That left the other option.

Tucking her phone away, out of the reach of any spatter, Allison dug the tip of her knife into her arm, deep enough to draw a thin stream of blood. She dripped all the way back to the entrance, pausing to leave a little blood pool to make a point, then continued her half-hearted bloodletting down the steps and out into the grassy area in front of the house.

She was just wondering if she'd spilled enough blood to fully mask her scent, when a mouth full of sharp fangs closed around her arm.

"Laura!" Allison exclaimed as the ghostly wolf materialized to yank Allison off-balance. She could feel a rough tongue over the gash, teeth digging into her arm, and oh god, those teeth really were breaking her skin this time, sinking into her flesh. Instinctively, the alpha rose, burning hot with anger as she snarled at Laura, reaching out to push the wolf away.

Laura's teeth sank deeper, and the wolf shook Allison, knocking her to the dirt. Allison lashed out, kicking, and to her shock her foot impacted the wolf's side. With a snap, the ghost let go of Allison's arm and sat back, licking blood off its slightly glowing muzzle.

Cradling her arm, Allison sat up. "What the hell?" she demanded. "What did I ever do to you?"

The ghost wolf cocked its head. For all that it had no heartbeat or scent, it looked scarily real, in a way that Talia had not.

"What would you want blood for, anyway?" Allison asked. She prodded the fang marks in her arm. There didn't appear to be any damage to her tendons, and the bone wasn't broken, but the wounds were deep and _hurt_.

The wolf laid down, its nose touching Allison's knee.

Its very solid nose.

Allison froze. "Oh, fuck, is that what gives ghosts their power-up?"

The wolf looked at Allison with glowing red eyes.

"What gives, Laura?" Carefully, Allison reached out her uninjured hand to touch the top of the wolf's head. The ghostly fur felt real under her fingers. "Oh, _mon petit loup-garou._ "

Then, to add to the shocks of the night, Laura growled at her.

"Did you make noise?" Allison asked, leaning in to scritch the top of Laura's head. The wolf pushed up into the contact. "Hell."

They sat like that for a long time, Allison scratching Laura's head and ears. After a while, Laura lifted her head to lick at Allison's injured arm.

"No more biting," Allison chided. The wolf just ran her tongue over the skin. "These are healing slower than normal."

If anything, the wolf looked smug.

"You're a handful." Allison shifted over, to sit in the lee of Laura's body. The wolf felt so real. "What are we going to do now? Can anyone else see you or am I the only lucky one?"

Another lick.

"Can you shift back into your human form?" Allison went on. "You were human when you, um. Died."

A growl rose to a whine.

"But then Derek bound you and buried you in wolf form." Allison leaned back, feeling the solid body pressing against her side. "Is that why you're like this?

Laura shoved her head under Allison's hand, and Allison obligingly scratched.

"I never thought about ghosts much." Allison looked out at the dark forest all around them. "After the Snap, it hurt too much to think about ghosts. And my dad… he's not the kind of guy who'd end up as a ghost. If he was, he'd find a way to bring himself back to life."

Laura yawned.

"But then I guess Peter was a ghost when he tricked Lydia into bringing him back to life." This earned Allison a growl. "It wasn't my idea. Peter's always had a weird penchant for back-up plans."

In the distance, Allison heard the faint tread of four feet over the forest floor; a deer. Laura looked up and around.

"Haven't you taken enough blood for one night?" Allison asked. Laura laid her head on Allison's knee. "Just instincts, I guess."

Across the clearing, there was another faint flash of paleness in the doorway to the Hale house. Talia was back. Laura was on her feet in a flash, staring toward her mother.

Allison's mouth was dry. "Go to her," Allison urged. Laura and Talia both remained still. "Why can't you go to her?"

Laura slowly walked forward, a huge shape in the darkness. She walked all the way over to the foot of the steps up to the house, and sat. Talia didn't move, looking down at her daughter with glowing red eyes.

Something terrible occurred to Allison. Laura was the way she was when she was buried, soon after she'd died. Talia looked like she had been in a fire, but when Talia died, the house had been lined with mountain ash, and none of the wolves had been able to escape.

And now, seven years later, Talia Hale was still trapped in the house.

Allison got to her feet. "You can come out," she called to Talia. "The mountain ash is gone, the firefighters broke the line. Derek can come and go."

Talia faded slightly.

Allison rubbed her hand over the bites on her arm. The skin was still raw, but the bleeding had stopped. "Is there anything I can do?"

Talia walked back into the house, out of sight.

Laura sat back on her haunches and howled up at the sky. It was a true alpha howl, deep and echoing, and it held so much despair and pain that tears came to Allison's eyes. Laura sounded so alone that Allison responded on instinct, taking a deep breath and letting out a howl of her own.

Their voices wove together in the thick moonless night, full of sadness and loss. Allison let herself think about losing her mother, about how Clara had died at the hands of an Argent, like Talia had died at the hands of an Argent, and how it wasn't fair.

It wasn't _fair._

Allison let her voice die away as tears overwhelmed her. It wasn't fair, nothing in her life was fair. She had lost her mother, her father, her family and her friends and the entire universe. She hadn't wanted any of this.

But here she was.

It took her a while to realize that she had fallen to her knees, and that was only because Laura came over to lick the tears off her face. "I'm sorry you died," Allison said, pressing her forehead against Laura's. The wolf's breath was like ice. "I'm sorry I didn't come back soon enough to save you."

Laura licked her cheek again.

"I have to go home," Allison said. She stood up. "With my luck, all the Hunters in town are going to try to find out who's howling up here." She rubbed the top of Laura's head one last time. "Maybe I'll see you again, ghost."

Laura yipped.

Allison made sure she had her knife and her phone, and with one last backwards glance at the house and the clearing with the grey wolf standing there motionless, she started running.

She was not expecting for Laura to run after her.

"Isn't this against ghost rules?" Allison asked the wolf easily pacing her. She jumped up and over a log. Laura just ran right through the tree. "Oh, come on!"

Laura kept running.

They made it down to the hill and looped around to come out of the woods near the cul-de-sac where the Stilinskis lived. It was only when they neared the streetlights that Laura started to hang back.

Allison paused behind the large oak tree that hid her from the road. "Is this it for you?" she asked.

Laura hesitated, tried to step towards the light, then danced back into the shadows.

"Okay." Allison held out her hand. Laura returned long enough to lick the blood off the back of her wrist. "This has been a weird night. I'd tell you to stay safe, but you're already dead."

Laura woofed, then dashed back into the darkness.

Hoping that she hadn't just set loose a bloodthirsty ghost-wolf on the town, Allison headed for home.

The faintest edge of light was returning to the sky by the time Allison climbed in her window. The note on the ground was untouched, so Allison tossed it in the trash, unloaded her pockets, got back into her pajamas, and only then tiptoed out into the hall. Stiles and Noah were still sleeping.

It was the work of a few minutes for Allison to wash the last of the blood off her arm and scrub under her nails to get rid of the dirt and ash from the house. Laura's fang marks had finally healed, but the flesh was raw and scabbing. Allison would need long sleeves for at least a day, to avoid awkward questions.

She sighed. She was probably stuck on long-sleeve duty for at least four more days, to avoid anyone seeing the bruises from Dupont's crew were gone.

Maybe she really should talk to Natasha about getting some sort of photostatic veil to duplicate all her injuries.

Or, she could just stop getting hurt.

Good luck with that.

Allison finished up in the bathroom and snuck back to her bedroom. She pulled on a sweatshirt before climbing back into bed, feeling as wide awake as she ever had.

 _Do you remember being a ghost?_ She texted Peter. Then she opened up her messages with Jarvis again. _I had an idea. I know you said the bombers didn't really have any family, but they had to have had friends? Old army buddies? Do you think they ever talked about what they were going to do with Extremis?_

 _An excellent suggestion_ , Jarvis wrote back. _What made you think of it?_

 _I know teenagers, and none of them can keep their mouths shut around their friends,_ Allison wrote. _All the bombers are under 25. If they'd lost a leg and then suddenly they had the offer of getting it back, don't you think they'd tell someone?_

 _They may have,_ Jarvis conceded.

 _If they told their friends about it maybe they included some details about where it happened or how they found out._ Allison rolled onto her back. _Maybe it'll be enough to find out where all this is happening._

There was a brief pause before Jarvis replied. _If you had something happen to you, would you tell your friends?_

About as subtle as a brick, but a valid question. _I think it depends on what it was,_ Allison wrote. _If I found out that my real parents weren't who I thought they were, I would. Once I had DNA evidence._

_Are you referring to the DNA sample that you gave to Agent Barton?_

_Yup._ Allison considered. _Although like I said, Stiles and them already found all the news articles about Clara's death and are convinced I look just like her._

_You do. There are several photographs in my servers of Clara Vasquez. I am sending them to you._

Allison sat up. Her mouth was dry as she typed. _Why?_

_In case you want to see them._

_I do._ Allison closed her eyes for a moment. Oh, god, did she want to see her mother.

_You can view them on the laptop. I have also included footage from a recent industry event at which Anna Vasquez, Clara's younger sister and the CEO of Vasquez Media, gave the keynote. If you are indeed the child stolen 17 years and 358 days ago, you have family beyond Mr. Stark._

Allison pulled the laptop over, opening the lid. The computer activated immediately, all the tabs illuminating. A folder opened to show thumbnails of several familiar pictures; all the photos that Tony had kept of Clara, and shared with Allison over the years.

"Jarvis," Allison said in a whisper.

"Yes?" Jarvis replied.

Allison tapped one image, and it enlarged to show Clara, seven months pregnant, holding a small stuffed wolf toy over her baby bump. She was grinning at the camera like she had just been told the world's greatest joke.

Clara had been murdered less than a month after this photo was taken.

"Allison?" Jarvis prompted.

Allison stared at the screen. "Do you ever get tired?"

"No, I do not. Why do you ask?"

Allison closed her eyes. "I'm just so tired all the time," she said.

"You could get more rest," Jarvis said with only a hint of parental disapproval at her hours.

"Sometimes I think if I sleep more, it'll just make everything worse." She rubbed her eyes. "But I should try to catch a couple of hours now. I have to be at work by ten."

"Is there anything I can do to put your mind at ease?" Jarvis asked.

Allison looked back at the screen, minimizing Clara's photo and pulling up the analytics running in the corner. "No, I think we're working on all that we can. If you need me for anything, call me and I'll get back online."

"That is not entirely what I meant, but it will suffice," Jarvis said ambiguously. "Until next time."

" _Dasvidaniya_ , Jarvis." Allison closed the laptop lid, leaving the room in darkness once more.

She reached for her hunting knife, neatly sheathed against any accidental stabbings, and closed her eyes. The adrenaline from the run in the woods and the encounter with the two ghostly Hales had faded, leaving Allison exhausted and a little sick to her stomach.

Sleep. She needed more sleep, and then everything would be better in the morning.

She didn't exactly have another choice.

So she lay still, and waited for sleep to come.

* * *

"Allison?"

Allison jerked upright, snatching up her knife before she was even awake. "What?"

"Oh god!" Stiles exclaimed, jumping back from where he had poked his head through her bedroom door. "Don't kill me!"

Allison let the knife drop. As if she'd be as careless as that. "Don't come in my room and wake me up!"

Stiles peered around the door. "Deputy Rushman's downstairs and she wants to know if you're going to work today."

Allison pushed the hair out of her eyes. The room was light. "What fucking time is it?"

"Nine-thirty."

That was a little surprising. She'd slept for almost four hours. The blood loss up at the house must have taken its toll. "I'm getting up."

"So." Stiles didn't move. "What should I tell the deputy?"

"That I'll be down in a few minutes."

"Okay." Stiles didn't move.

Allison glared at him. "What?"

"So, uh, I was thinking of asking Derek over for dinner tonight."

"And?"

"Is that okay?"

Allison hauled herself out of bed. "Why wouldn't it be okay?"

"Because you two were at each other's throats last night?"

Allison waved that away as she stumbled over to the closet. "We're fine."

"Are you sure?"

Allison dragged out a clean t-shirt. The sweatshirt she had on clashed horribly with the green scarf she'd have to wear, but she hadn't had the time to wash any of her other long-sleeved shirts. Also, her jeans were still dirty. "You'll know when we're not okay."

Stiles made a complicated hand gesture. " _How?"_

Allison threw the t-shirt on the bed. "Because one of three topics will come up." She held out a finger. "Kate." A second finger. "The fire." And a third finger. "One of us accusing the other of putting you in danger."

Stiles blinked. "Why would that be a thing?"

Allison pushed him towards the door. "Because Derek may act like a monk trying to uphold his vow of silence by grunting instead, but he does care about you."

Stiles caught the doorframe as Allison tried to shove him into the hall. "But why would that matter with you?"

Allison stopped and stared at him. "Because I care about you too, idiot."

Stiles grinned. "You like me."

"Less by the minute." Allison shoved him again, and Stiles moved back enough for her to close the door. "Tell Derek to make more of that potato salad for dinner!"

Allison gave her clothes and hair the sniff-test, figured she was probably clean enough to be around humans for the day, then pulled on her outfit. After packing her pockets with knives, BHSD ID card, and a lonely five-dollar bill, she grabbed her phone on the way out the door. She was just winding the green silk scarf around her neck as she hit the bottom of the stairs.

"Finally," Natasha said from where she was lounging in the living room.

"If I'm keeping you from patrol," Allison said acerbically, "I can make my own way to work."

"I'm on assignment," Natasha said. "The makeup kit's in the hall."

Allison looked at Natasha for a long moment. She hadn't known Natasha as well as the other Avengers, before the Snap, and she didn't understand the woman. But something about Natasha was a little more polished than the day before, and Allison didn't like it.

"Fine," Allison said, and went down the hall.

Instead of taking the makeup kit into the kitchen, Allison sat down cross-legged in the hall. Stiles followed her. "What are you doing?"

"What I'm told." Allison yanked the kit open and reached for the powder compact.

"That's, uh, not something you're known for in this town."

"Haven't you heard?" Allison patted the foundation over the side of her face that was supposed to be bruised. "I'm supposed to be a good little girl while the grown-ups make decisions about my life without me."

Stiles sank to the ground beside Allison. "What's wrong?" he asked in a voice too quiet for Natasha to hear.

"I don't know." Allison swapped the compact for eyeliner. "There are too many things that I don't understand."

"So, like always."

"Not like always." Allison bent closer to the mirror. "There's aliens and terrorists and I do not know who I am, and I am losing my mind."

"So." Stiles held out the mascara. "Like always."

Allison elbowed him without ruining the line of her eyeliner. "Maybe I'm tired."

"You're tired? I'm tired." Stiles rummaged through the make-up kit while Allison applied mascara. "I keep thinking about more terrorist attacks and I think I might actually go insane." He pulled out a tube of lipstick. "Is this my colour?"

Allison looked at it. "You're fair and that's too blue." She grabbed another tube. "You need a warmer colour. Try this."

"You used to wear lipstick last year," Stiles said, uncapping the tube. He held it next to his face while he peered in the mirror. "And blush and makeup all the time."

Great. Another piece of the Allison Argent she was supposed to remember being. "Maybe I got tired of being forced to pay money to align with meaningless feminine beauty standards." She stuffed all the various tubes back into the case. "Like, my skin is perfect and my eyelashes are dark enough. Why bother with this bullshit?"

"Lydia and Erica like it," Stiles protested.

"Lydia is still trying to be like all the other girls. And Erica's overcompensating from before the bite." She held out her hand for the lipstick. "It doesn't matter. Everyone's a complete disaster in high school, Stiles, you know that. Everyone's just trying to make it through alive."

"It sucks." Stiles sat back. "You look weird with all that stuff on."

"That's the point." Allison closed the case. "If everyone's focusing on how different I look with makeup on, they're not going to be looking for my missing bruises."

"That's pretty much it." Natasha had appeared. "Are you ready to go?"

Allison looked at Stiles. "You going to be okay today?"

"Sure," Stiles said with a shrug. "I have homework. And Derek might come over before dinner."

"Good." Allison rose to her feet, then reached down to pull Stiles up. "Remember, there are condoms in the medicine cabinet."

Stiles' expression went through the first four stages of grief, hanging up on _acceptance_. "Why would you tell me that?" Then, a shiver of revulsion. "Oh god, how do you know that?"

Allison put her arm around Stiles' shoulder and squeezed. He squeaked. "Given everything, would you rather I _not_ know that?"

Stiles whimpered. "I hate you."

Allison released him. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"At this point, I'm not sure I want to know what that would entail."

"Come on," Natasha interrupted. "Time to go to work."

"See you at dinner," Allison said to Stiles, and headed out of the house. Natasha was on her heels.

Allison pulled out her phone as they drove towards the station. Her phone was packed with notifications, over fifty new messages. Most were from the pack group chat, while there was one new message from Peter, sent at six that morning. She opened it.

_What the hell kind of question is that?_

Well, Allison supposed she deserved that. Asking how it felt to be a ghost was a rather personal matter. _Maybe I'm wondering what will happen when I die._

Allison went to scroll through the group chat, which was primarily focusing on the early morning howling heard up in the forest. There was mass speculation, of course, and complete radio silence from Derek.

Allison wondered about that.

"Anything fun going on?" Natasha asked as the car swung west.

"Teenagers," Allison said. She locked the phone and tucked it into her back pocket. "It's all fun and games until someone loses an eye."

"Mmm-hmm." Natasha slowed as the traffic started to bunch up near the rail yard. "I heard from the lab, the DNA results should be in by tomorrow morning."

Allison's stomach squirmed. "That was fast."

"They put a rush on the results." Natasha frowned at the cars ahead of her. The clang of the train signals reverberated over the air. "Is there anything you want to talk about before that happens?"

"No."

"No questions about Tony?"

"Not really." Allison turned in her seat to look at Natasha. "I know he's still busy. Jarvis told me that he and Steve are back in Malibu, working on the terrorism stuff."

"You and Jarvis talk a lot, don't you?"

"So?"

Natasha drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. "I never knew Jarvis to be overly chatty."

Allison was silent. She didn't know what game Natasha was playing.

"So," Natasha went on. Off to the right, the train lumbered slowly down the tracks, hauling a string of cars away from the rail yard. "Where did you sneak off to last night?"

There it was, Natasha revealing her first card. Now Allison knew that Natasha had the house under surveillance. "None of your business."

Natasha turned her head. "Your safety is my business."

"No, actually, Tony's safety is your business," Allison replied. "You came to Beacon Hills to see if I was his kid, because of the impact it might have on him. My wellbeing has nothing to do with your assignment."

"You think that if you get hurt, Tony will be, what, okay with that?"

Allison didn't move. "You told me yesterday that Tony thinks I'm a malevolent player in this game," she pointed out. "Tony Stark hasn't reached out to me in any way, shape or form. If I were to go off a cliff, I really don't have any evidence that he'd give it a moment's thought. So I'll say it again, where I went last night is none of your business."

"Did you go off to see your boyfriend?"

"What boyfriend?"

"Peter Hale."

"I have no idea who that is."

"Derek's uncle?"

"Derek who?"

Natasha let out a short breath, either an indication that she was getting impatient, or that she was changing tactics. "Did you go off to meet someone else?"

"Agent Romanoff, I simply went for an early morning run. I can say with absolute truth that I did not meet a living soul."

"You're sure?" Natasha looked at sideways. "You didn't happen to duck out to go meet an old friend?"

For all that Allison was used to the machinations of devious minds, it still took her a moment to realize what Natasha was asking. A wave of cold anger washed over her. Natasha was asking about Bucky.

Except that wasn't what this was. Natasha was asking Allison if she was sneaking out of the house to fraternize with a _known hostile agent_.

And with that, Allison knew who was pulling the strings on this interrogation.

With alpha speed, Allison pulled on the door handle with her right hand as she unbuckled her seat-belt with her left, spilling bonelessly out of the car to avoid Natasha's grabbing fingers.

"You tell Nick Fury that if he wants that question answered, he needs to come up to Beacon Hills and ask me to my face," Allison snapped. She slammed the car door and bolted towards the fenced-in rail yard. She was up and over the chain link fence before Natasha could react.

God, why was everything in her life so fucking complicated?

Keeping an eye out for train cars, Allison skirted the yard at a run, making for the corner of the yard that debouched onto the forest behind the sheriff's station. Natasha would have to wait for the train to finish its crossing before making the loop down the road out front of the station, while Allison could be there in just a few minutes.

She needed to talk to Noah, and now.

A distant shout of _Hey!_ sounded just as Allison was climbing over the fence, but she was already on the other side and in the trees before any more calls came. Even running human slow, Allison would be at the station quickly.

She tried to remember the first time she had met Nick Fury. She thought it might have been at Tony's funeral, very briefly. She'd crashed into him about a year later, after Bucky dragged her newly alphaed self into Avengers headquarters and announced that he had found Sam a new sidekick. Of course, that Nick Fury had already weathered Hydra's destruction of SHIELD and the Snap. Now, Fury still thought SHIELD was the good guys.

Or he may have. Allison had never been sure what went through the man's head.

Whatever. If Nick Fury wanted to focus on Allison as a possible threat, he could do it without Natasha abusing the authority of the Beacon Hills Sheriff's Department.

Allison emerged from the trees and jogged across the parking lot to the station's back door. With a quick swipe of her access card, she entered the building. The back desk, positioned to keep an eye on the holding cells, was currently staffed by Deputy Cynthia Wu. She frowned up at Allison's entrance. "What are you doing back here?"

Allison jerked her thumb over her shoulder. "I trespassed through the rail yard because there's a long-haul train crossing Bonaventura and I didn't want to be late."

Wu sighed. "You'd think the city wouldn't have shoved HQ behind a train crossing."

"I hear the Hale property trust offered to sell the city some land closer to City Hall back in eighty-nine," Allison said as she continued down the hall. "Someone should talk to Derek Hale about that."

"Maybe you should," Wu called after her.

"Yes, what a swimming proposition." Allison turned the corner, nearly collided with a gaggle of deputies, and managed to save both her balance and her dignity with some quick stepping.

"Nice move, you should go into gymnastics," said one of the deputies.

"Clown school has a better return on investment," Allison retorted, and continued on her way.

Noah's office was empty, but the desk clerk told Allison to check the break room. There, she found Noah sitting hunched over a file, half-eaten granola bar in his hand.

"Allison?" Noah said, frowning as she dropped into the chair beside him.

Allison crossed her arms over her chest. "Did you tell Natasha to trap me in a patrol car and interrogate me about national security?"

Noah put the granola bar down. "No, of course not." He looked concerned. "Is that what happened?"

"It is," Allison said icily. "Look, either I'm under investigation by a member of this precinct, in which case you should take away my access card, or I'm not, and I can get to work. Which is it?"

Noah sat back. "You're not under investigation," he said. "What happened?"

Reluctantly, Allison explained the conversation in the car, which meant she had to explain about sneaking out of the house. Since it was Noah, she told him what she had done up at the house, sans any mention of the ghosts.

Noah put his head in his hands at the point where Allison described cutting her arm to mask her scent to whatever werewolf noses had been hiding out in the house, but he held his tongue until Allison described a successful re-entry to the Stilinski house.

Then he sat back. The break room was quiet for a full minute. At one point, Brodie marched in, took one look at Noah and Allison, and marched out again.

Allison sat, hands folded on the table. She didn't know what Noah was going to say, but he probably wouldn't actually kick her out of the house. Maybe he'd yell at her or something.

But he just said, "So if things go to hell, you're headed to the Hale house?"

"Yes," Allison said. "It's defensible, accessible by vehicle, and easy to escape from on all sides."

Noah blew out a breath. "Okay." He rubbed his hand over his face. "Okay. Just."

Allison waited while Noah struggled to put his thoughts into words.

"Two things." Noah looked at her, very serious. "I'm not going to tell you not to do that again, because I know you're willing to accept the consequences of being out there on your own."

It was a chiding, so slight as to be ignored, but Allison felt the sting. She held Noah's gaze, and nodded. "I am."

"Okay. One. Please don't take Stiles up with you into the woods after dark."

"Deal," Allison said instantly. Stiles was a great tactician and good with an axe in dangerous situations, but he was still human-slow.

"And two, if you do need to go out in the middle of the night, please leave a note outside your door."

"Why?"

Noah made a face in her direction. "Because I have two teenagers in my house and I'm not about to start opening closed doors."

Allison wasn't sure if he was talking about walking in on someone changing, or if there had been some sort of terrible masturbation incident. Since the latter would include thinking about Stiles and masturbation in the same sentence, Allison decided firmly that Noah meant the former. "Sure."

"Okay." Noah closed his folder. "Why don't you head on back to the archives. I'll talk to Natasha."

"Okay." Allison got up. Her stomach rumbled, but she just put on a brave face. It wasn't Noah's fault that she had slept through breakfast. "See you later."

Allison made it to the archives without running into any SHIELD agents. Brodie gave her the stink-eye as she slipped into the room. "You're late."

"Yup." Allison looked at the man. "What do you want me to do?"

He handed her a slip of paper. "I think you need to read this file."

Allison looked at the series of numbers. "Any reason?"

"It's always best to have the full picture," he said enigmatically.

"Okay," Allison said slowly. She waited, in case Brodie had any additional mysterious sayings to throw her way, but he just stared at her until she edged out of sight behind one of the large bookcases.

The "file" wasn't a file at all, but a row of boxes sitting tucked out of the way on a shelf, gathering dust. Allison's heart sank when she saw the name and the date on the evidence boxes.

_HALE: 2004-04-23_

It was the report into the investigation of the fire that had killed so many people at the Hale house.

Allison put the paper in her pocket. She knew how the filing system worked, and reached for the box that held the written reports. The photographs and the physical evidence, she didn't dare touch.

It didn't matter that everyone who had been involved in the fire was now dead, or at least in Kate's case, beyond the reach of human justice.

It was that Allison couldn't do that to Peter, not for what the boxes may hold of him, or his wife and his children.

But the written reports were just words.

Allison carried the box to the worktable and sat down to compose herself. There had to be a reason that Brodie had told her to look at it. And a brownie's reasoning was not something to be disregarded lightly.

To delay a little longer, Allison pulled out her phone. More chatter on the group chat, a directive from Lydia that they had to sit together at lunch on Monday, a note from Stiles that Derek was making potato salad for dinner but he was grouchy about it, and four messages from Peter, sent over the course of five minutes.

_What happens when you die? Everything stops. That's it._

_Did you see Dupont again?_

_Why are you asking about ghosts? Did Derek put you up to this?_

_Why were you texting me at five in the morning?_

Allison sighed. She tapped out a reply. _Derek put me up to nothing. I was curious. You're the only person I know who spent time as a ghost who might be willing to talk to me about it._

Growling, Allison put her phone on the table and opened the file box. Trust Peter to be able to drag her out of a funk, right back into _practically irritated_.

Allison started reading.

By the time Peter texted her back, she was ready to tear her hair out at the terrible police work on the Hale arson. Terrible didn't even begin to describe it. More like _criminally inadequate_ , verging on _professional misconduct_.

Allison could have conducted a better investigation, and she had been ten at the time.

Frustrated, Allison snatched up her phone to see Peter's response.

_Who do you know who spent time as a ghost who isn't willing to talk about it?_

Oh god, why was Peter so perceptive about her phrasing at the least opportune times? Allison jabbed at the button on the screen to call him. He picked up immediately. "Who is it?" he demanded.

"Allison."

"Yes, I have call display," Peter said curtly. "Who else do you know who was a ghost?"

"Living? Just you. Resurrection isn't all that successful a backup plan," Allison said. Her eyes ran over the page describing how all the empty gas cans around the house at the time of the fire had to be a coincidence.

"What ghosts have you met?"

"France is a deeply haunted country," Allison said, sidelining the truth. "Maybe I was out for a walk one day this summer and ran across the ghost of a small peasant girl who died during the French Revolution."

There was a clattering sound over the phone, then a huff. "Then maybe you know more about ghosts than I do."

"I thought I'd ask." Allison sat back. Hearing Peter's voice was enough to make her wish that she was with him. Even if they were on the outs, at least she would be in the same room as him, seeing him, smelling him, knowing he was safe.

"Where are you?"

"Work. Where are you?"

"Home." There was a pause. "What are you doing later?"

"Derek's coming over for dinner."

"Oh." Was it Allison's imagination, or did Peter sound disappointed? He'd been the one to tell her to leave him alone; he didn't get to be disappointed that she had plans.

Soon, Allison should have the DNA test results that confirmed who her parents really were, then she and Peter would get to have an awkward conversation about their future. "Are you still free on Wednesday?"

"For this mysterious piece of information that is going to make me see the error of my ways?"

"Yes." Allison flipped through a few pages. One of the investigators had sketched a rough layout of where the bodies had been found. Allison flattened the page on the table, trying to decipher the handwritten notes. It looked like the name _Talia Hale_ , under a sketch of what was labelled _living room._

Allison stared at the tiny outline of the body, a sinking feeling in her stomach. Talia hadn't just died in the living room. She had died in _exactly the same spot_ where Kate had fallen after Peter ripped her throat out.

Kate's blood had soaked into the place Talia had died; her murderer's blood.

Just like Derek had killed Peter while standing over the place he had buried Laura; her killer's blood sinking into the ground where her spirit lay.

And now, Talia and Laura were both up at the house, both ghosts, both trapped.

"Oh," Allison breathed. "What did you do?"

"What are you talking about?" Peter snapped in her ear.

Allison sat up, yanked back to reality. "Something I'm looking into at work," she said.

"Don't let me distract you from something better to do."

"Sounds good, talk to you later." Allison absently hung up the phone. She needed to know the location of everyone in the house, if only to prevent any more accidental ghost raisings.

Not for the first time that week, Allison wished that Beacon Hills wasn't so _strange_.

* * *

Two hours later, a soft knock sounded on the nearby bookcase. "Allison?" Noah asked, coming over to the worktable. "How's it going?"

Allison blinked up at him. She had drawn her own little map of the Hale house with the location of each body before putting the box back up on the shelf, and she had been deep in thought, trying to figure out why no one ever wondered where Cora Hale's body went. "Slowly." She put her hands over the paper in case Noah could read upside down. "Is something wrong?"

"No." Noah sat on the edge of the table. "I had a chat with Natasha when she got in."

"Oh?" Allison sat back. "How did that go?"

The expression on Noah's face was grave. "I told her to lay off. If she has something she wants to know, she can bring it to me, and you and me will talk, okay?"

"Okay." Allison pushed her hair back. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Noah looked over the work table. "Are you doing anything that can't wait?"

"Not really. Do you need me to work on something else?"

"No." He stood up. "How would you feel about lunch?"

Allison thought about the lonely five-dollar bill in her pocket. "I was just going to grab something in the break room."

"That's not healthy. Come on, I need to get out of the office for a while."

"Okay." Allison folded up her notes as she stood. "I need to put these at the front."

Noah followed Allison on her way to Brodie's desk at the front of the archives. She stashed her notebook in a drawer, then she and Noah left the archives, heading through the station for Noah to grab his jacket before they headed out into the parking lot.

"Are you okay with Derek coming over for dinner tonight?" Allison asked as she got into Noah's car.

"Sure." Noah started up the engine. "I'm always interested in knowing more about Stiles' friends." He looked at Allison before pulling the car out of the lot. "Stiles said you and Derek were having a difference of opinion yesterday."

Allison sighed. "That would imply that we ever agreed on anything." She rolled down the window to let the sharp September air into the car. "Derek thinks I'm putting the pack in danger, I told him that I'll do anything to protect them all, he doesn't believe me. It's the same argument we've been having for weeks."

"Why is that?"

Allison toyed with the hem of her sweatshirt. "Because all he sees when he looks at me is an Argent."

"Do you think that's going to change once we get the DNA results back?"

Allison shrugged. "I honestly don't know." It had, the last time, but last time Allison hadn't been running all over town, seducing Derek's uncle or bonding with his pack. She'd just been a teenage girl trying her best.

"Can I help?" Noah asked.

Allison turned to look at him. "I don't know," she said after a while. "I think the best thing you can do right now is focus on Derek as Stiles' friend, and as an ally in keeping this town safe."

"What about you?"

"I'll figure out something with Derek." Allison almost rubbed at her eyes before she remembered the eyeliner.

"What about…" Noah cleared his throat. "With other people?"

Allison let her hand drop. "I don't think anyone else in the pack will care," she said in deliberate misunderstanding. "Jackson might get a little weird, because we both came into the world in an eerily similar way, but Jackson's always weird about his birth parents."

"That's not who I'm talking about."

"Oh?" Allison turned to look at Noah. "Then to whom are you referring?"

Noah pulled into a spot at the curb outside Anton's. "Peter." He returned Allison's gaze. "Did he tell you that I went over to see him on Thursday?"

"Yes," Allison said. Peter had mentioned it, but most of that hurtful conversation had been taken up with Peter's accusations on how Allison had tricked him into a deeper connection. "He didn't go into detail."

"You said he told you that he didn't want to see you again."

Allison pulled at the scarf around her neck. "For someone who doesn't want to see me anymore, he's popping up in my DMs an awful lot."

"What?" Noah asked, confused.

"Nothing." Allison rolled up the window. "I don't know what Peter will do when he finds out I'm not an Argent. I guess we'll see."

"Would you want to keep seeing him?" Noah asked with as much delicacy as he could manage. "Now that you know that you're not an Argent?"

Allison frowned at Noah. "Wait, you think that I was doing this whole dance with Peter because of the Argent-Hale thing?"

"Were you?"

"Oh, god no." She made a face. "That's a level of Shakespearean tragedy too deep even for me."

"So." Noah hesitated. Allison waited. She wanted to know how far down this rabbit hole he was willing to go. "So. Why Peter?"

Allison bit her lip. There were a whole lot of things she could say to Noah about Peter, some of them even the truth. "Sometimes," she began cautiously. "When you're both angry about the same thing, it can be a shortcut to having something in common."

"You told me that he knows how it feels to have his life ruined by the Argents," Noah said. "But you and him started all this before you found out about Clara."

Allison looked down at her ands. For her, it had been twenty-seven years since Victoria died, but she could still remember parts of her childhood with vivid, painful clarity. "Growing up with Victoria was pretty hard," was all she said.

"I'm sorry." Noah turned off the engine. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Absolutely not."

"Okay. Do you want to get some lunch?"

"Sure." Allison unbuckled her seatbelt and got out of the car. Together, she and Noah went into Anton's. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the sheriff got a better table than the three teenagers had, two weeks before.

Allison focused on the menu, trying to find something she could order for under five dollars. Her options were looking like a cup of coffee, or a slice of toast. And she was so hungry she could have eaten that deer Laura picked up on the previous night.

"What'll you have?" asked the waiter, materializing at the side of the table with a notepad and a bored expression.

"Ruben with a side salad," Noah said. "And coffee."

"What about you?" the waiter asked, turning to Allison. "You want that monstrosity you had last time? Chef's still talking about it."

"No," Allison said, closing the menu. "I'll just have coffee."

Noah frowned at her. "I thought you were hungry."

"I'm fine."

Noah looked at the waiter. "What's this monstrosity you're talking about?"

"Hamburger with the works and a chicken breast shoved in there for good measure," the man said. "With fries and coleslaw."

"We'll get that," Noah said. "And the coffee."

"Whatever." The waiter vanished.

Allison narrowed her eyes at Noah. "I don't have enough money to pay for that," she said in a clipped voice.

Noah sat back. "Election year," he reminded her.

Allison fiddled with the fork beside her napkin. "I need to save my money, to pay for the salvage on my bike."

"Don't worry about that," Noah said. "It's part of an active investigation. I had the bike towed over to Lachesis Autobody, to see if they could do anything."

"Ibarra told me that the bike was trashed," Allison said, a little surprised.

"It's dented, but it's all in one piece." Noah paused as the waiter deposited two mugs of coffee on the table. "The lady who does the towing, Asa? She said they'd be able to salvage the frame and most of the parts. They'll see if they can rebuild it."

Allison's stomach cramped. "How much is that going to cost?"

"They said it would be manageable." Noah watched Allison for a minute. "Why are you so worried about money?"

"Because I am a junior in high school with a part-time minimum wage job," Allison reminded him.

"Yeah, but if your father is…" Noah trailed off and rubbed his fingers together in the universal symbol for _money_. Allison supposed it was a good shorthand for _Tony Stark_.

"If he is," Allison said. "He hasn't seemed all that interested in me so far." She moved her fork half an inch to the right. "And I'm eighteen next week. Thus ends all legal requirements for familial support."

There was an expression on Noah's face that Allison had never seen before. "Yeah, but, that robot guy, he sent over that laptop and those gift cards."

Allison moved the knife closer to the fork. "Jarvis send me those," she said. Her throat hurt. "I don't think Tony knew about any of it."

"Why do you think that?"

Allison pressed her thumbnail into the paper napkin under the utensils. "Because everything in that box was practical," she said. "The gift cards, the phones. Even the laptop."

"What about the necklace?"

Allison shrugged. "Goodwill. If the DNA shows that I'm Tony's kid, then it's a nice birthday present. If I'm not, and this is all some sort of hustle, then Jarvis is out a few thousand bucks."

"That's a little manipulative."

"No. Practical." Allison reached for her coffee. "I suppose I could sell the sapphire to pay for my motorcycle repairs."

Noah sighed. "Let's see how things go, first. What about your mother's family?"

Allison took a bracing sip of coffee. "That is a whole different political disaster," she said.

"Why?"

Allison raised her eyebrows. "Think about everything you know about Clara's death, and then think about who raised me, and _how_ they raised me, and then think how well that's all going to go over."

"None of that was your fault."

"And yet." Allison drank more coffee. "So in the meantime, I'm saving my pennies."

"Are you going to try to sell the gift cards?"

"No, I need to go shopping. I'm down to one pair of jeans." She put her mug on the table. "But I'm working tomorrow and Tuesday, then I told Isaac I'd help him with math after school on Wednesday. Think I'll still be alive on Thursday to take Lydia shopping?"

"Allison," Noah said quietly. "You shouldn't joke about that."

"I know." Allison glanced around the restaurant. "Maybe it's just easier to joke than to be scared all the time."

"Yeah." Noah hunched over his mug. "You know, Stiles started making a lot more jokes around this time last year."

Right. After Peter bit Scott, and Derek started skulking around town, and the Alpha mess dragged Stiles and Scott along in its wake. "Last year was hell for everyone."

"Tell me about it." Noah leaned back as the waiter reappeared with two plates. He looked askance at the towering mess on the plate in front of Allison. "What is that?"

"A true Anton's disaster," the waiter informed him. To Allison, he said, "If you finish all that by yourself, the chef's going to give you free pie."

Allison smiled. "Challenge accepted." Once the waiter was gone, she looked at Noah. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. Are you sure you're going to be able to eat all that?"

"Are you kidding?" Allison shoved a handful of fries into her mouth. "Enjoy your salad."

Noah sagged. "Now I'm being bullied by both my kids," he grumbled.

Allison felt a wave of happiness wash over her. She knew what Noah meant, but it was still nice to hear.

"Derek's making that potato salad for tonight," Allison offered, and Noah perked up.

"That's something to look forward to. That was pretty good."

"Yup." Allison took a huge bite of her burger.

God, she loved food.

* * *

Sunday dinner was good, a tentative peace settling between Derek and Allison, while Stiles and Derek put on a two-man show. Allison was awake for a good portion of the night working with Jarvis on terrorism-related research, but still managed to get a few hours of sleep.

She woke on Monday to her alarm, disoriented, with the feel of wolf's fur under her fingers. But when she opened her eyes, the room was empty.

Strange. It must have been a dream.

Stiles drove them to school, talking a mile a minute about some new video game that was coming out soon. Allison nodded along in the passenger seat, all the while worrying about when they would get the DNA results in.

Erica pounced on Allison at their lockers, launching into an account of her first day at work and how weird it was and people really had to do this stuff for a living? But she'd gotten a cut of the tips for that night and people really tipped well at the steak house and maybe they could go shopping that week?

Allison put her arm over Erica's shoulders and let the girl talk, happy that Erica was able to have such a normal experience after her difficult childhood.

Then Lydia rolled up, mouth pinched, so Allison had to pull Lydia in with her other arm and they walked to gym class like that, Allison feeling like some tired mother hen whose chicks were growing up.

That was where the day hit its first snag. Instead of Clint Barton back from Los Angeles, they found the principal standing in the middle of the gym, waiting with his arms crossed.

"All right," called Mr. Andrews. "Mr. Barton can't make it today. I couldn't find a substitute for first period, so you get to deal with me."

Isaac put up his hand. "Are we going to have to run laps?" Everyone groaned.

"Laps or dodgeball. Which one?"

More groans. "Laps," Isaac said, standing up. "Please no dodgeball. I'm too pretty to die."

"If you say so. Up!"

Allison left Lydia and Erica to start running. She and Jarvis had been trying to figure out the mechanism behind Extremis, based on early notes by Maya Hansen before the woman vanished from sight, and she needed time to think.

Allison was so lost in the contemplation of the nature of cellular repair that she was startled when the bell rang. She came to a halt, amid the lackluster cheers of her fellow students. Had she really spent the entire hour running?

On her way to the locker room, Mr. Andrews stopped her. "Miss Argent, have you considered trying out for the track team?"

Allison made herself smile apologetically. "I can't, sorry," she said, edging away. "I have to work after school."

"Varsity athletics are looked favourably upon by college application officers," Mr. Andrews persisted. "That includes possible scholarships."

"Yes, but I have to be able to eat for the two years before I get there," Allison said. "Sir." She skittered behind Dolores and the drama kids to make a break for the locker room.

Stiles was waiting for her outside the girls' locker room. "Dad's not going to let you starve," he said immediately.

Allison took Stiles' arm. "I know that, but it is none of Andrews' business what I do with my time."

"You could join track. I'm on the track team."

"I'm also faster than I should be." Allison hauled Stiles up the stairs. "Go to math class, Stiles. I've got comp sci."

"Say hi to Danny," Stiles called, and peeled away to run for the east wing.

Sure enough, Allison found Danny propped up in his usual chair in the computer science lab. "Are you sure you should be here?" she asked, dropping into the chair beside him.

"I'm fine," Danny said. He looked slightly grey around the edges. "I can't stand being at home anymore."

"Let me know if you're going to fall over." Allison pulled out her laptop and set it up beside the school computer. Jarvis's screen appeared with the most recent analysis running in the corner.

"Nice," Danny said. "What operating system are you running?"

"It's something open-source," Allison hedged. "I have a side project I'm working on."

"Cool."

The teacher arrived and set them up with the day's assignment. Allison worked on it while alternating a conversation with Jarvis, talking about the caloric energy requirements for near instantaneous cellular regeneration. The hour sped by.

Allison walked with Danny to history class. The boy was moving incredibly slow, and he was breathing too shallow for Allison's comfort. "I can take you to the office for your mom to get you."

"I can make it through history," Danny said.

"You don't have to. You don't have to prove anything."

Danny stopped. Allison turned to face him. "Yes," Danny said. His jaw was set. "I do."

Allison knew that look. She'd worn it for most of her life. "Okay," was all she said.

Still, she took Danny's arm for the rest of the walk to class.

History was boring. Allison handed in her essay, survived the lecture, and was just getting out of her seat at the end of class when she saw Scott bolt out of the room. She frowned. Now that she thought of it, he had been avoiding her in gym class too, in a way that was more blatant than how he'd been avoiding her the previous week.

Strange.

Upon entering the cafeteria, Allison was captured by Erica and Lydia, who wanted to talk to her about Lydia and Isaac's student council campaign. Allison let herself be pulled along on the conversation, all the while looking for Scott. Isaac, Boyd and Stiles were at the table, with Jackson further down with Danny, but no Scott.

Just before lunch ended, Allison's phone vibrated. Assuming it was Jarvis with another question about Extremis, Allison pulled out her phone and unlocked it.

The message wasn't from Jarvis. It was from Noah.

_DNA results came back. It's confirmed that you're Clara Vasquez and Tony's Stark's daughter._

Allison stared at the phone for an eternity. She didn't know what to do. She had known, of course, who she was, but seeing it confirmed in tiny black letters put an abrupt halt to all of her plans.

She didn't know what to do.

"Allison?"

Allison blinked, automatically hiding her phone. "Yes?"

Lydia was staring at her. "Are you okay?"

"Yes." Allison looked around, suddenly feeling the nearness of all the other students. She needed some air. "I'll see you in biology."

She got up and escaped into the hall. Only when she was alone, at a spot near the stairs, did Allison open her messages again. _Did anyone tell Tony?_ she wrote back to Noah.

_Natasha said that Barton will do that._

_what about Clara's family?_

_He's going to do that too._

Allison bit her thumbnail. _What do I do now?_

 _Stay in school and go to class,_ Noah ordered. _I'll see you at work and we can talk about it then, ok?_

_Ok._

Then another message came in, this time from Jarvis. _Urgent developments,_ he wrote, sending Allison's heart racing. _Based on our discussions regarding Extremis, I have determined the likely location of Aldrich Killian's laboratory. Mr. Stark and Captain Rogers are on their way now._

 _Is there anything I can do to help?_ Allison wrote back.

_No, other than staying safe. I will be preoccupied with ground support and may be delayed in responding to your messages for the next while._

_Do what you have to,_ Allison wrote. _Good luck._

_Thank you._

Allison sank down to sit on the top stair. This might be it. Iron Man and Captain America against Killian and AIM. It burned that Allison couldn't be there to help. She _should_ be; every major offensive for the last sixteen years of her life, she'd been there.

But now she was stuck in high school in northern California and no one wanted to let her go save the world.

Allison hoped desperately that Tony would be safe. She couldn't lose her father, not again.

The warning bell rang. Allison stayed still for a moment, before hauling herself up. She had biology next, then math, and then she could escape to the sheriff's station and wait for news.

Her stomach churning with anxiety over being unable to help, Allison made her way to biology.

Arthurs was in a foul mood and took it out on everyone. Greenberg got the brunt of the sarcasm before Arthurs told everyone to shut up and watch an educational video on mountain goats. Allison spent the entire hour with her hands clasped in front of her, trying to keep from vibrating out of the desk in her agitation. She didn't know what was going on, and it was grinding at her.

Again, at the end of class, Scott bolted, almost knocking Lydia off balance. "Hey!" Lydia exclaimed. "Rude."

"Why is he acting like this?" Allison asked, joining Lydia and Isaac.

"Because he's a boy and boys are weird?" Lydia hazarded.

"Scott's always weird," Isaac pointed out.

There was something in the way Isaac said that, that made Allison narrow her eyes. "Do you know something?"

"No," Isaac said immediately. It was a lie. "I know nothing about anything. Completely empty head." He grinned down at the girls. "Bye." And he vanished.

"Something's up," Allison said, staring after Isaac. Her eyes fell on where Stiles, Jackson and Erica were huddled. They caught sight of her gaze, and collectively flinched. "What the fuck is going on?"

"Who know?" Lydia spun on her heel, red hair flying. "They're all weird." She marched away.

With one last glare towards the gaggle of Jackson, Stiles and Erica, Allison started the walk up to her math class. She was going to get to the bottom of whatever was up with Scott.

After school.

Math pass with glacial slowness. No updates from Jarvis, no news stories about more terrorism attacks on her phone. The only interesting thing that occurred was her conversation with Boyd.

"What's up with everyone?" she asked, as Mr. Lazarov set them loose on a math problem.

"I don't know what you mean."

"With Scott and everyone."

"Oh." Boyd shrugged uncomfortably. "I'm not sure."

"Not true."

"No, it is true." Boyd met her gaze. "I am not one-hundred percent sure what's going on, and I value my life more than to guess."

Allison stared at him for a long moment. "I can respect that," she finally said.

"Good." Boyd shoved the assignment page at her. "How fast can you do this?"

Allison settled down to the work, finding a welcome distraction in the equations.

She did not, however, forget about Scott.

By the end of class, and the final bell of the day, Allison had made her mind up. She would find Scott and figure out what was wrong with him. It never did anyone any good when Scott kept secrets from the pack; it tended to come back at the worst times.

She made her way directly to his locker, hoping to see him before he spotted her. She had to lurk behind the wrestling team for a few minutes, getting her some odd looks, but finally, Scott appeared at his locker. Taking a deep breath, Allison made her way over.

"Scott."

Scott didn't look at her, just piled books into his locker.

"Scott, can we talk for a minute?"

"I have to go home," Scott said, still not looking at her.

"It'll only take a minute."

Scott shoved a final textbook into his locker, paused, then looked at her. Allison was not expecting to see the strong emotion in his eyes. "What?" he demanded.

"What's wrong?" Allison asked, pulling her notebook up to her chest.

The emotion in Scott's eyes crystallized into something unfamiliar in him. Anger. "What's wrong?" he repeated, voice going low. He stepped closer to Allison. "You didn't think I was going to find out?"

Allison was completely and utterly confused. "Find out about what?"

"About Peter?"

Allison swallowed against the sudden shimmer of emotion – guilt, just a little, and regret. "What about him?"

"About you and him?" Scott went on, anger heating up his voice. "I saw you yesterday, at the depot."

It took a moment for that to sink in. "Wait," Allison said, putting one hand on her hip. "You were spying on me?"

"I wanted to talk to you," Scott said. "I guess now I know why you've been avoiding me."

"It's my business," Allison snapped. "Not yours."

"No, you made sure of that," Scott snapped back. "Did you ever think about anyone but yourself? About what Peter did to me? To everyone? To Lydia?"

"I know what Peter did," Allison retorted.

"And you still let him kiss you?"

And then, because Allison's life could always get worse, Lydia said from behind her, "You kissed Peter?"

Allison spun around, to find Lydia staring up at her with wide eyes. Then Allison turned back to Scott. "You knew she was there, and you said that."

Scott lifted his chin. "Yeah. I did."

Allison was getting so angry, she wanted to hit Scott. Instead, she said, "Stay out of my business." Then she turned and took Lydia's arm, pulling her away. "Come on."

"Wait, no, I want to know what's happening," Lydia protested. "What was Scott talking about? Do you know another Peter?"

"I know several Peters," Allison said. They were almost to their lockers. She could see Stiles and Erica talking in low voices. They jumped apart when they spotted Allison and Lydia.

This had to have been what Boyd was talking about, Allison realized with a sinking heart. The pack had figured out that Scott knew about her and Peter, and no one had told her. Goddamn it, Allison was going to start implementing mandatory disclosure with Stiles following all pack meetings.

"Lydia's driving me to work," Allison said, stopping to open her locker. "Lydia, get your stuff."

"Me and Erica have an English paper to work on," Stiles said awkwardly.

"Jackson and Isaac do too, but they're going to practice lacrosse or something," Erica put in. "Is, um, everything okay?"

"Never better." Allison grabbed her backpack and slammed her locker. "Have fun. Lydia, come on."

"Why am I getting bullied?" Lydia demanded, hauling her backpack out of her locker. "I just asked if you knew another Peter."

Stiles looked away. Erica's eyes grew round. And Allison had had quite enough. "Outside."

Lydia let Allison take her arm and haul her away. "You're acting super weird right now."

"I'm battling the urge to do violence up on my peers," Allison said.

"Like me?"

"No." They banged out the doors to the parking lot. "Just everyone Scott-shaped."

"Oh." Lydia hurried to keep up with Allison. "But he's… you know."

"I'm not actually going to hurt him." Allison stopped by Lydia's car, waiting for the girl to unlock the doors. "I'm going to be angry for a while." The doors clicked, and Allison got inside. She waited for Lydia to stash her backpack in the backseat, then get into the driver's seat.

"Okay." Lydia started the car, then concentrated on backing up. "So, full disclosure, the fact that you're freaking out so much about what Scott said is making me think that I know the Peter he was talking about."

Shit. This was the conversation that Allison had been dreading the most about the whole Peter Hale situation. "You do."

"So. Peter." Lydia slowed before turning out of the parking lot.

"Peter."

"Peter Hale."

"Yes."

"Kissed you."

Allison sighed. At least Lydia had her eyes on the road. "I kissed him back."

"But… Why?"

"I don't really have an answer that's going to make any sense to you."

"Because you kissed Peter."

"Yes, Lydia."

Lydia was quiet for nearly a full minute as she drove towards downtown. "You said that if he ever came after me again, you'd kill him."

"That stands."

"But you kissed him."

"That didn't have anything to do with you."

"So you kissed Peter," Lydia said. "And Scott saw?"

"Apparently."

"Was that the first time?" Lydia stopped for a red light, and looked over at Allison. Her eyes were very wide. "That you kissed him?"

Allison took a breath. "No."

Lydia kept staring at her, until a honk from behind them got Lydia moving. She drove through the intersection, but instead of turning to head towards the sheriff's station, she took the exit to the park down by the river.

"Where are we going?"

Lydia was silent as she parked the car and got out, marching up to a bench overlooking the river. Allison scrambled to follow. "Lydia?"

"What else?" Lydia demanded, crossing her arms over her chest. "You and Peter, what else?"

"We've been sleeping together," Allison said reluctantly.

Lydia stared. "How long?"

"What?"

"For how long?" Lydia persisted. "Was it before you left for the summer?"

"No," Allison said quickly. "It's been a couple of weeks."

"That you've been sleeping with Peter."

"Yes."

Anger was starting to grow in Lydia's eyes and that worried Allison, because Lydia was a banshee who hadn't really come into her powers yet, and part of those powers had always been driven by anger. "Even though you know what he did."

Allison straightened her spine. "Yes."

"What he did to me."

"Yes."

Lydia pressed her lips together. " _Why?"_

"It's complicated," Allison said. "I don't know what else to tell you."

"The truth?"

"That is the truth," Allison said. "What's happening with me and Peter, it's complicated. And it has nothing at all to do with you."

Lydia let her arms fall, her hands clenched into fists. "God, why am I so angry?" she demanded.

"Because your friend was doing something behind your back that could hurt you, and didn't tell you?" Allison suggested. Lydia glared. "Look, I messed up in not telling you, okay? I just didn't think that it was going to last this long."

"So if it had been a one-night stand, you wouldn't have told me?"

"Probably not," Allison admitted.

Lydia let out a strangled screech, and in her voice was the tiniest shred of power. Allison's heart skipped a beat. "I hate you so much," Lydia seethed.

"Do you?" Allison asked, ready to make a run for it if Lydia kept getting worked up.

Lydia pushed her hair back from her eyes, and the anger seemed to fade a bit. "Yes. No. I don't know." She flopped down on the bench. Allison tentatively joined her. Lydia stared out at the river for a while. "I mean, I get kissing Peter," she said after a while. "He's good."

Wait. "How do you know that?" Allison demanded.

Lydia looked at her sideways. "Back when he was tricking me into bringing him back from the dead," she said, and it was oddly smug. "He kissed me."

Allison stared. "Like, his ghost? Or his corpse?"

"Ew!" Lydia punched Allison in the arm. "His ghost, freak." She settled back. "He's a better kisser than Jackson."

Not entirely sure what to make of this revelation, Allison leaned in against Lydia's side. "He spent his college years sleeping his way through the San Francisco State co-ed population, he's had practice"

Lydia turned to look at Allison. "I am not over this," she announced, "But I have to ask you one question."

"What?"

"What is he like… you know."

"I do not know," Allison said repressively.

"In bed."

Oh god, she was not having this conversation with Lydia. "Like I said, he's had practice," Allison said. "Hey, do you remember two minutes ago? When you told me how you hated me?"

"What are you talking about now?" Lydia demanded.

Allison took a deep breath. "Do you remember how I said that we could find the answers on what you are, without needing Peter?"

Lydia's eyes flashed. "What do you know?"

"I might have found something in one of Peter's books," Allison hurried on. "When you were really angry just now, did it feel like something was going to jump out of your chest?"

"How do you know that?" Lydia demanded.

"Has it happened before?" Allison asked.

Lydia balled up her hands in her skirt. "Yes," she said after a moment. "Ever since Peter bit me. I just feel like I get so angry I want to scream, and never stop."

"Good," Allison said firmly. "Why don't you?"

"Because I can't," Lydia said. "Dad told me that only crazy people scream like that, like my grandmother. She used to talk about screaming all the time. And they locked her away."

They had locked Lorraine Martin away in Eichan House for very different reasons, but Allison knew Lydia would find all that out in time. "Every time someone calls us crazy, it's because they're scared of what we can do," Allison said. "Lydia, I know you."

"But what if I go crazy?" Lydia asked. "Sometimes, I get this feeling, like the worst thing ever is going to happen, and I can't stop it."

Precognition. Oh, crap, Lydia's powers were more progressed than Allison had realized, and Lydia was just repressing them. That meant when they came out, they'd be all the more difficult to control. "The next time you feel that way, tell me, okay?" Allison took Lydia's hands in hers. "We'll figure it out together."

Lydia nodded. "I don't want to go crazy."

"Hey, don't worry about that." Allison put her arm over Lydia's shoulder. "Crazy's just a word they use to scare us. If someone has schizophrenia, or psychosis, they're perceiving the world in a different way than others. It's more scary for them."

"My dad said crazy people hurt others."

"That's usually not true." Allison thought a few unkind things towards Mr. Martin. "Your grandmother never hurt anyone, right?"

"She hurt herself."

And there, that was what worried Lydia the most. Allison kissed the side of Lydia's head. "You're not your grandmother," she said quietly. "You're you."

"I know."

"Good."

They sat on the bench, looking out at the river. Allison was trying to figure out how to politely ask Lydia to finish up her emotional meltdown, so that Allison could get to work, when a shiver of something seemed to settle over the waterfront. The hair on the back of Allison's neck stood up as she sat away from Lydia, senses alert, trying to figure out what had occurred.

"Allison?" Lydia asked.

"Wait." Allison stood up, and looked around.

The first indication was the man standing by the railing, staring down at his phone. He tapped it a few times, then frowned up at the sky.

Then a jogger slowed to pull out her own mobile. A woman with a stroller was saying _hello? Are you there?_ into her phone.

Phones.

Phones weren't working.

Phones weren't working and Allison was alone.

Adrenaline surged through her veins as Allison yanked out her phone. The screen showed a _No Service_ outage in big letters, and no, these Stark phones could get cell reception in Antarctica.

Something was very wrong.

"Come on," Allison said to Lydia, hauling her upright. "We have to go."

"Okay," Lydia said. "I know you need to go to work, but—"

The sound of the bullet hit Allison at the same time as the metal ripped through her gut. The force of the impact knocked her to the ground, kicking the air out of her lungs as she struggled to breathe, tried to find her way up.

"Allison!" Lydia shouted. Hands closed on Allison's arms, shaking her.

Allison sucked in a breath that hurt more than the bullet. "Get out of here," she rasped, trying to focus on Lydia. Something was terribly wrong. Allison could survive multiple gunshots without losing clarity, but her vision was swimming and the world rocked around her. "Go!"

"You got shot!" Lydia exclaimed. In the distant tunnel of sound, Allison heard a screeching of brakes, slamming of doors.

This wasn't just a bullet. Something else was in her system, in her blood, dragging her down. She couldn't fight, couldn't even see straight, and she knew in her bones what was happening.

Dupont and his crew had found her. She was going to die.

"Hey!" came Lydia's sudden scream. "Let me go! Let me _go!"_

Rough hands grabbed Allison's arms and legs, lifting her into the air. The next thing she knew, she was thrown onto a hard surface, and something slammed behind her. Lydia was making muffled screaming sounds nearby, and Allison tried desperately to fight her way back, to help Lydia, to save Lydia.

But the world swam around her in black ribbons, wrapping around her like tentacles, dragging her underwater where she couldn't see, couldn't breathe.

The last thought she had was that she was going to die, and she didn't know if she had done enough to change the course of history to prevent the destruction of the universe.

She had failed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, right, but how could I pass up this cliffhanger? See you next week!
> 
> [Nighttime soundtrack (via MyNoise)](https://mynoise.net/NoiseMachines/fullMoonForestSoundscape.php?l=03000061404724187156&m=&d=0)


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noah was having a good day, right up until he got the call that two teenagers had been abducted in broad daylight from the middle of his town. Allison has to make a very difficult decision in order to protect Lydia from what Dupont and his crew have planned. Chris Argent begins his redemption arc. Meanwhile at the White House, Clint Barton battles terrorists with Captain America and Iron Man, because that’s the kind of day everyone’s having.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains graphic depictions of violence and torture. Warnings for blood and physical injury.
> 
> Just a note, when we transition between points of view, there are some time skips and/or overlaps.

### Noah Stilinski

"Which we can't do based on this year's budget," Fred concluded, to Noah's intense irritation.

"I need more staffing," Noah said, resisting the urge to put his hands on his hips. Beacon Hills' city treasurer, Franklin _"Call me Fred"_ Franks, got snippy when Noah loomed.

"Close more cases."

"I can't do that unless you fund three more deputies."

"I can't make that argument unless you change your department's close rate." Fred snapped his little folder shut. "I don't care how you do it. Stop speeding cars. Pin drug dealers. Arrest Mrs. Samuels when she jaywalks across Main Street. If your stats are more in line with the state's average for a town this size, I can go to City Council. It's an election year, after all."

"How am I going to do all that when I'm short staffed?"

Fred shrugged. "You're the sheriff, you figure it out. Maybe hire more interns." He stalked back into the bowels of City Hall.

"More interns," Noah said in disgust. That was the last thing he needed; more teenagers running around the department making his life complicated.

Speaking of teenagers. Noah checked his watch. Allison should be at the station by now for her afternoon shift. Stiles didn't have practice on Mondays. Maybe he could give Stiles a call, ask the boy to put some chicken in the oven for dinner. Or maybe they could have the leftover steak as part of a salad, Noah mused as he headed out of City Hall.

All of those thoughts vanished, however, when the call came over his radio of a shooting and double abduction at Hastings Park down by the river.

Noah had his radio in hand in a moment, calling for all available units to the scene, to get a description of the suspect's vehicle out, and did anyone have a description of the victims?

Margery's cool voice made her report, a steady presence in Beacon Hills through any disaster. "Two young women, Caucasian, one brunette and one red-head. Running licence plate on the girls' car."

Noah had no way of knowing who had been taken, but his mind jumped directly to Allison. Her friend Lydia had red hair.

"Car is registered to Andrew Martin," Margery said. She rattled off his address, and Noah's heart nearly stopped. He knew that address, knew that Stiles had been to parties there at Lydia's house.

He flung himself into his patrol car, turning on the sirens almost before he had the door closed. "The red-head is possibly Lydia Martin," he said over the radio. "She might have been with Allison. They're seventeen." He peeled out of the lot at top speed, nearly running over the mayor on his way. "Who was shot?"

"The brunette," Margery said, her voice betraying nothing.

Noah put on an extra burst of speed. Someone had shot Allison and taken both girls. It had to be Dupont and his group; who else was gunning for Allison? "How long ago?"

"Five minutes," Margery said. "The man who called it in said that cell service went out in the area before the shooting and only just came back up."

"Get Ibarra to find me any CCTV footage in the area," Noah ordered. He wanted to kick himself for being so incredibly stupid. Why hadn't he gone to pick Allison up for work after school? Hell, why hadn't he pulled her out of school and put her in protective custody?

"On it."

"And get Rushman down to the scene," Noah went on. He didn't have time to freak out. He had two kidnapped teenagers, one of whom had been shot. He fervently hoped that Allison was as bulletproof as she claimed to be.

"Copy."

The cruiser screamed around a corner. Noah grabbed for his cell phone, hoping that all those hours of defensive driving training wouldn't desert him now.

"Hey Dad, what—" Stiles said.

"Stiles," Noah barked. "9-1-1. Where are you?"

"At the library with Erica and Boyd," Stiles said. "What happened?'

Noah took a breath. Even if he knew how to say this right to his son, he didn't have the _time._ "I've got a report of a double abduction, we think it's Allison and Lydia."

"What?" Stiles yelped. "They were just here!"

"Did Allison leave school with Lydia?"

"Yeah, Lydia was going to drive her to work. What happened?" Stiles asked again. "Allison wouldn't have let anyone take her and Lydia!"

"We think Allison was shot," Noah said. "Stiles, I need you to stay safe. Stay where there are people, okay?"

"I will," Stiles said, faltering. "Was it Dupont?"

"I don't know," Noah said. He slowed enough to avoid running over a motorcycle, then cut into the other lane to make his way through a light. "I need you to send me a picture of Allison and Lydia. Do you remember what they were wearing today?"

"Yes?" Stiles said. "I mean, Erica will."

"Great, call it into the station and tell Margery, we'll need it for the bulletin."

"Dad—" Stiles cut himself off. "You have to find them."

"I know." Noah was close to the park. "Stiles. Pictures. Descriptions. Stay safe."

"Ten-four." Stiles hung up.

Noah screeched up to the scene, cut the sirens and lights, and was out in an flash. Four squad cars were already there, a handful of deputies securing the scene, talking to witnesses, generally making a nuisance of themselves.

He took in the scene quickly. The car surrounded by police tape was neatly parked, doors closed. Two cell phones tossed on the ground, one of them the expensive one Allison had been using in recent days.

And then there was the pool of fresh blood.

Noah exhaled through his nose. Allison had to be okay. He had to get the girls back okay.

Time to get to work.

He beckoned over Callaghan and Rushman. "Report."

"Witnesses saw it all," Callaghan said, looking down at his notebook. Natasha appeared bored, which Noah was going to take as a coping technique. "The girls were sitting over there." He pointed at a bench by the river path. "One witness said they were arguing, the other said they were talking. When the phones went down, the girls got up, heading back to the car, when a gunshot went of, and the brunette went down." He pointed at the blood pool.

"Where did the gunshot come from?" Noah asked.

Natasha jerked her thumb over her shoulder to an empty parking spot. "Grey sedan, pulled in as the phones went dead."

"Got the plate?" Noah asked. Natasha nodded. "What happened next?"

"Black SUV pulls in," Callaghan went on. "Four men get out. Two grab the red-head and two pick up the brunette, throw her in the back. The red-head got pulled into the back seat."

"What was her status? Conscious?"

Callaghan finally looked up from his notes. "Yes, and I quote, 'pitching up a fury to shame God'."

Noah ran his hand over his hair. "Why grab Lydia if they wanted Allison?"

"And why shoot Allison then take her away?" Natasha added.

"Unless they weren't done with her," Noah said. He felt sick. "We need confirmation if it was Allison and Lydia. Someone, get into that car."

"On it," Natasha said, and vanished.

"Get the witnesses to go over it again," Noah said to Callaghan. "Every detail." The man headed off. Noah looked down at his phone, seeing a message from Stiles. There was no text, only a picture of Allison, Lydia and Erica in the school cafeteria. Allison was wearing the clothes she'd left the house in, so it was likely taken that day.

Erica was smiling, Lydia was rolling her eyes, and Allison looked so bemused and happy.

Involuntarily, Noah looked at the blood pool again. Then he went to show the picture to the witnesses.

All three agreed that yes, two of those girls had been the ones taken. The woman with the baby, who was very shaken up, told Noah that even after Allison had been shot, she'd been trying to get Lydia to run, but Lydia wouldn't leave.

Noah thanked her, told Callaghan to let the woman go, and went over to Lydia's car where Natasha was rooting around in the backseat. "No disturbance to their belongings," Natasha related, hardly looking up. "Purses and money all intact. It doesn't look like they planned to leave the car, more like they stopped to talk."

"Natasha."

Natasha slid out of the car, holding out a little pink purse. "Lydia's emergency contact information."

"What the fuck is going on?"

Something crossed Natasha's face. "I don't know," she said in a low voice. "Even given what happened on Friday, this type of escalation, an attack in public with witnesses, wasn't on the radar."

Noah took a step in, anger and frustration raging inside him. "You said you were going to keep her safe."

"And so did you," Natasha flashed back. She stopped, looked down at the purse. "We both fucked up."

"We have to find her," Noah said. "We have to find them both."

His radio crackled. "We have CCTV footage from the traffic camera over by the bridge," Margery said. "Confirmed visuals to two of the men from the bookstore."

Dupont. Dupont had Allison, and the devil only knew what he was going to do to her. Noah cleared his throat. "Go all in," he said over the radio. "Get the description of the girls, the suspects, the vehicles, licence plates, out to all cars in the area." He reached for the purse in Natasha's hands. "I have to call the Martins. Rushman, run the scene again."

"On it." Natasha zipped off.

Noah opened the purse. In among the various plastic cards, he found the _in case of emergency_ paper card, filled in in purple sparkly ink, in a very precise, very cute hand.

Then he did the thing he liked the least about his job. He called the family.

Andrew Martin picked up on the third ring, all business right up until Noah told him that Lydia had been abducted and that he needed to get to the sheriff's station to await developments. The subsequent scene took a few minutes, and when Noah finally got off the line, it was to see the forensic team arriving with all their gear.

"Martins?" Natasha asked, watching Callaghan direct the techs.

"Going to the station. Ibarra can handle them." Noah looked down at Natasha. "You know the DNA results came in today."

"I do."

"Did anyone tell Stark yet?"

"It was on Barton's to-do list for this afternoon."

Noah watched the buzz of activity. His skin itched for action, to do something, any clue as to where Allison and Lydia were. Every second the girls were in the hands of their abductors was too long. He didn't want to think about what Dupont and his team were doing to Allison. "Call Stark."

Natasha looked at him. "Are you sure?"

Noah gave a nod. "If it was my kid, I'd want to know. Even if I wasn't Iron Man."

"Copy." Natasha had her phone in her hand, moving off in an instant. Noah went over to make sure the forensic team had their marching orders, then drifted back over to the side. A few more deputies had arrived by this point, and Callaghan had put them on crowd control.

At least the media wasn't there yet.

Out of the corner of his eye, Noah spotted Natasha freeze. He turned his head. She had her phone to her ear, and she had gone white.

Noah's heart hammered in his chest. He had never seen Natasha react like that, not even when Jarvis had called in the attack on Allison on Friday.

What was going on?

Turning, Noah walked across the parking lot to where Natasha stood. She had started speaking again. "Are any strike teams en route? Why not? Does Fury _know?"_

Noah's phone beeped. He looked down to see a message from Stiles. _I know you're working and I know it was five minutes ago but do you know were allison and lydia are is allison dead please tell me even if its bad._

"Can I…" Natasha said, then stopped. "Okay."

 _10-23,_ Noah texted Stiles. Arrived on scene. _10-6._ Busy. _I will tell you as soon as I know anything. 10-3._ Stop transmitting.

"No." Natasha took a deep breath. "Don't tell him. There's nothing he can do." She lowered the phone.

"Was that Jarvis?" Noah asked. "I thought I told you to tell Stark—"

Natasha looked up at him. "I know." She swallowed. "Half an hour ago, the President and half of the cabinet were taken hostage in the White House."

Noah couldn't believe his ears. " _What?"_

"It looks like the same terrorist cell as the bombings on Friday," Natasha said. "Tony and Steve were already on the East Coast. They're in Washington in the middle of a rescue effort."

"Oh my god." Noah shook his head. "What the fuck is going on?"

"I don't know." Natasha put her phone away. "I told Jarvis not to tell Tony about Allison. Not until that's over."

"Not even if he could help?"

Natasha met his eyes. Her gaze was steady as she said, "Tony can't help Allison. Not from across the country. But he might be able to stop terrorists from murdering half the executive branch of the United States in one swoop."

"Natasha—"

"I made the call," Natasha interrupted him. "This is on me."

Noah took a moment to think. She was right. Tony Stark was half a world away, fighting bad guys. Even if he did know Allison was in danger, he couldn't get back in time to do anything to help.

"That leaves us," Natasha said. "Permission to return to duty, Sheriff?"

"Granted," Noah snapped. Natasha slid off in the direction of the car.

Well, if Allison's real father couldn't help, maybe someone else could.

Noah stalked back over to his car to dig out his notebook. A few weeks before, he'd written out relevant information relating to Allison's case, and now, he looked up a number before punching it into his phone.

He wasn't sure if he wanted the line to pick up, or not. Because if Chris Argent didn't pick up… if he was involved in this take-down of the girl he still thought was his daughter…

Noah wasn't about to murder a man in cold blood. But under the right circumstances, he might look the other way while someone else did.

"Argent."

Noah breathed out. "It's Stilinski," he barked. "Do you know what's going on?"

"What are you talking about?" Chris demanded.

"Dupont and his men grabbed Allison and Lydia Martin down by the river," Noah said, because there was no time to sugar-coat this. "They shot Allison and threw her into the back of their SUV. Where are they?"

Chris let out a pained breath. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure," Noah exclaimed. "Witnesses, video footage, and a large pool of blood. Do you know where they would have taken the girls?"

"No, I don't."

"Do you know how to find them?"

"I have to go."

"Chris!" Noah barked. "Where are they?"

The line went dead. Noah swore. That had been a complete fuck-up. He needed to get someone over to find Chris, tail him in case he knew where Dupont had taken the girls. He needed—

His radio crackled. "Suspects' vehicles found abandoned behind the Glendale Bakery," Margery reported. "Deputies on scene. No sign of the girls, other than blood in the back of the SUV."

Noah wanted to hit something. Preferably Dupont, preferably until he stopped moving. "Canvas the area, get any footage," he called in. "We need to find out if they took the girls on foot or transferred them to another vehicle."

"Roger."

"Boss!" Callaghan called. He trotted over. "I had an idea."

Noah rounded on the man. "Talk."

"Cell service went out, right?"

Noah glared. "Talk _faster."_

"It was a pretty localized outage. They had to have a blocker or something. What if they were testing it? Maybe complaints into the phone companies?"

"Worth a shot," Noah agreed. "Go, find out."

Callaghan hoofed it over to his car, while Natasha beckoned Noah over to where she stood with one of the forensic techs. "We found a fresh bullet in the path witnesses put Allison on," she said. "It doesn't look like the bullet fragmented."

So Allison wouldn't be trying to heal from a large exit wound. That was probably the only good news.

Meanwhile, Monica Campbell the forensic tech was peering at the bullet, lodged in a wooden signpost, through a magnifying glass. "There's some sort of granular coating on the bullet," she said. "Along with the blood."

"Cross contamination from Allison's clothes?" Natasha suggested.

"It's hard to tell." Campbell put down the magnifying glass to reach for her dust mask. "We'll rush the results. Would be easier if we have the gun."

"A lot of things would make this all a lot easier," Noah said. He straightened his back. "I need to get over to the vehicle dump site. Rushman, you've got the scene until Strong gets here."

"Sir—" Natasha started. Noah shot her a glare, which closed her mouth.

"Unless you suspect anything else?"

Natasha's nose twitched. "Jarvis said he was going to send me the most recent movements of the pones Dupont's crew were using when they attacked Allison on Friday."

Noah rounded on her. "How the hell does he have those?"

"He said Allison hacked into his systems after the incident at the bookstore and set up the program running on her own." Natasha raised her eyebrow. "There's no sign of the phones active for the last three hours."

"And that wasn't some sort of bad sign?" Noah hooked his thumbs into his belt, thinking hard. "Any sign where Dupont and the others might have been staying?"

"That should come in the data."

"All right." Noah thought furiously. They knew Dupont had been here, to kidnap the girls. They would know where he and the others had been staying, soon enough. Now all the needed was to figure out where the girls had been taken.

Part of Noah was dreading that someone was going to find one or both of the girls' bodies. If Dupont had wanted Allison alone, he wouldn't have taken Lydia. Two live victims were so much more difficult to hold than one.

Noah wasn't stupid. He knew the statistics. For every minute that Dupont had Allison and Lydia, the likelihood of finding the girls alive was dropping like a stone.

So Noah needed to get moving. "Rushman, with me, we're going to wherever Dupont was holed up," Noah ordered, already walking towards his car. Natasha was on his heels. As he reached for his radio to call in a BOLO on Chris Argent, Noah promised himself that he wasn't going to rest until they found the girls.

He had told Allison that he would protect her. In that, he had failed.

But he was damned if he wasn't going to do everything humanly possible to try to save her.

Darkness.

Muffled sound.

The sensation of fur under her fingers, just for a moment.

Icy breath on her face. Then it was gone.

Voices.

Deep voices. And a higher voice. Higher, begging, pleading, crying.

Lydia.

Allison struggled to claw free of the darkness holding her down. She couldn't move, couldn't open her eyes, couldn't speak. All she could do was hear.

"…stop hurting her," Lydia was saying, voice thick with tears. "She didn't do anything wrong, please stop hurting her."

"Would you shut up?" A sharp crack, and Lydia cried out in pain. "Stop talking or you're next."

"Stop slapping her around," came another male voice. "We need her in one piece. For now."

Lydia was crying, small, scared hiccuping sobs. Allison struggled to pull herself back to consciousness. She had to protect Lydia. She had to get back to her senses and protect Lydia.

She reached deep down inside herself, searching for the alpha. There she was, cold and hurt, curled protectively up inside Allison's heart. _I need you_ , Allison thought, reaching for the alpha like she never had before. For so many years, it had been so easy to think of the alpha spark as something separate, something that she had stolen from Derek as he died.

It was only later in her life, that Allison had come to realize that what made a werewolf an alpha wasn't some separate piece of themselves. It was power, pure and simple, and Allison knew from painful experience that power only magnified what was already in someone's heart.

Power didn't make you someone else. Power made you _more_ of what you already were.

And Allison had been a Hunter for years before she became the alpha. She had been protecting her people for most of her life.

Nothing, not Maurice Dupont or his band of abduction-happy psychos, was going to stop that.

She willed the alpha to rise, to fill her body. Her heart beat faster, pumping blood to every cell, clearing out whatever foul drug they had used to keep her down. Sensation began to return to her limbs, but she kept herself motionless. Scent returned, too, and Allison could make out the rust-and-vinegar smell of Lydia's fear, someone sweating nervously, bad breath, and under the human odors were damp concrete and mold and stale air.

And over all of that, lay so, so much blood.

Allison took stock. She was seated, her upper body bent forward over her knees, her head hanging down. Each arm was bound to what felt like the arms of a chair, at the wrist. Her ankles were also tied… to chair legs?

Without moving, Allison ran a mental eye over her body. She could feel every finger, every toe. There was no pain in her face or head, so there didn't appear to have been any obvious mutilation while she was insensate. She couldn't feel any discomfort or pain in her pelvis, so she probably hadn't been raped. And she couldn't smell semen or vaginal secretions, which would probably have lingered if Lydia had been raped.

She also couldn't feel the path of the bullet that had torn through her gut at the park, which meant that she had already healed.

And it was likely that Dupont's crew knew that.

Allison counted heartbeats. Six, plus her own. So Dupont's whole crew was here, with her and Lydia, in some sort of underground room or bunker. She was tied up, surrounded.

If Lydia hadn't been there, Allison would have already broken her bonds and killed every man in the room.

But Lydia _was_ there. And that changed everything.

Allison did some very difficult mathematics in her head. She had to get Lydia out of that room, safe and healthy. If she couldn't do that, she had to get Lydia out, at least alive.

Given the situation, Allison knew that she probably wasn't going to live through the next hour. In that moment, Allison decided that she was okay with that, as long as she could make sure Lydia was safe. She didn't know what would happen to her alpha spark when she died, so far away from any of the wolves. She hoped that Stiles and Noah would be okay. She hoped that Peter wouldn't mind too much.

As for Tony and her family… well. They would only miss her as a concept. They didn't know her as a person here, in 2012. Just one more tragedy.

As for the future… the file Allison had left in Jarvis's server would trigger an alarm one month after her last login, sending the information on the Snap and the destruction of the universe right to Tony. He would have to save the universe on his own.

The only thing Allison truly regretted was that she wasn't going to be able to save Bucky from more years of torment at the hands of Hydra.

But, of all the people in the galaxy, Bucky would understand what she had to do.

Allison released a breath, let the alpha fade from her eyes, and lifted her head.

"She's awake," someone said. A hand grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head back, sending adrenaline pouring through her veins, pushing back the haze even faster.

Allison blinked. Her nose hadn't failed her. They were in a concrete room, with exposed piping and lightbulbs dangling in their cages. Lydia sat in a chair across from Allison, her hands tied together with duct tape, her feet free. The five of Dupont's crew ranged around the room, with Dupont himself standing beside Lydia. As Allison watched, Dupont pointed a gun at Lydia's head.

Allison kept very still. "You don't have to do that," she rasped, mouth dry as sand. She struggled to swallow. "I'll do whatever you want. Don't hurt Lydia."

The expression on Dupont's face was ugly. "Oh, I know you'll let me do whatever I want," he said. "But that doesn't mean I can't have a little fun."

Lydia bit her lip so hard she drew blood. She was shaking.

Allison inhaled. Something chemical lingered on the air, something that reminded her of the skating rink. Ammonia, maybe. Or chlorine? "Please don't hurt her."

"Please don't hurt her," Dupont echoed mockingly. "Why should I do anything you want, huh?"

The scent of emotion drifted through the room – disapproval, or maybe cowardice? Allison didn't have time to play werewolf therapy. "Because Lydia is human, that's all. She's not a threat, she's only a girl. You can let her go, and there's no one to stop you from driving away."

Dupont lowered the gun, but the guy with his hand in Allison's hair didn't move. "What about you?"

Allison met Dupont's eyes. "I think we both know how this is going to end."

She didn't understand the anger on his face. "That's it?" he demanded. "You're not going to fight? Where's the sport in that?"

"Let Lydia go," Allison said. "I'll do whatever you want, just let her go."

"Allison," Lydia whispered, then let out a cry as Dupont wheeled around to slap her across the face with an open palm.

"Shut up!" he yelled, the words echoing in the concrete chamber. Allison held still, pushing her arms outwards ever so slightly to test the strength of her bonds. The zip ties they had used were solid, but there was give in the chair. That was something she could exploit. "For the love of god, shut your mouth!"

"Lydia, it's okay," Allison said. The side of the girl's face was bruised, her lip bleeding, and her eyes red with tears. But she was conscious and alive and staring at Allison through the fear. "Be quiet, no matter what happens."

"What do you think is going to happen?" asked one of the guys off to the side. It was the one who had suggested that Dupont teach Allison a little respect up on the mountain road.

"I don't know," Allison said. "I would prefer not to find out, but it's safe to assume that my consent isn't being sought in this situation."

"You sound like your father," said another of the men. "Talking like you're going to find a way out of this."

A wave of ice swept over Allison. "What did you do?" she demanded. "Did you hurt Chris? Did you go after him?"

The guy holding Allison's hair yanked her head back. "Shut up," he said. "Maurice, the longer this takes, the more likely that the cops will find us."

"Right." Dupont, who had been watching Allison intensely, beckoned the fifth guy over and handed him the gun. "Shoot the girl if you have to." The man took up his stance behind Lydia, the gun pointed at the ground.

Then Dupont walked over to the wall and dragged a chair over to beside Allison. He sat in it, putting his elbows on his knees, and stared at Allison for a very long minute. Allison tried to breathe shallowly; the stench of the man's sweat made her stomach roil.

Then he sat back. "Your mother," the man said conversationally, "Knew her duty. She understood what monsters truly are."

He reached out an arm to pick something up from somewhere Allison couldn't see. When he pulled back, there was a very long, very sharp knife in his hand.

"And when she was bitten, she understood what she had to do." Dupont held the knife out, the tip tracing the air in front of Allison's left eye. She tried to keep her focus on the man holding it. "Her sacrifice was an honour. But you…"

The tip of the knife dipped, and Allison felt the metal slice into her cheek. Blood poured down her skin, dripping over the edge of her jaw, down her throat. She didn't react to the pain, didn't move.

Dupont leaned away. The blood on the knife gleamed like rubies in the light. "You were supposed to be the new hope for the greatest Hunter family in the world."

With his free hand, he reached up to cup the side of Allison's face, a perversion of a caring gesture. When his thumb swiped over her cheekbone, there was no stinging, no pain. The wound had already healed.

"Instead, you're just a monster."

Allison looked at him. So that was how this was to end. Not with a bullet to the back of the head, but torture until Dupont got what he wanted out of her. God, what watching this was going to do to Lydia.

"I thought at first you were fucking the animals in this town for thrills," Dupont went on. He motioned to the man holding Allison's hair, who released her. The screaming tension in her back was almost a pain. "That Hale bastard, he was the one who survived the fire, right?"

"Yes." Allison rolled her head, trying to get the cramp out of her neck, when she was finally able to see her arms. The sleeves of her shirt had been sliced open to the elbow, and all along her arms, amid the zip ties, lay thin lines of dried blood over barely healed flesh.

They had cut into her while she was unconscious.

The alpha curled in her chest, burning with rage at the violation.

"What does he have that a human doesn't, huh?"

Allison lifted her head and looked Dupont straight in the eye. "He's enough of a man that he doesn't need to tie me to a chair to get what he wants."

She wasn't exactly surprised when Dupont stabbed her in the thigh.

Allison bit back a scream at the pain. Her hair was grabbed again and pulled back, holding her still. "I was wondering if you were going to be any fun," Dupont said. He twisted the knife, and this time Allison really did scream. "We're going to be down here until you show us exactly who you are." He pulled the knife out of her leg, hot blood pouring out of the wound to soak her jeans.

"Sorry to disappoint," Allison panted. She wrapped her hands around the chair arms. "What you see is what you get. I'm just Allison."

"No one human heals like this," Dupont said. "I'm going to find out what you are."

"I'm not going to change into anything," Allison said. She eyed Dupont as he stood up, walking over to Lydia with the knife in his hand. "Hey! She's human."

Dupont nodded, and the gun was shoved back in Lydia's face. She flinched, silent tears leaking down her cheeks. "You said that you're human, and then you say that she's human," he mused as he knelt down beside Lydia. He took her bound wrists in one hand, holding the knife over her arm with the other. "You heal. Will she?"

"Don't!" Allison pleaded. "Lydia's human! She was bitten by the alpha but she didn't turn! She was in the hospital for weeks! Ask Chris, he knows, he was there watching her!"

"Hmm," Dupont said, almost as if he was considering it.

Then he cut Lydia's arm open.

Lydia screamed and tried to pull away, but Dupont held on. The gun pressed to her temple kept Lydia in place.

"Stop it!" Allison shouted. "Lydia's human, she's not a monster! Stop hurting her!"

Dupont hadn't made another move towards Lydia, and he frowned at the sight of the blood pouring unrelenting from Lydia's arm.

"She won't heal like I do," Allison said, pleading. "Stop hurting her!"

Dupont stood up. "Christoff, stop the bleeding. Check in a few minutes to see if she's showing any signs of rapid healing."

One of the men by the wall hurried over, grabbing a rag from somewhere. He knelt by Lydia to press the cloth over her bleeding arm. Lydia looked as if she was about to pass out.

"You," Dupont said, striding back over to Allison. "Tell me what you are. Tell me or I start cutting your friend into pieces."

"I don't know!" Allison exclaimed. "I don't know why I'm like this!"

"What do you change into?" Dupont yelled. "Are you a werewolf?"

"No!" If Allison could keep Dupont busy with her, then he wouldn't hurt Lydia. "I don't know!"

"We'll see about that." Dupont strode off behind Allison. There was the rattle of metal against metal. "We'll see exactly how much it takes for you to show your true nature."

"Maurice," Christoff said from Lydia's side.

"Shut up." Dupont returned, to slap down a tray of instruments on the chair he had vacated. For a long moment, Allison was unable to look away from the too-shiny, too-sharp objects. "We talked about this. We _agreed on this."_

That was exactly what every girl wanted to hear, that her abductors had agreed on how badly they were going to torture her.

"This girl isn't healing," Christoff said. "She's human."

"Fine, then when we're finished with this one, we'll dump that one on the side of the road out of town." Dupont picked up a knife and walked around behind Allison.

She braced herself. _For Lydia_ , she thought firmly. _Lydia has to get out of here._

"But first." Dupont grabbed the back of her shirt. The knife ripped through the fabric, scraping up Allison's spine. "We have some unfinished business."

Allison tried to keep her breathing even. She'd been down this road before, knew what people like Dupont were like. If that gun hadn't been pointed right at Lydia's head, Allison would have risked making a break for freedom rather than let herself be cut into pieces.

But it was. And she couldn't.

"Lydia," Allison said as Dupont cut through her bra strap, pulling the fabric apart to expose her back. "You're going to be fine. They're going to let you go."

"Allison…" Lydia whispered. She was shaking.

"You're going to be fine," Allison said again. "Don't worry about me. You are going to get out of here."

Dupont picked up a long, thin piece of metal, sharp like a knife tip on one end, with little barbs radiating out behind the point like an arrow-head. There were almost a dozen of those things on the tray, and Allison felt lightheaded. "This is all very touching." He moved around so he was behind Allison, so she couldn't see what he was doing, which made it all so much worse. "If you tell us what kind of monster you are, we'll be able to put you out of your misery."

"I told you," Allison said. "I'm not a monster."

"We'll see about that." Dupont must have made a gesture, because the last guy left standing around came over and grabbed hold of her shoulders. Allison gripped the chair arms as the sharp metal slid under her skin of her shoulder blade, pushing in with a slow, burning agony. "I'll ask you again. What kind of monster are you?"

A tear rolled down Allison's cheek as she tried to keep still. She couldn't risk them turning their attention on Lydia. "I'm not a monster."

"Wrong answer." Dupont ripped the metal barb out, shredding through her flesh, and Allison screamed.

### Chris Argent

"Is there any sign of them?" Chris asked, turning his car up the hill to the old Hale house, trying to keep the panic and terror out of his voice.

Over the phone, both Paul and Mike indicated the negative. "The cops are at the motel where they were staying," Mike said. "Saul drove past a few minutes ago. He said the sheriff's there."

"What about the abduction site?" Chris rattled over the rough road.

Paul spoke up. "It's out in the open. It was probably the most public place you could kidnap two teenage girls in this town."

That was the worst of it, Chris thought. That Maurice Dupont would actually be emboldened enough as to go after Allison in such a public spectacle. What he had done there was a message, both to Chris and to the werewolves.

And what he was no doubt doing to Allison right now, was a message of a different kind.

Chris wanted to throw up.

"I saw the blood," Paul went on. "It didn't look like someone had bled out. That, uh. Allison…"

Chris pulled his car to a halt in front of the Hale house. There were no other vehicles, no signs anyone was around. "I told you what Stilinski told me," he said. "That Allison was shot."

"If…" Mike paused. "If she…"

"Do you have something you want to say?" Chris snapped.

"If she's a werewolf?" Mike asked. "If Allison did get bitten?"

Chris turned off the car. "If Allison was turned," he said heavily. "Then she is my responsibility. Not Dupont's. We find her, and Lydia Martin, and get them away from Dupont. Everything else, we'll handle later. Agreed?"

"Yes," Mike said. Paul murmured the affirmative.

"Good. You two go check out the old foundry, it's one of the only places left in town isolated enough that no one would hear any screaming. And tell Saul to keep an ear on the police scanner." Chris reached for his gun. "We'll check in in half an hour."

Chris hung up and got out of the car. There was no sound, no indication that anyone was alive in the area. He walked towards the house anyway. There might not be anyone alive, but that didn't mean Dupont hadn't been here.

Chris walked up the steps and entered the house. As always, when he went in, he moved through that cold patch right inside the door. He raised his gun, just in case, and walked on.

There was nothing in the living room where Kate had died. He found patches of what looked like old blood on the ground in the other wing of the house, but that had to be days old.

The girls weren't here.

Chris stopped in the entranceway and tried to think. He knew why Dupont had gone after Allison; had known for days that this was probably going to happen. But Allison was supposed to have been safe with Stilinski. Noah had said as much at the school on Thursday, that he was going to keep Allison safe. Allison should never have been alone in a place where Dupont could get to her.

Chris ran his hand over his face. Ever since the incident up in the woods on the first night they got back into town, when he had spotted Allison in the forest with Peter, Chris had known how this would all end. He had seen Allison move too fast, too fluid. At the school the previous Thursday, when he had found her with Jackson in the locker room, her hands and arms covered in blood, but with no apparent wounds… she had backed away from him, moving too fast to be human.

He didn't know what his daughter had become, but it had to be something supernatural.

Chris highly doubted that it had been Derek Hale who had done it to her. Seeing Allison and Derek together at the ice rink had proven that. Allison's sarcastic remark about nothing ever happening in Gévaudan was probably the most telling.

But if something had happened to Allison in France that summer, if someone had attacked her, or hurt her, why hadn't she told Chris?

He knew the answer to that question even as it formed in his head. Because they were Hunters. Because in their family, if you became the monster you hunted, you had to die.

And what had Allison said? _I don't think I'd be able to stop you if you really decided that I had to be put down._

Chris knew his family's history. He knew his father's own brother had followed the Code after he'd been bitten. He had been there when Victoria took a knife to her own heart.

And in that moment, Chris decided that it had to stop.

Whatever Allison had become, she wasn't a monster. She was his _daughter_ , and since they'd gotten back from France, all she had done was to protect people.

Allison wasn't a monster. And Chris wasn't going to let Dupont—

Deep in the house, something snapped.

Chris lifted his gun, turning around. He was silent, waiting to see what happened next. His spine crawled, like he was being watched.

He heard a soft footfall in the east wing of the house, where he had been not two minutes before. It was too light to be Dupont or any of his men, and if Allison had been hiding, she would probably have come out when she saw him.

"Lydia?" Chris called. "Is that you?

A flurry of steps, and a loud crack of wood. Chris ran towards the sound, gun up, in time to see a figure hurtle out of the newly opened hole in the wall. The figure had been small, with long hair, too short to have been Allison and too dark to be Lydia.

But she was gone, and Chris didn't have time to wonder why dark-haired little girls were hiding out in the ruins of the Hale house.

It didn't matter. Allison wasn't here.

Chris stomped back outside. The mystery girl wasn't lurking about. He got into his car and started it, backing up to turn around.

He had to think logically. Allison needed him to be logical. The girls weren't at the Hale house. They probably weren't at the foundry. Where could Dupont have taken two teenage girls? Almost any place in town they went, they would either be seen, or heard, or…

Chris's breath caught. Weeks before, Dupont had asked if Chris kept weapon caches around town. Chris had said yes, and made some off-hand comment about there being spots around Beacon Hills with underground tunnels left over from the gold rush days.

It had been a brief, unmemorable conversation, before everything with Allison had turned so dire.

But _underground_ might be the one place in Beacon Hills where Dupont had taken the girls, where no one would be able to hear them scream.

He jammed his foot on the accelerator. He had to hurry. Allison probably didn't have a lot of time left.

Allison's voice broke mid-scream, her throat raw. Dupont tossed a blood-soaked barb down on the concrete in front of Allison, joining the other six he had already pulled from her back. Some of the barbs held bits of skin and flesh, ripped from her body with the force of Dupont's violence. There were still three left inside her, their sharp tendrils slicing with every involuntary movement.

"She hasn't shifted," said one of the men.

"Look at how fast she's healing," Dupont snapped.

"But she's not shifting," the man said again.

Allison managed to pry her eyes off the pile of bloody metal, and lift her head enough to look at Lydia. The girl was staring at Allison, her hands pressed against her mouth, trembling. And the gun was still pointed at Lydia's temple.

Allison made herself smile. " 's'okay," she breathed, the word a torment in her mouth. Everything hurt. Her back, her bones, every muscle burned with the tension. "Okay?"

Lydia nodded, her eyes shiny with unshed tears.

"Good." Allison let her head drop. The torment and the blood loss were starting to get to her. She was trying to save some reserve deep inside her for one last attack, before the end. But it was hard.

She had forgotten how much continual physical agony took out of her.

"Then she's got to be something else!"

"I'm just human," Allison said towards the floor. "I told you."

"She can heal, but can she regenerate?" asked one of the other guys. "Chop off a finger and see."

Allison lifted her head to glare at him. "Fuck you."

He glared back. "If you tell us what you are, we'll let you go."

Allison spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva. "No, you won't. You'll put a bullet in the back of my skull."

"You're going to die, either way," Dupont said as he picked up a large knife, almost a cleaver. "Why don't you spare yourself the pain?"

"What, and miss having my last moments being subjected to your ugly faces?"

The guy turned to Dupont. "Why don't we take it out on the friend?" he asked. Lydia got paler. "That might get her talking."

Dupont turned on him. "We're not in this business to hurt normal humans. We grabbed her in case she was one of _them_ , but we're dumping her as soon as this business is done."

"I'm human," Allison said, which earned her a blow to the side of the head from the guy holding her shoulders.

"We've established that you're not." Dupont turned his attention back to her. "Let's see if you can regrow a hand."

Allison braced herself. She knew that if she lost that much blood from an uncontrolled amputation, she wouldn't be able to fight back. "I thought we were talking about a finger."

Dupont hefted the cleaver. "What would a finger prove?"

"No, no, no," Lydia said, trying to stand up. The guy with the gun yanked her back down. "Don't do this, _please don't!"_

"Lydia," Allison said sharply. She could feel the wood of the chair creak under her hands, knew she could get free of the chair with one controlled explosion. If only that gun wasn't pointed at Lydia's head. "It's okay. It's going to be okay."

There was a noise in the distance, what sounded like running footsteps on concrete. Allison's heart jumped in hope. Was someone coming? Good or bad, if they were enough of a distraction for Dupont, maybe Allison would live through this day after all.

"You're an optimist," Dupont said. "For someone who's going to die."

"We're all going to die," Allison said. The footsteps were getting closer.

"I meant soon."

Allison curled the corner of her mouth up in a smile. "So did I."

The door to the room crashed open. "Dupont!" came a very familiar voice, Chris's voice, and all of a sudden the attention was off Allison.

"Argent," Dupont sneered. He took a step to the side and shoved the cleaver against Lydia's throat. "Drop the gun."

Allison had to blink a bit to make out the scene. Chris, with a gun trained on Dupont; two of the Hunters with their guns trained on Chris.

Most crucially, there was no longer a gun pointed at Lydia's head.

Allison breathed. A chance was opening up, a tiny shred of hope.

Allison had saved galaxies with less.

"Chris," she rasped. "Glad you could make it. Maurice had to start without you."

"Allison, are you okay?" Chris said. He hadn't taken his eyes off Dupont.

"Of course I'm not." Allison looked around. The dynamics in the room had changed. Everyone was treating Chris as the most dangerous person there.

Ridiculous. Lydia had always been the most deadly threat, even if she didn't know it.

"Did you know how fast she can heal?" Dupont demanded, jerking his chin at Allison. "How long has she been like this? How long have you been keeping a monster in your house?"

"Allison isn't a monster," Chris said. He took a step to the left, keeping his eyes on Dupont. "And neither is Lydia. You need to let them go."

"The time for that is long past," Dupont snapped. "Drop the gun, or I'm going to slit this girl's throat right now."

"Dad, do it," Allison interjected before Chris could speak. Lydia was shaking, but there was something on her face that hadn't been there before. It wasn't just fear; Lydia was starting to get angry. Good _._ "Dad, please."

Chris looked at her then, a long, steady gaze. It had been the first time she had called him _Dad_ since she came back in time, almost twenty-seven years for her. Did he get it? Did he understand?

"Please," Allison said again. "Lydia's the only thing that matters."

Chris hesitated, then lowered the gun. Three of Dupont's men surged forward, one grabbing the gun, two grabbing Chris's arms. That left the guy holding Allison's hair, and Dupont himself.

Then Dupont made the most critical mistake of all. He took the knife away from Lydia's throat.

Allison let out a breath, gathering her reserves.

"You brought this on yourself!" Dupont shouted at Chris. "You had everything, and you couldn't even protect it?"

Wait. What the hell was Dupont talking about?

"You need to let the girls go," Chris said again, voice calm. "Take this up with me, but let them go."

"No, I am going to do what you should have done, and get rid of the monsters in this town. Starting with this one." Dupont strode over behind Allison again, no doubt to get the next in his line of torture tools.

Chris tried to get away from the men holding him, but one kicked his legs out and they got him on his knees. "Dupont, don't do this!"

"Oh, but I have to." Dupont walked over to Chris, holding a hacksaw. That didn't bode well. "Your inaction has led to this."

"Lydia," Allison said quietly. Lydia looked at Allison, her eyes wild. "Do you remember what you said about wanting to scream and never stop?"

Lydia gave a quick jerk of a nod.

"Now would be a really good time to start sounding crazy."

The guy holding Allison's hair slapped her. "Shut up."

"What possible incentive do I have to stop talking?" Allison said, louder to draw everyone's attention. "Your boss is about to start sawing me into pieces like the world's worst magic trick and you're going to make my dad watch? This isn't even interesting, it's just stupid."

"Can't we gag her?" the guy asked Dupont.

"And here I thought you were getting off on hearing me scream," Allison said. Dupont backhanded her across the jaw. God, she was getting really sick of these assholes. "Chop chop, I don't have all day."

"Do you really think that this false bravado is going to save you?" Dupont demanded.

"I'm fresh out of real bravado, the false kind is all I have left."

"Allison, _stop,"_ Chris said.

"Sorry, Dad," Allison said. Her eyes never left Dupont's face. "Can you do me a favour? Tell Noah that I left the case notes for the Mason homicide in my bedroom?"

"Enough." Dupont moved forward, planting one hand on Allison's left forearm, and lowering the saw to rest over her mid-arm.

"Going through the joint would be easier," Allison suggested.

"For the last time!" Dupont exclaimed. "Shut up!"

Then Lydia screamed.

There was a peculiarity to a banshee's cry, that the first note was the rising wail, lifting the mournful cry to a height. Then the power dropped, but in that very first moment, the sound was deceptively fragile, like an empty shell.

In the damp concrete room when Lydia first screamed, all the men flinched, but didn't react. After all, what harm could a woman screaming do?

Then the power dropped, a literal sonic boom in the enclosed space. Dupont stepped back, losing his grip on the saw. The guy behind Allison let go of her. By the wall, the guys holding Chris had already collapsed. Chris was trying to cover his ears, but nothing short of magical sound protection would do anything against the scream of an angry banshee.

And Lydia kept screaming.

Allison pulled up the alpha, power surging through her. She and Lydia had practiced this countless times in the future, how Allison could withstand the banshee's cry in battle. It had been difficult, and ended up with Allison unconscious more times than not, but they had finally worked out that if Allison went full-on alpha as soon as possible, she was able to withstand the worst of the auditory impact.

And with the alpha came all that anger and rage Allison had needed to suppress while Dupont was torturing her. How dare he? How dare any of them lay their hands on Lydia? On Allison?

And finally, with the rage, came the burst of strength Allison needed to break apart the wooden chair, snapping the zip ties holding her arms and feet. She was up and moving while Lydia screamed, kicking the saw away from Dupont, reaching for the guns the men had held. For a wild instant, Allison contemplated shooting them all point-blank in the skull.

But it would be hard to call that self-defence in front of a jury.

Lydia's voice broke, and a ringing silence returned to the room. All the men were on the ground, unconscious or dazed. Allison was free, and Lydia's feet weren't bound. They could get away.

Allison took the clips out of the guns and tossed the rest into the corner. "Come on," she said, through ringing ears. "We got to go."

Lydia didn't move. She sat staring out at the destruction her voice had caused, eyes as wide as saucers. "I…"

"Yes, you." Allison picked up a knife from Dupont's tray of torture toys. "Hold still." She sliced through the duct tape, freeing Lydia's hands. "We need to get out of here."

"What…"

"I'll explain later." Allison hauled Lydia to her feet. Her back burned with every movement, the tiny barbs of the blades slicing under her skin. But she didn't have time to deal with them; she had to get Lydia away from these thugs before one of them tried to kill the girl.

"Why are your eyes _red?"_

Allison grabbed Lydia's arm. "Come _on._ " She hauled the girl towards the open door. Already, the men were stirring. She thought about grabbing Chris's arm on the way, getting him out of there, but given Lydia's recent demonstration, she couldn't be sure what Chris would do.

So she left him there on the floor.

Out in the corridor, Allison took a moment to heave the big door shut, then throw the gun clips far down the corridor. She turned around, and caught a whiff of water, chemicals, and under it, sewage. They had to be close to the water treatment plant.

And that meant Allison knew exactly where they were.

"Come on," she said, hauling Lydia along. "I know a short-cut."

"To where?" Lydia demanded.

"To the school." It was only a mile underground to the school through the tunnels, and Allison was pretty sure she knew how to get there. "There's a drama thing tonight, so there will be teachers there. We can be safe while they call the sheriff."

"How do you know all this?" Lydia demanded, yanking her arm away and stopping. "Allison, what the hell is going on?"

Allison let out a low growl. "Lydia, we don't have time for this."

"No," Lydia said with a firm shake of her head. "The last time I saw someone with eyes like yours, Peter tried to _bite me in half_. I'm not going anywhere!"

Allison pointed back down the hall. "Would you rather wait for those assholes to get back to their senses and come after us?"

"Allison! Tell me the truth!"

"All right!" Allison exclaimed. "I'm an alpha, like Derek, but I'm human. I'm not going to bite you or hurt you, so can we please get going?"

Lydia hesitated for another moment, then she reached for Allison's arm. "Don't leave me behind."

Allison drew Lydia in, kissing her temple before hauling her along into the darkness. "Never," she promised.

They moved deeper into the tunnels, away from the scent of damp and chemicals. The stone and brick here were dry, with enough lights installed about a hundred yards apart; the work of the electrical company in the fifties using the tunnels to access underground wiring, before an embezzlement scandal in town diverted the project. Now, the tunnels sat unused, a perfect hiding place for malefactors.

"How do you know where you're going?" Lydia asked in a whisper after a while.

"I did some reading," Allison said. "I saw maps."

"Oh." Lydia clung more tightly to Allison's arm. "Are you okay?"

"No." Her back burned with every step, her throat ached from the continued screaming. "I have to get you somewhere safe, and then I'll be better."

"Why?"

"Because that's what I do."

"Because you're an alpha?"

"Yes." Allison paused, listening hard. There was no sound of pursuit. Other than Lydia's heartbeat and rapid breathing, Allison could not hear any other signs of life. "It's what an alpha is supposed to do." She drew Lydia along, into the gathering darkness. They were about to enter the part of the tunnels beyond the lights, and Allison hoped Lydia wouldn't freak out.

"It's not what Peter did."

"No." Allison squeezed Lydia's hand. "Being in the fire, and the coma, really messed him up."

"Are you _apologizing_ for him?" Lydia asked.

"No. But I can understand it." Allison kept walking. She had to get Lydia somewhere safe, somewhere Dupont and the others couldn't touch her. "Just because you understand someone's origin story, doesn't mean they're not a villain."

"If you think he's a bad guy, why are you sleeping with him?"

"Lydia," Allison said sharply. "We just spent far too long being tortured by psychopaths. Can we please talk about Peter another day?"

Lydia huffed. "Fine."

"Good." Allison kept moving.

"It's getting darker."

"Yeah." Allison transferred Lydia's hands to her wrist. She needed a hand free for the next part of this journey. "We're about to get to the pitch-black part of the tunnels."

"Like under the school?"

"Yes."

"Oh." Lydia's grip tightened. "I don't really like the dark."

"It's okay," Allison said in reassurance. "You're with me. I can hear really good. And I can tell you that there's nothing else around."

"Not even…" Lydia swallowed hard. "Rats?"

"No."

"Spiders?"

"No."

"Okay." Lydia was silent as they moved into the darkness. Allison had her hand out, trailing along the wall, her only guide as to how to get through the tunnels. "Allison?"

"Yes?"

"What did I do back there?"

"You saved our lives."

"But… how?"

Allison concentrated, digging deep in her memory. There should be a break in the tunnel coming up, that they had to get past before turning left. "Do you know what a banshee is?"

Dead silence.

"It's probably that." Allison's hand slid from rock wall to emptiness. There, a few more steps… And she found the wall again. "Being a banshee is genetic. You said your grandmother was a little different? Maybe that's where you got it."

Lydia stopped walking, nearly yanking Allison off her feet with the suddenness of the movement. "You knew."

"What?"

"Down by the river. You asked me about screaming." Lydia was trembling. "How did you know?"

Fuck. "I didn't _know_ ," Allison said, trying to think up a plausible cover story. "But after you asked me and Stiles to help you figure out what you were, I started looking into what types of supernatural creatures wouldn't be turned by an alpha werewolf's bite. Banshee is pretty high on the list."

In the pitch darkness, Allison could smell Lydia getting angry. "You should have told me."

"Lydia—"

"Why does everyone keep lying to me?"

"I'm sorry," Allison said. Lydia was trembling, and Allison risked taking her hand off the wall to wrap Lydia up into a hug. Her back screamed in protest. "You're right. I should have told you."

Lydia pressed her cheek against Allison's throat. "Are you lying to me about anything else?"

Allison took stock. "You know about the alpha thing," she said. "And Peter." Lydia made a disgusted sound. "I guess the only other thing that happened is that the DNA test came back. Turns out that I really am Clara and Tony's daughter."

Lydia exhaled. "I meant about me."

"Oh. No." Allison squeezed Lydia tight. The girl let out a squeak. "Come on, we have another half mile to go."

"Why couldn't we go above ground?" Lydia complained.

"Because Dupont's probably angry enough to shoot me again, and this time he'd aim for my head." Allison reached out for the wall, then stopped.

The wall wasn't where it should be.

Allison moved her arm around frantically. She caught her wrist on some exposed brick, scraping a gash in her skin that brought blood to the surface.

"Allison?" Lydia whispered.

"Um." Allison touched the wall, feeling the rough brick instead of smooth stone it had been moments before. Had she gotten turned around? "Everything's okay."

"You don't—" Lydia's voice broke off, and she let out a small, terrified moan. "There's _someone here."_

"There isn't," Allison insisted. The only heartbeats she could hear were hers and Lydia's; not even a mouse was close. "There's only you and—"

Something licked Allison's bleeding wrist.

She gasped, jerking back and colliding with Lydia. Instinct and blood loss pulled the alpha to the surface, trying to deal with the sudden, bone-crushing fear. " _Who's there?"_

For a moment, there was complete stillness. Then a cold hand took Allison's, fingers twining with hers, and Allison was so scared that she couldn't move.

"Come with me," came a soft, unknown voice in Allison's ear, ghosting like ice over Allison's throat.

"Who are you?" Allison demanded.

"I know the way," came the voice again, and Allison was pulled down the tunnel, barely able to keep her feet.

"Lydia, hang on," Allison demanded. Her heart was pounding in her chest. The sensation of fur back in the torture chamber, the icy breath, licking up her blood… She desperately hoped that this was the ghost of Laura Hale, and not some new supernatural danger come to swallow her and Lydia alive.

"What's happening?" Lydia demanded, running to keep up. " _Who is it?"_

"Ghosts," Allison breathed out, and hoped that this wasn't going to end with Laura dropping her and Lydia down a hole in the tunnels where no one would ever find them.

So Allison sent a fervent prayer out to the universe for safety, and let their ghostly rescuer drag her and Lydia through the pitch-black stillness.

It wasn't the strangest thing that day had thrown at her.

### Clint Barton

Clint ducked, the chunk of table flying a few inches over his head. "Aw, come on!"

"You think you can stop us?" the glowing dude demanded, hefting another chunk of table.

"My momma always said I can do anything if I put my mind to it." Clint fired off an arrow, an inch to the guy's left. "Except aim."

"Real cute," the dude snapped. Then the arrow exploded, knocking him off to the side.

"Got it!" came the call over the comms, and Steve's shield flew through the broken window in the cabinet room, ricocheting against the wall and smacking the dude in the head. He dropped like a rock. "Report?"

"I got seven," Clint said, nocking another arrow. Behind him huddled a few cabinet members and their staffers.

Steve jumped up into the room, resplendent in his Captain America uniform. "Iron Man's got eyes on the President," he said as he retrieved the shield. "Ladies, gentlemen, we've got an escape path for you. Can everyone move?"

Everyone climbed to shaky feet, and Clint and Steve covered their exit from the room. A gaggle of secret service agents met them at the end of the corridor, herding them down towards a secured area. One of the agents said to Steve, "We have everyone but the President and Secretary of State."

"We're on our way," Steve said. "Have you secured the rest of the White House?"

"All but the East Wing," the man said. Clint looked in the direction of the East Wing, which was currently on fire. "All staff have been accounted for."

"Right." Steve stood tall. "Hawkeye, with me."

"Here we go," Clint grumbled, but he jogged along after Steve as they headed back into the thick of things. "Why am I even here?"

"Because you're the only one who could fly a quinjet from Malibu to West Virginia in a pinch," Steve pointed out. They slowed to duck behind a broken wall, damaged in the initial explosion. "Why were you in Malibu, anyway?"

"Had some news for Tony," Clint said.

"What was it?"

Clint shrugged. "Something that could wait."

"Right." Above them came the whine of repulsors, where Iron Man and War Machine circled, trying to find an entry point into the part of the building where three glowing terrorists were holding the President hostage.

Tony's voice came over the comms. "Save the chatter, Chickadee and Sparkles," he ordered. "Cap, take ground. Rhodey, go high."

"Over the top," Clint muttered.

"We happy few," Steve agreed, and then as one, they charged.

This was certainly not what Clint had signed up for when he'd headed over to Tony's house that morning to let him know that Allison was his biological daughter, but part of the appeal (or the appall) of SHIELD work was the quick-changing nature of one's work-day.

Start the day with a notification, end with saving the President from terrorists? Either way, at the conclusion of all this, Clint was breaking out the cigars.

Briefly, as a flaming chunk of wood flew past his head, Clint wondered what kind of day Natasha was having. Probably something boring.

Next time, Natasha could go battle terrorists, and Clint could stay behind in Hicksville.

It seemed only fair.

Then one of the terrorists started screaming, and Clint whipped an arrow through the man's throat. As much as he wanted to joke around in his own head, this wasn't a game. And he had to concentrate.

Time to save the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dupont crony: If you want this one to talk, why not smack her little friend around?  
> Dupont: I might be a violent sociopath, but I have standards. Anyway, hand me the bone saw. It's vivisection time.  
> Allison: *looks directly into the camera like she's on the Office*
> 
> Trust me, it only goes uphill from here!
> 
> Derek's potato salad: <https://minimalistbaker.com/simple-french-style-potato-salad/>  
> Cop codes: <https://copradar.com/tencodes/>


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allison and Lydia effect an escape, which turns into another sort of trap for Allison. An encounter of the ghostly kind at the Hale house changes Allison’s plans, exposes the identity of the mysterious werewolf, and ends in a final confrontation with Dupont and all the Hunters in town. But the night isn’t over for Allison, and dealing with the aftermath is even more painful than Allison could have imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More warnings for violence and depictions of blood, injury and bodily harm.

* * *

Time stretched oddly in the dark. Allison clung to Lydia with one hand, the ghost pulling her along by the other. Lydia was so warm, her heartbeat and shallow breathing loud in Allison's ears. She smelled of blood and fear and a faint undertone of her perfume and face powder and sour fear sweat and an almost imperceptible scent of banshee, like ozone and lilies and roses mixed with a midnight fog.

The ghost was only a cold pressure around Allison's hand, guiding her deeper into the dark.

Lydia sniffled. "Are we there yet?" she whispered.

Allison almost laughed. She stuffed the hysteria down. "Should be soon."

"What if this is a trick?" Lydia asked. She gripped Allison's hand so hard it hurt. "What if she's going to kill us?"

"She's not," Allison said. "Even if she leaves us right now, we'll find our way out of the tunnels eventually."

"I won't kill you," came that unfamiliar cold voice. Lydia let out a quiet, terrified moan.

"Who are you?" Allison asked immediately. "Are you Laura?"

"Laura who?" Lydia hissed.

"Laura Hale," Allison said.

"What?" Lydia demanded. "Derek's sister?"

"Derek's sister," Allison confirmed. "Talia's daughter. And Peter's niece."

A low growl came from the darkness.

"That's something you two have in common," Allison said to the ghost. "Peter going batshit insane on you."

Laura stopped. Allison came to a halt, bracing herself as Lydia kept moving, nearly tripping over her. Laura's hand was gone in an instant, only to be replaced by a mouthful of very sharp, very real fangs digging into Allison's thigh.

Allison bit back a scream at the pain. "That wasn't a joke," she breathed out. "I'm sorry you're dead and I'm sorry Peter killed you, but he died too. And he came back different. Less crazy."

Laura's teeth rested in Allison's leg. Allison reached down to grope for the wolf, her hand sinking into a thick mane of fur.

"He was trapped in his own burned body for six years," Allison said. Laura opened her mouth and let Allison's leg go, but she didn't step away. "He was awake the whole time, in agony, trapped, unable to move, healing a little bit at a time."

The wolf huffed.

"And he didn't have his alpha," Allison went on carefully, because Laura was solid enough that she could rip Allison's throat out if she felt like it, and that would be really hard for Lydia to handle. "I'm not apologizing for what he did to you, Laura, but I can understand it."

Laura growled again, then slowly started walking. Allison made sure she had tight hold of Lydia's hand, and limped along after the wolf on her newly bleeding leg.

"Is that true?" Lydia whispered after a few steps.

"What?"

"What Peter went through?"

"Yes." Allison caught a change in the scent on the air. An indescribable miasma of sweat and hormones. Teenagers. They must be close to the high school.

"That… That sounds bad."

"It was, and like I told you, that doesn't take away from the fact that he did all that stuff to you, and to Laura. He made those choices."

"But you said he was different now?"

"It seems like it. He's not trying to kill me anymore, that's a nice change."

Lydia was quiet for a few more steps. "If you want a boyfriend who hasn't tried to kill you, I could find you one."

"Lydia."

"Like, Isaac. Or Vahan, he plays trumpet in band."

"I know who Vahan is. And hush, I need to listen."

She didn't, not really, but she was trying to save herself and Lydia from rampaging Hunters, with the increasingly reluctant help of a ghostly Laura Hale, and talking about Peter wasn't going to help either cause.

The scent of the school grew thicker on the air. Still, they kept moving at a fairly steady pace, right up until Laura pulled Allison face first into a wall.

"Hey!" Allison exclaimed. There was a ghostly huff from an amused wolf, then nothing.

"Allison?" Lydia squeaked.

Allison touched the wall. She could feel curved lines traced into the rock, and a wave of relief washed over her. It was the triskelion carved into the door of the Hale vault under the school.

They were so close.

"We're almost there," Allison said. She groped along the wall. She now knew which way to go. "We'll get you some help."

"Me?" Lydia demanded, startled. "What about you?"

"We might need to separate," Allison said. They reached the turn. "I need to get you safe, but depending on who's around, I might need to make a run for it."

_"Why?"_

"Because Dupont and his team aren't the only Hunters in town," Allison said. They had reached the door that led into the school. Allison shoved it open. The faint light that shone in under the door from the hallway on the other side was almost blinding after the darkness. "Chris's men won't go after you. But depending on what Dupont told them, they might go after me."

"What if they do?" Lydia asked as Allison hauled her into the electrical room. "Chris heard me scream."

"If they do?" Allison fumbled for one of the flashlights and, pressing the bulb against her uninjured leg to keep from being blinded, turned it on. The light glowed red, lighting up her and Lydia in a weird tableau. "Scream at then some more."

Now Allison could see how wide Lydia's eyes were, the panic and terror on her face, and there was just the tiniest hint of anger, like a storm cloud on the horizon. "Am I supposed to scream at everyone who tries to kill me?" Lydia asked.

"That sounds like a plan to me." Allison gave Lydia a quick kiss on the forehead. "Lydia Martin, you are a force of nature, and no one messes with mother nature." She moved the light to illuminate more of the room. "Show me your arm."

Lydia held out her arm. Allison aimed the flashlight at the dirty rag that had been wrapped around the cut. There didn't appear to be any new bleeding.

"Okay, you're going to get to the hospital and get stitches and a tetanus shot and everything's going to be okay."

"What about you?" Lydia caught Allison's hand. "Don't you need to go to the hospital?"

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not!" Lydia pulled on Allison's arm. "They shot you and they were _doing_ things to you, and there was so much blood and you were screaming and you can't be okay!"

"Lydia." Allison let the alpha simmering below the surface rise a little. Lydia whimpered. "I have to be fine until this is all over, one way or another. I have to get through this, and I can't stop to think about what's happened."

Lydia hesitantly leaned against Allison, and Allison put her arm around Lydia's shoulders. The motion sliced pain through her back, the barbs pulling at her flesh, but Allison refused to react. "Why does it sound like you've done this before?" Lydia whispered.

Allison breathed against Lydia's hair for a few heartbeats. "When I told you that my summer sucked," she said eventually. "I really meant it."

Lydia made a small, wounded sound. "I hate this so much."

"Good." Allison kissed Lydia's hair and stood back. "Be angry. This is all so fucked up, I can't even begin to understand." She moved over to the door. "Ready?"

Lydia grabbed Allison's sleeve. "What if there's someone out there?"

"I can't hear anyone."

"What about more ghosts?"

Allison waved that off. "The only ghost who's ever actually been able to touch me is Laura, and she's only cranky when I bring up Peter."

"Gee, I wonder why."

Allison smiled in spite of herself. "That's my Lydia." She put the flashlight down, and pulled the door open.

The basement of the high school was almost shocking in its normalcy. Allison drew Lydia along with her, trying to think what the best course of action would be. Maybe take her to the principal's office and see if Mr. Andrews was still there? If not, maybe someone from the administration would be. If not, Allison could use the phone to call the sheriff's department to come get them.

Someone had to have called the cops, right? Allison and Lydia had been taken in broad daylight.

Which was going to make explaining why she no longer had a giant gaping wound in her gut hard to explain.

Allison drew Lydia along with her up the stairs to the main level. The school felt weirdly empty. She could hear distant voices in the theatre wing, and the low whir of the floor polisher on the level above, but there wasn't the constant buzz of noise she had come to expect since she'd started school as a teenage human alpha.

"I don't like this," Lydia whispered from Allison's side. "Where is everyone?"

"At home doing normal human things," Allison said. She strained to hear anyone on the approach, just in case. "Like you should have been doing."

"Do you think Harris will let me have a delay on my chemistry homework?"

"He'd better." Allison and Lydia turned down the corridor to the offices. "I can always get Noah to write you a note."

Something outside of the windows, along the back of the school overlooking the playing fields caught Allison's attention. She stopped, looked, then reversed course, hauling Lydia with her. "Oh my god, now what?" Lydia demanded.

"It's Jackson and Isaac," Allison said, her heart beating fast with sudden relief. Two of her pack, so close by. They could keep Lydia safe. "They're out on the lacrosse field."

"Wait," Lydia said, running to keep up with Allison. "I get kidnapped in broad daylight in the middle of town, and my _boyfriend_ and my student council _running mate_ are playing _lacrosse?"_

Allison wanted to laugh wildly, but she suspected if she gave in to hysteria now, she'd be no good to anyone. "Lydia, I really don't think they'd be doing that if they knew what happened."

"Didn't anyone _call_ them?"

They burst through the doors to the playing field. As soon as they were in eyesight of the two teenage werewolves, Allison lifted her head and shouted, "Jackson! Isaac!"

Isaac, who was facing the girls, froze, stick half-raised. "Hey!" Jackson said, already turning around. "Pay attention…"

When Jackson saw Lydia and Allison, his jaw dropped, his eyes wide, and then his stick was on the ground and he was running over to them, Isaac on his heels.

"We have to get Lydia somewhere safe," Allison said immediately.

"What the fuck happened?" Jackson asked, screeching to a halt by Lydia's side.

"What are you talking about? We got kidnapped!" Lydia burst out, smacking Jackson across the chest with her uninjured arm. "Allison got shot!"

"Shit," Isaac said. "Dude, I told you that you should have answered your phone."

"I just thought it was my mom!" Jackson retorted. Allison practically heaved Lydia into his arms. "Who kidnapped you?"

"Dupont," Allison said. "Lydia needs a doctor."

"You look like you need a coroner," Isaac said, looking Allison over. "Did you really get shot? Why aren't you dead?"

"Answers later," Allison said. "Jackson, where's your phone? Someone needs to call the sheriff."

"It's in my bag." Jackson had his arm around Lydia's shoulders, and Lydia looked like she had finally run out of the fortitude that held her together underground. "Should we call Derek or something?"

"What's he going to do about Dupont?" Allison asked, already heading for Jackson's bag.

"What the fuck happened to your back?" Isaac asked.

"Hunters." Allison had almost reached the bag, when a car door slammed in the parking lot, and Allison whirled around. Had Dupont found them already?

It took her a long, painful second to track the sound. When she saw who it was, her pulse accelerated, adrenaline flooding her veins.

It was Mike Zeng, one of Chris's lieutenants.

And he was staring directly at her.

"Allison!" Mike shouted. Allison began backing away. "Allison, are you okay?"

Allison's hands shook. She had known Mike since she was thirteen and he'd joined Argent International, and she had no way of knowing if he was about to try to kill her.

Mike started walking towards the field, and that decided Allison. "Get Lydia inside," she ordered.

"Who's that _now?"_ Lydia asked, almost crying.

"One of Chris's men." Allison took stock of her surroundings. She had a clear path to the woods behind the lacrosse field, through which she could get anywhere in town… including the Hale house, which had her knife and her second phone and a shirt that wasn't sliced all the way up the back. "If he goes after Lydia, eat him."

"What if he goes after you?" Isaac asked, pulling his lacrosse gloves off.

"Let him." Allison took a deep breath. "He won't be able to catch me. Lydia, remember what I told you."

And with that, Allison turned and ran. Her body burned with the anticipation of a bullet in the back, but no shot came, just another shout from Mike. She hit the woods in a few seconds, and as soon as she was swallowed up by the trees, she let the alpha take her.

Allison flew over the hard-packed ground, kicking up leaves in her wake. Even as she ran, she could feel her reserves dropping, feel the nausea of blood loss and trauma pulling at her. How easy it would be to just stop, to lay down, to rest for a few minutes.

But she couldn't do that. She had to get to her phone and her weapon, find out the lay of the land, then do everything in her power to stop Dupont and his men from ever being a threat to Lydia again.

And if that meant killing them all, she'd do it. For Lydia, she would do anything.

Still, the run through the forest _hurt_. Her back screamed with every jarring step, the three long barbs Dupont had used to torture her digging deeper into her muscle in an agony. Her leg hurt where Laura had bitten her in the dark. Her guts ached, and Allison really hoped that the gunshot hadn't dragged any fabric into her body, healing inside her.

She wanted her weapons. She wanted A-Force. She wanted a fully appointed medical bay where everyone knew her biological quirks and they had the good anesthetic that would keep her under during surgery.

She wanted Bucky.

Her eyes burned as she ran. She didn't have any of that. All she had was Hunters after her blood, her friends being tortured because they got in the way.

She became dimly aware that she wasn't running alone. A faint shape moved along at her side, loping across the forest floor with no sound. It was Laura, the wolf who had saved her and Lydia from the darkness.

"I'm still not over you biting me," Allison gasped, jumping over a tree. The landing sent a jolt of pain through her so sharp, she screamed.

The wolf yipped, never breaking stride.

"Okay." She angled up the hill to the Hale house. Almost there. She was almost there, and then she could…

Could what? Call for help? Hide and hope that no one tortured or murdered her while she was waiting for backup?

Maybe she could take advantage of the temporary reprieve to pull those blades out of her back.

The house was deserted. Allison slowed to a stop to look around, just in case, but there were no signs of life. She couldn't see Talia lurking in the doorway, but then she'd never seen the ghosts before the sun set, either.

So why could she see an outline of Laura's wolfy figure?

Allison held out her hand, and Laura trotted over. The cold tongue over her fingers felt solid enough. "Why are you a wolf out here but you were human underground?" Allison asked. Laura nibbled her wrist with delicate teeth. "I don't understand ghosts."

It took an enormous effort for Allison to move forward. Where she wasn't in pain, she ached, feeling every one of her forty-six years dragging at her like stones.

She told herself to keep moving. She had a mission to complete – get back-up, stop Dupont, keep Lydia safe.

Laura walked along at Allison's side until they got to the steps to the house, where the wolf stopped and slumped to the ground. "For the third time," Allison said. "There's no mountain ash. You can go in the house."

Laura whined.

"Fine." Allison stomped up the steps and was about to turn into the living room to the right off the hall, when she smelled a strange and totally unexpected combination of smells. The unfamiliar werewolf's scent was back, lingering in the air beside…

Allison sniffed again to make sure. Chris Argent had been there; a hint of his aftershave and laundry soap remained in the still air of the hallway.

Allison swallowed down the adrenaline rush. Chris's scent was old, nearly gone. He had to have been here before he found her and Lydia down in Dupont's secret torture chamber. But why had Chris been here? Was he after the mysterious werewolf?

Allison padded silently across the first floor, listening hard. There was no one else in the house, but the scent of the wolf grew stronger in the corner by the house's back wall, where the kitchen had been. In what remained of a cupboard, Allison found a half-full backpack.

She reached for it, then hesitated. Whoever the wolf was, they hadn't attacked anyone around town, or made any move against the pack. The only thing they had done was to hide in what look like an abandoned house.

Allison pulled her hand away. Given her current state, who was she to object to someone hiding in the Hale house? She wouldn't take their stuff; she had all she needed hidden away in this very house. Once the mess with Dupont was over, and the wolves were safe, Allison and Derek could deal with the mystery of the unknown werewolf together.

She hauled herself to her feet, letting out a little moan of pain at the agony in her back. She had to deal with the barbs and soon, but the idea of pulling them out herself, making herself feel all that pain again, made her want to throw up.

Maybe she could get Noah to conk her over the head before someone cut the blades out of her back. Or maybe they could shoot her with whatever Dupont had used on the bullet that knocked her out in the first place.

Staggering slightly, Allison headed into the living room. There was a vague shape standing in the shadows, no pulse or sign of life, but Allison knew it was Talia, as she had seen the woman the first night in the house. "Laura's outside," Allison said, pointing vaguely. "She's been having a blast chomping on me. Is this some sort of ghost lore I didn't know about? You swallow the blood of the living and get more alive yourself?"

Carefully, Allison lowered herself to her knees in front of the fireplace. The effort left her panting a little around the pain.

"Just do it," Allison ordered herself. "Pick up the bricks and get the phone. Call Jarvis. He can help."

She didn't move.

"You're almost there," she went on. Cold air drifted over her bared back. "That's not helping," Allison snapped at the empty room. "Why don't you become corporeal and get my phone for me instead of standing around like you've got all the time in the world?"

Something brushed against the exposed edge of one of the barbs in Allison's back, sending a spasm of pain down her spine. She tried to jerk away, but she couldn't move.

She _couldn't move._

"Don't," Allison whispered, as the barb slowly started to slide out of her back. The blade edges caught in her skin and muscle, slicing, tearing, and it was so much worse than when Dupont had yanked the barbs out of her, because this just kept on happening. Allison struggled to move, but she was frozen in place, cold holding her down, keeping her trapped. "Talia, _stop."_

Blood poured scalding down her back. Just as Allison was about to start screaming, the barb finally came loose from her body, falling to the ground with a wet metallic clink. Something icy and wet slithered over Allison's back, over the broken skin, raking over the abused flesh like sandpaper, and with that, the vague miasma of ice holding her solidified. Hands held her arms, knees pressed around her hips to hold her in place, a perversion of an embrace.

Allison dug deep, grabbing at the alpha that cowered inside her, pulled until the warm familiar anger burned through her. "Let me go!"

In an instant, the hold vanished, and Allison could move. She rolled to the side, getting to her feet, ready to fight an impossible opponent. Even though sunlight still showed through the cracks in the boards, Talia Hale stood staring at Allison with her own alpha-red eyes, looking extremely solid.

Allison could understand now why everyone said that Talia was the most powerful werewolf who had ever lived in Beacon Hills.

They stared at each other, Hale alpha to Hale alpha. "I'm not giving up any more blood," Allison said after a minute.

"I'm not asking." Talia's voice was softer than a whisper, but clearer than Laura's had been in the tunnels. "An Argent who is a Hale."

"I'm a Vasquez," Allison said, because the name Stark would mean nothing to this dead werewolf. "My mother was Clara Vasquez, murdered by the Argents. I was stolen."

"What else did you steal?" Talia asked. She was closer to Allison now, without having moved. "Derek? Peter?"

"Derek's still the alpha," Allison said. "You must have seen him around the house. And I didn't _steal_ Peter."

Talia moved again, and Allison found herself pinned against the wall. Talia's teeth were very sharp as they scraped over Allison's cheekbone. "You stole him for yourself."

Allison wasn't even going to ask how Talia knew that. "I'd never do anything to hurt him."

Talia's fangs pressed into Allison's throat, breaking the skin. "Stole him," Talia said again, before her tongue lapped at Allison's blood.

Jesus Christ on a pringle, this was getting too weird. "I didn't steal him," Allison said, willing her power to rise again. "I apparently bonded with him, because no one in this town seems to think that teen wolves need any sex ed." With an effort, Allison pushed Talia off her and slid away along the wall. "Which makes you my sister-in-law, so stop molesting me!"

Talia turned to track Allison around the room.

"So, yes, I'm in love with your back-from-the-dead brother, and I'm still a Vasquez, and I'm still an alpha. A Hale alpha, for what it's worth, which means that you and I should have the same goals in life." Allison reached around to tuck the ends of her shirt into the waistband of her jeans. It wasn't the same as having a shirt that covered her back, but it was something. "I didn't steal anything or anyone. Can we focus?"

"Why?"

"I don't know, maybe because some of us aren't dead yet and would like to stay that way?" Allison ran her eyes over the room. Talia stood between her and the cache in the fireplace. "Would you mind moving? I need to get something."

"No."

"Why not?"

"You must do something for me."

Allison wanted to scream. "You're a ghost, what could you possibly need?"

"You are the Hale alpha," Talia went on. She seemed to be getting stronger with every word. "You have to protect the pack."

"That's what I'm trying to do." Allison took a few steps to the left, but Talia was still blocking the fireplace.

"You have to protect her."

Allison frowned. "Who, Laura? She's right outside. She's not in any danger." Allison paused. "You do know that Laura's dead, right?"

Talia's eyes glowed even redder. "Peter."

"Yes, Peter killed Laura. Then Derek killed Peter and buried him under the floorboards in this room, so I suppose that makes it even."

"You have to protect her."

"Who?" Allison demanded.

Talia stared at her for a long time. Then she was at Allison's side, her hand burning cold on Allison's arm, pulling Allison towards the door and away from the fireplace.

"Hey!" Allison protested, but it was like arguing with a rock. Talia dragged Allison all the way to the front door and shoved her down the steps. It was only with a painful jerk to the side that Allison didn't land on her face.

Outside, the early twilight descended over the ruined house like a shadow. Allison straightened up, anger getting the better of her.

"What do you want?" Allison asked Talia. "I can't do anything unless I know what you want!"

But Talia didn't respond. She looked over Allison's shoulder, unblinking. Cursing the day, Allison slowly turned her head.

Laura Hale stood there, a ghostly human form, staring back at her mother. The clearing around the house had gone eerily still, as if all life was pushed back in the face of the dead.

Allison had seen pictures of Laura, but those pictures hadn't shown how very much alike Laura and Cora had looked. They favoured Kevin's side of the family, while Derek took after his mother. Interesting, Allison thought distantly, how genetics played out in families. Her own mother and her aunt Anna were practically identical.

Allison wondered if that was a werewolf thing, sisters looking alike, then kicked the idea aside as suicidally irrelevant. "Laura," Allison tried. The ghost turned her attention to Allison. "Thanks for saving me and Lydia in the tunnels."

A small smile turned up the corner of Laura's mouth. "You were lost."

"I would have found a way out."

"Lost," Laura said again, and gave a very wolf-like huff of amusement.

"Fine." Allison glanced at Talia. "Why don't you go in the house?"

"Can't."

"Because of the mountain ash? That's gone. The firefighters broke the line before the fire was even out."

"Can't," Laura said again.

"Wonderful." Allison pushed her hair back over her shoulder, grimacing at the crunch of dried blood. When this was all over, she was taking a shower for a week. "So you can't go in the house, Talia can't come out, and I've got a target on my back the size of Xandar. What do we do now?"

"Find her." Talia's soft voice was alpha-rich.

"Find who?" Allison demanded.

"Cora," said Laura.

"Yeah, it's on my to-do list," Allison said. "But right now, I've got Hunters on my tail who already have a scent for my blood. I don't have time to dial down to Argentina and find out where Cora is."

"You know she's alive."

Allison wasn't sure if there would be any point in lying to ghosts. "Yes, I know Cora is alive. I never figured out how she escaped the fire."

"I looked for her," Talia said. She held up her hands, staring at her bloodied fingers. "I couldn't find her." Talia lowered her hands. "But she came back."

"What, during the fire?" Allison asked.

"She came back," Talia said again. "I heard her crying."

Allison looked to Laura for any clues, but Laura just stood there. "How did you hear Cora crying over the fire?"

"She was crying," Talia repeated. "Before the man came."

"Before…" Allison let her voice trail off as something occurred to her, a dozen little pieces slowly fitting together in place. A strange werewolf, hiding in the burned-out Hale house. Chris Argent having been there not long before.

Stories passed among the werewolves on the coast that Beacon Hills was open for the picking, with the Hale pack just a bunch of teenagers.

And Cora being as reckless and angry at seventeen as she had been at thirty.

"She's here," Allison breathed. "Is she? Is Cora in Beacon Hills?"

Talia and Laura looked at Allison, unblinking.

Oh, this was bad. If Cora was out in the hills right now, with Hunters no doubt pouring all over town, then she was in serious danger. "We have to find her," Allison exclaimed. "We have to find Cora. _Now."_

"Protect her."

Allison glared at Talia. "I'm trying. Do you know where she went?"

"Away."

"She left her stuff here, she has to come back." And if Cora came back at the wrong time, when Hunters were around… "Laura, help me out here. Can you track Cora?"

"No," Laura said.

"Great. And Talia can't leave the house." Allison rubbed at her cheek where Talia's fangs had scratched blood to the surface. "Why do I have to do everything?"

"You're the alpha," Talia said.

Allison pointed a finger at her. "Derek is the alpha."

"He's not here."

"Would he be able to see you if he was?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Your blood."

Allison stared at the ghost. "What, I can see you and Laura because you both drank my blood? What about Lydia? She knew Laura was there."

"Banshees know death," Laura said.

"Of course." Allison needed to review her priorities. One, get somewhere safe where Dupont and his men couldn't get to her. Two, get the remaining metal barbs out of her back before she went feral and scratched them out on her own. Now, number three, save Cora Hale from the Hunters of Beacon Hills.

All she wanted to do was to lie down and sleep for a month.

She shook it off. She didn't have time to sleep. She had people to save.

"Right," Allison said. "First things first. Find Cora. Then we get somewhere safe. I don't suppose Cora happened to leave you her phone number?"

"No." Laura started moving towards the house, where Talia stood on the steps.

"We can call her," Talia said.

"Wait, I thought you just said that only I can hear you."

"You can see us," Laura said. "Feel us." To demonstrate her point, she wrapped her hand around Allison's arm and pulled her along, over to Talia's side. "Everyone can hear us."

"So what are you going to do?" Allison asked.

In response, Laura looked up to the darkening sky, and let out a mournful howl. Talia joined her, their voices rich and powerful and so incredibly sad.

Allison's heart sank. Great. Now every Hunter in town would know there were werewolves around. Perfect. Just what Allison needed.

But oh, what the hell. It would probably be the fastest way to find Cora. It wasn't like Allison was running around with a bunch of options.

Allison took a deep breath as she reached out a hand to touch Talia's arm. Three Hale alphas, three voices, all to find one lost daughter of the pack. Allison tilted her head back, and howled.

As the sound rose through the air, reaching out across the valley below and the mountains behind them, an answering howl lifted in the distance, off to the north-east. Allison's heart nearly stopped in relief. It was Cora, she would know that howl anywhere.

Allison cut herself off, breaking away from Talia and Laura. "I'll find Cora," she promised, already running. "I'll find her!"

Then Allison turned and flung herself into the trees. She had three things to do – find Cora, get safe, then make sure that Dupont and his men ceased to be a problem.

But right now, it was one foot in front of the other.

She had work to do.

### Stiles Stilinski

Stiles was going to lose his mind.

"We have to do something!" he nearly shouted. It was the seventh time he had said exactly the same thing to Derek, and Derek just kept glowering at him.

"Do what?" Derek asked. Again. "They found Lydia. She's fine. Isaac said that Allison ran off into the woods. What do you want me to do about it?"

Stiles gestured so hard he nearly tripped. Damn Derek's stupid loft and its stupid furniture. "Go find her!"

"How?" Peter asked from the window, where he was shredding the window sill with one clawed forefinger.

"Isaac said she was bleeding, go track that!"

Derek glared at him. "We're not sniffer dogs!"

"Scott could find her," Stiles said rebelliously.

Derek bared his teeth. "Then go get Scott to track Allison. Oh, wait," he added mockingly. "You won't, because there are Hunters out there and you don't want Scott to get hurt."

Stiles was going to start screaming and never stop. "I don't want anyone to get hurt! Including Allison!"

There was a crunch, and Peter was holding a large chunk of windowsill in his hand. He tossed it aside.

Sensing weakness, Stiles went on. "Jackson told everyone in the group chat what Lydia told him about what the Hunters did to Allison. Violence? Torture? Impending dismemberment?"

Derek raked his hands through his hair. "Allison isn't pack."

"So what?" Stiles yelled. "I'm not pack! If I was being chased out in the woods by Hunters who wanted to flay me alive, would you just let them?"

"Of course not!" Derek shouted, grabbing Stiles' arms and giving him a shake. "Damn it, Stiles! This is serious!"

Stiles, who was at the end of his rope, his patience, and his sanity, punched Derek in the jaw. It didn't do anything besides make his hand hurt, but at least he tried. "I know this is serious!" Derek let him go. "Allison is the closest thing I have to a sister, I have to do something!"

"Allison isn't your family," Derek shot back. "She's been living with you for three weeks! How does that make her your family?"

"Shared trauma," Stiles said. "And what about Peter? He did that weird werewolf marriage thing. Speaking of which," and Stiles turned on Peter. "Why aren't you out there trying to find Allison?"

Peter snarled at him, electric blue flashing through his eyes. "Why aren't you?"

"Because I don't know where to start!"

"And I do?" Peter took a step towards Stiles, making Derek move between them. "What good am I to Allison besides another body to shoot when the Hunters find her?"

Stiles tried to breathe beyond the panic. He had to do something. Derek and Peter were useless. All the other werewolves were holed up, Jackson and Isaac with Lydia at the station, Erica and Boyd at the library, Scott at work. Half the town was out looking for Allison, and the other half glued to their television screens watching the hostage situation at the White House.

So that left Stiles. He'd told Dad that he would stay safe, which was why he'd driven over to Derek's loft as soon as he made sure Erica and Boyd were going to be okay.

No one ever paid any attention to a scrawny little human like Stiles. He could use that.

"Fine," Stiles said. "I'll go find her myself."

He turned and stalked towards the door. Derek's hand closed over his arm. "Stiles, stop being such a—"

Derek's voice broke off and he jerked around, staring at the open window. In the distance, Stiles could hear a faint werewolf howl on the air.

"Laura?" Derek gasped. Peter's eyes went wide and he whipped around to the window. Then, a second howl rose to join the first, and Peter blanched.

"Talia," he breathed.

Stiles didn't know what was going on. What were they talking about? Laura and Talia Hale were dead, they couldn't be howling outside of town.

Then a third howl joined the others, a harmony that vibrated deep in Stiles' bones.

Peter gripped at the ruined windowsill, and Derek hunched in on himself for a moment. Then the howling broke off, leaving Stiles' ears ringing.

"What the fuck was that?" Stiles demanded.

"Laura and Mom and someone else," Derek said. He looked like he was five seconds away from freaking out. "I told you I heard Laura yesterday!"

"And I told you," Peter snapped. "Laura is _dead."_

Derek rounded on him. "Yes, she is," he ground out. "And so is Mom, so how did we just hear them? And who else is there?"

"The other howler?" Stiles said, wincing at how dumb that sounded.

"I heard her the night Allison killed the wendigo," Derek said. "How could an alpha be hiding in this town for so long without my knowing?"

Peter was about to say something, when what looked like shock crossed his face. "Oh. _No._ "

"Dude," Stiles said, not sure what was wrong with Peter but not caring. "That was Allison howling that night."

Derek turned on him. "What are you talking about?"

"Allison, howling at the wendigo."

Annoyance rose in Derek's eyes. "No, Stiles, that was an alpha howl. Allison's human."

Stiles looked at Peter. "Do you know…"

Peter rubbed at his eyes. "That Allison's an alpha? Yes."

Derek looked between Stiles and Peter. "What the fuck are you two talking about?"

"Allison's a human alpha," Stiles said. Derek kept staring at him. "What?"

"There's no such thing," Derek said.

"Oh, there is," Peter said wearily. "And guess who was stupid enough to start sleeping with her?"

Derek nearly swallowed his tongue. "Wait, is _that_ how you bonded?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Peter said.

"Great!" Stiles exclaimed. "We heard her, let's go find her!"

"Stiles!" Derek shouted. "I just heard my dead mother and my dead sister howling up in the hills, this isn't about Allison anymore!"

"Unless they're howling because Allison is dead, too," Peter said.

Fear and panic stabbed through Stiles. "Shut up!" he exclaimed. "Allison isn't dead, she can't be."

"We have to figure out what we're going to do," Derek began, then his back went straight as another, fainter howl drifted in on the air. Peter lowered his hands, staring at Derek.

"That was Cora," Peter said.

Derek looked like he was going to punch through a wall. "Cora's _dead."_

"So's Talia," Peter snapped. "And Laura." He stalked over to where he had thrown his jacket upon arriving at Derek's loft. "But Allison might not be, not yet."

"Where are you going?" Derek asked.

"To go find out what's going on." Peter yanked on his jacket. "And probably get killed by every Hunter in town. Are you coming?"

Derek kicked the side of the couch. "Stiles, stay here," he ordered.

"Sure," Stiles said, and ran after the werewolves as they left the loft.

"I mean it," Derek argued. "Go back inside."

"Okay." Stiles jumped down the last few stairs to keep up with Derek on the way out of the building.

"Why are you still here?"

"I'm not." Stiles trailed after Derek over to Peter's car, which had been pulled in to block Derek's Camaro. Peter ignored Stiles as he got into the driver's seat.

"Stiles." Derek planted his feet to glare.

"What?"

Derek huffed, then pointed at something behind Stiles. "Look over there."

Like an idiot, Stiles looked behind him. "There's nothing there," he said, turning back to find Derek already getting into Peter's car. Peter had the car going and backing up before Stiles could react. "Hey!"

Derek rolled down his window. "Stay here!" he shouted as Peter accelerated down the road.

"Fuck you!" Stiles called, and bolted for his jeep.

He should call someone, like Dad, but what could he say? I Dad, we heard ghost wolves in the woods so going to check that out, talk soon?

"I am going to die," Stiles muttered to himself as he started the jeep. "I am going to die alone in the woods and then who's going to make sure Dad doesn't die from a completely preventable heart attack?"

Still, Stiles peeled out into the road, trying to keep Peter's car in sight. The only up-side to any of this was that the entire sheriff's department was out trying to find Allison and Dupont's team, so wouldn't be looking to stop speeding vehicles headed into the sunset.

 _Please be okay,_ Stiles prayed as he shifted gears. He couldn't lose Allison. She had to be okay.

She had to be.

The second howl from Cora helped Allison triangulate, and directed her up to the clearing with the three pines. Derek used to love coming up here, and when Allison had returned to Beacon Hills after the Unsnap, Derek had brought her up here a few times. Now, in the fading light, Allison staggered to a halt by the largest of the pines. The clearing appeared deserted, but Allison could hear a faint, rapid heartbeat in the vicinity.

"Cora?" Allison called, pulling up the alpha in an effort to keep on her feet. "Are you here?"

A hushed breath, then the scuff of rapid footsteps was all the warning Allison got before Cora erupted out of the bushes. "Who _are_ you?" she snarled, half-shifted to the wolf.

"I'm Allison." Allison went up on the balls of her feet, bracing herself for a fight. Cora looked so young, barely seventeen, and so, so angry. "We have to get out of the woods, there are Hunters around."

"I'm not going anywhere," Cora shot back. Her hands curled, claws out. "They said there was a new Hale alpha in Beacon Hills. Who the hell are you? Who did you kill?"

"I didn't kill Laura," Allison said, moving warily away from the trees. "And Derek and Peter are still alive. I can take you to them. Derek's the Hale alpha, not me."

"What?" Cora asked, visibly startled. "I thought everyone died, but…" She swallowed hard. "How do you know who I am? Do you know my family?"

"I know your family," Allison said, holding her hands out soothingly. "I'm friends with your uncle Peter, and Derek. I can take you to them."

"What about Mom and Laura?" Cora demanded. "I heard my mother, just now, and two other alphas…" The girl trailed off, staring at Allison. "You smell human."

"I am." Allison took another step towards Cora. "Cora, I'm really sorry, but your mother died in the fire."

Cora stepped back. "No, I just heard her!"

"I'm sorry," Allison said again. "Cora, please, let me take you to the sheriff's station, they can keep you safe from the Hunters."

A familiar expression of rage flew over Cora's face. "What are the humans going to do to protect someone like me?"

"The sheriff knows about Hunters," Allison said. "He knows Derek, and he'll protect you."

Allison could see Cora hesitate. She went on.

"Look, you have no reason to trust me," Allison said. "I know that. I get that. You don't have to come with me, but you have to get out of the woods. Make your way into town, find someone to help you."

"Why are there Hunters in the woods?" Cora asked.

Allison breathed out. "There's a handful of them who think that I'm a monster. They're likely coming after me to finish the job." She pointed at the bloody bullet hole in her shirt.

"So you're saying that a human alpha isn't a monster?" Cora asked. She sounded skeptical, which was more like the woman who had been part of Allison's pack for so many years.

"I'd say that the real monsters are the ones who hunt and murder innocents," Allison said.

"Then I'd say we've probably met some of the same Hunters."

"Possibly." Allison held out her hand. "Come on."

"No." Cora crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm not going with you. I'm going to find my mother." The girl turned and strode off in the direction of the house.

Allison looked up at the darkening sky. Exhaustion was washing over her in waves, and all she wanted to do was sleep.

Instead, she went after Cora.

"How long have you been in town?" Allison asked as they tromped down the hillside.

"Four days," Cora said.

"Did you come here on your own?"

Cora kicked a pebble out of her way. "Until ten minutes ago, I thought all my family was dead. Who would come with me?"

Allison knew very well that Cora had found herself another pack in Argentina. "Have you been on your own since the fire?"

Cora was quiet for a minute. "How are you an alpha?" she finally asked.

"I'm not sure," Allison said truthfully. "My birth mother was a werewolf, and my father's human. That might have had something to do with it."

Cora slowed to look at Allison. "You said you didn't kill Laura."

"And I didn't."

"And that Derek is the alpha."

Allison met Cora's eyes. "He is."

"And Uncle Peter is still alive?"

"Yes." Allison stepped over a branch. "Derek and Laura weren't in the house when it burned down. Peter was. He was badly burned. He spent six years in a coma."

Cora looked ahead. "I'd never thought Derek would be the alpha after… after Mom…"

Allison remained silent, because the convoluted conversation of exactly what had transpired following the fire was not one she wanted to have with Cora. Let Derek figure out what to tell his sister.

"I saw the house burning," Cora said. "I saw Mom in the window, and there were all these men outside, and I could smell gas…"

"You were outside when the fire started?" Allison asked.

Cora jerked a nod. "I got in a fight with Julia," she said. It was too dark to see clearly, but Allison could smell tears. "She was using my pencil crayons and she kept breaking them and I told her to stop but Dad made me go to my room."

"And you snuck out?"

Cora nodded again. "Just until dinner. I did it all the time."

And then darkness had fallen, and Kate Argent and the others had come up to burn the house down. "Derek and Laura stayed late at school to watch the lacrosse game."

Cora growled through the tears. "Derek hated lacrosse."

"Maybe he wanted to spent time with Laura."

"Was… Was everyone else in the house?"

"Yes," Allison said quietly.

Cora wiped her sleeve over her cheeks. "I thought they were all dead," she said. "And that Hunters…"

"It was Hunters," Allison said. "Well, one Hunter."

"I hate them," Cora said, fury in her voice. "I hate them all so much." She looked over at Allison. "Why do you smell like pain?"

"The after-effects of torture," Allison said. They were coming out into the clearing by the house now. Allison could see Laura and Talia's ghosts standing right where she had left them.

Cora didn't act like she saw anything out of the ordinary. "I think there was a Hunter here this afternoon," she said, stepping closer to the house. "He was looking around. He had a gun."

"Did he see you?"

"I don't think so. I ran." Cora walked right through Laura, up the steps. Talia reached out a ghostly hand towards her only surviving daughter. "That's where I saw Mom." Cora pointed at the living room window. "There was just so much fire. And I just ran away."

"You were eleven."

Cora whirled on her. "I should have done something," she snarled.

"They'd have killed you," Allison said. She remembered enough about Kate Argent to know that the woman would have left no witnesses. "They would have shot you with wolfsbane bullets and left your body in the woods."

"You can't know that!" Cora shouted. "I should have done something to help my family!"

"You can do something to help your family now," Allison retorted. "By leaving this place and going into town with me!"

"Go fuck yourself," Cora said, and vanished into the house.

Allison glared at Talia. "Really?" she said, before dragging herself into the house. Talia made no move to stop her, so Allison headed into the living room. She was just about to kneel down to unearth her cache in the fireplace, when the rumble of an approaching car engine snapped her around.

Oh, shit.

"Cora!" Allison shouted. "We have got to go!"

"What is it?" Cora asked, appearing in the doorway with her backpack.

Allison knew better than to hope that there was any sort of help on the way. "Statistically? Danger. Come on."

Dashing across the floor, Allison grabbed Cora's arm and pulled her out of the house. She had hoped that they could get out and to cover before they were surrounded, but the black SUV pulled into the clearing as Allison and Cora descended the steps. The window was down, and Allison could see the guns pointed in her direction through the glare of the headlights.

"Pretend you're human," Allison said in a low voice, moving to stand in front of Cora. "It might give you an advantage."

"We could just eat them," Cora muttered, dropping her backpack out of the way in preparation for a fight.

"There is always that." Allison set her feet and smiled at Dupont as the man emerged from the vehicle. "Maurice, fancy meeting you here."

The man glared at Allison. "Did you really think you were going to get away that easy?" he shouted.

"Actually, yes," Allison said. She glanced around, spotting the four others as they arranged themselves, all armed, all looking somewhat angry. "We're not underground anymore, and you don't have a knife at anyone's throat."

"Who's that?" one of the other men asked, pointing his gun at Cora.

"This is Maggie," Allison said. "She's been squatting in the house for a few days, I was going to take her into town to one of the homeless shelters."

"Is she a werewolf?"

Allison frowned at the man. "What are you talking about? Werewolves aren't real."

As she said it, Laura walked across the clearing in her wolf form, to snap at Dupont. It made no impression on the man. So much for that avenue of assistance.

"Shut up!" Dupont shouted. "I'm not falling for that again!" He pulled back the hammer on his revolver.

"Falling for what?" Allison asked, putting her hands out. "Are you okay? Do you need to talk to a doctor or anything?"

More vehicles were approaching. Since everyone who had tried to kill Allison was already present and accounted for, maybe this might actually be someone who could help.

She wasn't sure how things could get worse, in any event.

"You need to be stopped," Dupont said. "You're a monster, a perversion of everything your family stands for!"

Allison felt a cold smile spread over her face. "You're probably not wrong," she agreed. "But the problem you have, Maurice, is that I no longer have any incentive to go easy on you."

The man hesitated, just a moment, but it was long enough that the approaching cars sped up the drive. It wasn't just one, but three very familiar vehicles. They screeched to a halt, and out poured most of Chris's Hunters.

Well. This was either good, or very, very bad.

For a few minutes, Allison had actually thought she might survive the night. Now her odds weren't looking all that great.

"Dupont!" came a familiar voice, and Chris came into sight. He had a large bruise on his face that hadn't been there before.

Behind Allison, Cora clutched at her side. Allison hissed in pain. "That's him," Cora whispered. "The man, in the house."

"It's okay," Allison said evenly. "You're going to be okay." She lifted her head. "Thanks for joining us. Dupont was about to start using me for target practice, along with this underage innocent bystander."

"This is how it has to happen!" Dupont shouted at Chris. "It's the Code! Your family has always followed the Code!"

"Do you really think that putting a bullet through my daughter is going to earn you any mercy?" Chris asked, moving slowly through the ranks of his Hunters. At Allison's back, Cora went still. "After what you did to Allison and Lydia, do you really think you're just going to walk away?"

Cora stepped away from Allison. "You're a Hunter?" she demanded.

Oh, for fuck's sake. "You know what I am," Allison said. "Quiet."

"You took two girls off the street in the most public way imaginable," Chris went on. Anger bled off him in waves. "You shot my daughter and tortured her, and she didn't change. You cut up her friend, and she didn't shift. And you kept _going_."

"She heals like a werewolf!" Dupont insisted.

"Allison," Chris called. "Are you a werewolf?"

"No." Allison looked around the clearing. Most of Chris's Hunters were looking angrily at Dupont, while a couple of them were still casting her suspicious glances. "I can also guarantee that I am not any sort of supernatural creature that falls under the Code, so, anyway. This has been fun, but I have homework for tomorrow, and I need to make sure that Lydia has told absolutely _everything_ to the cops. Can I go?"

"You're not going anywhere," Dupont said. He turned his gun on Chris. "Maybe what the world really needs is for the Argent line to end, right here."

There were an awful lot of guns raised at that line, pointing mostly at Dupont's men. In the illumination from the car headlights, Chris's answering smile was ghastly. "I know why you really came to town," he said, taking a step towards Dupont. "I know what you were looking for. And I guess Victoria tricked us both."

"What?" Allison said without meaning to. From the other expressions around the clearing, no one else knew what that meant, either. Except Dupont, who looked murderous. "Whatever. We're leaving. Have fun, boys."

She could hear another car approaching, which was exactly what this powder keg needed. Although, how could it get any worse?

"You're not going anywhere!" Dupont said, turning to her. "And neither is your friend."

Allison glanced over her shoulder, to where Cora was glaring at her. "Yeah, I don't think she's feeling all that friendly right now," Allison said. She turned her head to see the latest car pull to a stop at the end of the drive, and her stomach sank.

It was Peter's car, and out of it were climbing Peter and Derek, right into a hornet's nest of angry Hunters.

"I'm starting to think that this wasn't our best idea," Peter said as he and Derek walked slowly forward.

"This was your idea," Derek grumbled. "Allison, you're not dead."

"The night's young," Allison said, and stepped to the side. Derek and Peter froze, and Allison heard Cora's sharp intake of breath.

"Uncle Peter?" Cora said uncertainly. "Derek?"

"Cora?" Derek said incredulously.

"I thought you said her name was Maggie," came a voice from the sea of Hunters.

"Of course I did," Allison said. "Trying to prevent this."

"Cora Hale died in the fire," Chris said, never looking away from Dupont.

"Nope," Allison said. "She obviously did not. And now that we all know who's who in the werewolf zoo, why doesn't everyone personally victimized by the Argents leave?"

Peter and Derek had drawn closer to where Allison and Cora stood. Laura's ghost was growling at Peter, her hackles up, but of course he couldn't see her. "What about you?" Peter said. He had taken his eyes off Cora, and was looking at Allison in concern.

"I've got a bit of unfinished business."

Allison could hear yet another vehicle coming up the drive. Seriously, this was getting out of hand.

"Are you really alive?" Derek was saying to Cora, in what was no doubt a touching reunion scene, and one that Allison had hoped to enjoy without four guns pointed at her head.

"Are you?" Cora returned.

Stiles' jeep nearly crashed into Peter's car, and the boy stumbled out. "What the fuck?" he exclaimed.

"Stiles, go home," Allison ordered. "Wait. Is Lydia okay?"

"Yeah, she's at the station with Jackson and Isaac," Stiles said, inevitably moving over to Derek's side. "You, uh, okay?"

"Not dead yet," Allison agreed. "Would everyone not currently holding a gun please go home?"

"What are you going to do?" Peter asked.

Allison took her eyes off the Hunters for long enough to look at him. He had moved just a bit behind her, beside where Derek stood shielding Cora. "This ends tonight," Allison said. "I don't care how. But I'm finished playing these games."

"You think this is a game?" Dupont demanded.

"You certainly do," Allison said coldly. "You come into my town and act like nothing you do has any consequences. Do you have any idea how deep a hole you're in?"

Peter cleared his throat. She glanced at him to see him shrugging out of his jacket. He handed it to her. "Do you want this?"

Allison refrained from looking down at herself. She knew how she appeared; blood-soaked jeans, shirt shredded to the elbows and hanging loose from her shoulders. She looked like a victim. If she had cared, she might have felt at a disadvantage. But she was so tired that she hadn't even realized it.

Still, she took Peter's jacket. "I might bleed on it," she warned.

Peter shrugged. "We're all about to get shot, anyway, so I don't think it matters."

"That's the spirit."

Laura lunged at Peter, jaw open, but she just moved through him like smoke. Peter shivered.

"Put your guns down," Chris was saying to Dupont. Allison winced as she pulled on the jacket, the metal barbs in her back slicing new rivulets of pain into her body. "That's your only chance to walk away from this."

"You don't have any authority over me," Dupont snapped. "Your family has no leader."

In the crowd, a throat cleared. "Actually." Everyone turned their attention to Mike Zeng. "Funny you should mention that."

"What are you talking about?" Dupont asked.

Mike shouldered his way through the crowd. "With Victoria dead, that leaves Allison."

Allison's breath caught. There was a thread here, something she didn't understand, but might just be something she could use.

"She isn't eighteen," Dupont objected. "And she doesn't have children."

Mike shrugged, and looked at Allison very hard. "There's precedent. If the Hunter coven agrees, an underage matriarch can take power before she has children in the bloodline."

Allison looked back at Mike. She had no idea what he was talking about.

"What?" Stiles asked. "That got creepy really fast."

"So," Mike went on, "While Allison and Chris were in France, the rest of us got to talking, and we had a vote." Mike moved his attention to Dupont. "It was unanimous. We were waiting to tell Chris after you left town."

Allison breathed out. The surprise was evident on the face of everyone in the crowd, but none of Chris's Hunters were objecting.

Not one.

This might just be what saved her life. "Am I in charge?" she asked.

"No, this is not how it—" Dupont began. But Allison was done.

"Shut up!" she shouted, putting enough alpha force behind the words to close Dupont's mouth. "Am I in charge?"

Chris stared at Dupont for a long moment, then he looked at her. Allison couldn't read his face. "Yes," he said simply. "You are."

"Of whom?"

His expression didn't change. "Of every Hunter in the family's claimed territory."

Allison and Chris stared at each other for another moment. This was it, Allison knew. Her chance to do whatever she wanted to Dupont and his men. She had been handed absolute power over life and death in this clearing.

She could smell the fear and apprehension and nervousness from the bevy of Hunters before her, but no one was objecting. She could have walked over and slashed Dupont's throat, and no one would stop her.

She wanted to. Oh god, did she want to.

But then, she had wanted to do a lot of things over her long life.

Allison straightened her shoulders, ignoring the pain. She was Allison Stark, code-name Alpha, and for over ten years she had walked across galaxies with absolute authority. She knew the responsibility that came with that power.

"Please disarm Dupont and his men," she said into the quiet.

Chris gestured, and men surged forward to take the weapons from Dupont and his crew. Dupont glared at her maliciously, but he didn't move. A good soldier, to the end.

It took a while for the five men to be thoroughly searched. When it was done, Allison said, "Separate Dupont from the others."

Mike and another Hunter grabbed Dupont and hauled him away from his compatriots.

"Derek."

A wave of murmurs swept the clearing. "What?" Derek demanded.

Allison turned around. "Would you and Peter please take Cora out of here?" she asked. "Head to the sheriff's station, it's the safest place right now. I'll keep everyone here."

Cora stared at Allison with a mix of hostility and confusion. "Why should I do anything you say?"

"Fine, do whatever you want," Allison said. She shifted her gaze to Peter, who was looking immensely amused. "What?"

"Authority looks good on you," he said.

"Does that mean you're going to listen to me?"

"Probably." He glanced around the clearing. "What are you going to do next?"

"Put an end to my problems."

He smiled. "Sounds violent."

"Only if I do it right." She flicked a glance at Derek and Cora. "Go."

"Come on," Derek said. Still glaring, Cora picked up her backpack and headed after Derek and Peter towards the car.

Stiles looked between Allison and Derek nervously. "Not you, Stiles," Allison said. "You stay."

The boy flinched. "I, uh, think I left the stove on."

"Is there enough space in the back of your jeep for a body?" The question threw new murmurs up into the air.

"Sure." Whatever Stiles saw in Allison's face seemed to calm his fidgeting. "We could fit all five in there, if we stack them like firewood." He mimed the action with relish.

"You can't seriously be letting this happen," blustered one of Dupont's men, the one who had kicked her in the thigh up on the mountain highway. "After everything?"

"After everything you did," Chris said mildly. He watched the Hales getting into Peter's car. "A Hunter has to take responsibility for his actions." His eyes slid to Allison. "Each and every day."

"I agree," Allison said. She waited until Peter's car had driven out of the clearing before she let her shoulders relax. There, the werewolf wrinkle was out of the equation. That made it easier. "You four." She looked to Dupont's men. "You have until sunrise to get out of town. Don't come back."

"Or?" demanded the same man.

Allison walked forward. Stiles tried to catch her, but she was too far away. She stopped directly in front of the man. "Allow me to rephrase," she said icily. The man gulped. "If you want to leave town alive, you have until sunrise. After that, my memory of this afternoon is going to get a little more vengeful."

She waited, but he held his tongue. Satisfied, Allison stepped back and away, turning her attention to Dupont.

"Maurice Dupont, I don't know whose idea this was, but your name is all over it," she said. "Most crucially, you took a knife to my friend, who is extremely good with details and has been talking to the sheriff for some time now." Allison smiled up at Dupont. "Someone has to take responsibility for this afternoon, and it's going to be you."

"What are you going to do?" he asked, then he looked at Chris. "Now you're going to see how much of a monster she is."

"The good news," Allison said. "Is that I'm not going to do anything to you that you haven't already done to me."

Considering all that entailed, it was not a surprise that Dupont quavered.

"Now," Allison said, already calculating distances and weights and vectors, "Go. To. _Sleep."_

She pushed the full force of the alpha into that last word, pushed all of her power of suggestion at Dupont. The man, already emotionally wrought and open to suggestion, crumpled like paper. Allison reached out and grabbed at him, hauling him forward over her shoulder. The pain of collecting him into a fireman's carry was intense, but Allison managed to straighten up under his dead weight with only a bit of staggering.

Everyone was staring at her.

"Thanks," Allison said loudly. "Have a good night. Feel free to take tomorrow off." She hefted Dupont's weight as she started towards the jeep. "Come on, Stiles, we have places to be."

"Oh my god," Stiles whispered, scampering along at her side. "What are you going to do? Drop him off a cliff?"

"Back door," Allison ground out. It was taking more effort than she liked to keep walking.

"Right!" Stiles ran towards the jeep. Allison didn't pause, just angled her approach to walk right up to the open door, letting the momentum do most of the work to transfer Dupont's bulk to the floor of the jeep. "No, seriously, what are you going to do with him?"

Allison bent over to lift Dupont's legs up into the jeep. He was even more irritating as dead weight than he had been awake and trying to kill her. "I should drop you off a cliff," Allison muttered. "Asshole."

"I'm coming too." Chris appeared beside the jeep. His jaw was set, like he was expecting a fight.

"Great," Allison said wearily. She dragged herself into the back and let Stiles closed the door on her. As Stiles and Chris got into the front seat, Allison glanced out the window at the Hale house. She could still see Talia standing, just inside the door, staring in her direction.

 _I saved her,_ Allison thought. _I saved Cora, like you asked. But I don't know how to save you._

She didn't know where Laura had gone, and wasn't sure how to find out.

Stiles slammed his door and started the jeep's engine. "Why are you here, anyway?" the boy demanded of Chris, backing the jeep down the driveway. "Going to start randomly stabbing Allison? Lydia told everyone what you did."

"I'm not going to do anything to Allison," Chris said. "I was trying to help."

Allison tried to brace herself as the jeep rocked over the bumpy drive. Her back screamed with pain, and she was so _tired_.

"Great job," Stiles snapped. "Lydia said she thought Dupont was going to murder Allison and then her, and—"

"Stiles," Allison said. Stiles closed his mouth. "It doesn't matter what happened. It's over. All we need to do is to get Dupont to the sheriff's station and in lockup. Then we're done."

"So that's where you're taking him?" Chris asked.

Allison frowned. "Of course. You don't think I was going to murder him, did you?"

Something crossed Chris's face. "Given what he did to you, I'd say it wasn't outside the realm of possibility."

"Jesus, Chris," Allison breathed. "Use your head. If I was going to kill Dupont, I'd have given him a gun and a thirty-second head start." Stiles whimpered. "Not involve the sheriff's _son_ as an accessory before the fact."

"Well then," Chris said, and settled back. "That's that."

"It is." Allison looked down at Dupont. He was breathing steadily. "What was that bullshit Mike was saying, about the leadership of a Hunter coven?"

Chris sighed heavily. "It's how the old families used to maintain leadership," he said. "The matriarch of the family had to be older than eighteen and have a child, to perpetuate the bloodline. It's archaic."

"But Dupont seemed to go along with it," Allison said, thinking hard. "Did Victoria?"

Chris shifted his jaw. "Your mother came from an old Hunter family," was all he said.

Allison gripped the back of the seat, closing her eyes on the rage of the alpha inside her. Was that what had driven Victoria to kill Clara and steal Allison, all those years before? She wanted to be in _charge_ of the Argent family?

"Allison?" Stiles' voice was wary. "You okay back there?"

"No." Allison opened her eyes. "I'm really not."

"You want me to pull over?"

"No." Allison blinked. It was in the past. Victoria was dead. "Just keep driving."

"Okay." Stiles sped through the night. "Oh, hey, while they were torturing you horribly, did anyone mention that terrorists invaded the White House and took the president hostage?"

Allison stared at the back of Stiles' head. The words that had just come out of his mouth made no sense. "What?"

"Is that what happened?" Chris asked, frowning.

Stiles glanced over. "How do you not know that?" he demanded. "Allison I get, being slowly flayed by evil Hunters, but you? You've been top-side. Last word was, Iron Man and Captain America were in the thick of it."

Allison's heart turned to ice. "Tony," she whispered. "Phone, now, Stiles, now!"

Stiles nearly veered off the road as he tried to give Allison his cell. "I mean, I was going to call Dad—"

"Shut up," Allison ordered as she typed Jarvis's number into the phone with shaking fingers. "God, Stiles, you can't just drop that on someone!"

"What does it matter?" Chris asked, looking at her again.

Allison blinked at him. "I've been doing some volunteer counterterrorism work," she said, and hit dial. It took Jarvis two rings to pick up.

"Mr. Stilinski?"

"Jarvis, it's Allison," she said quickly. "I just heard about the President, is it A.I.M.? Does Tony have eyes on Killian?"

"Allison," Jarvis said, his voice almost warm. "It is good to hear from you. Agent Romanoff notified me earlier that you were in danger."

"I'm fine," Allison said. "Just a little torture between friends. What's going on?"

"Mr. Stark and Captain Rogers, accompanied by Agent Barton, went to West Virginia to the location presumed to be the Extremis laboratory," Jarvis said. "Evidence was located, but an urgent call came in, indicating that Extremis bombers had infiltrated the White House, taking the President, half of the Cabinet, and numerous civilian staffers hostage. At present, all but the President and the Secretary of State are accounted for. Colonel Rhodes has joined the battle in the War Machine suit."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Allison asked. "I know those numbers we were running on the repressors were preliminary, but if it's a way to keep the bombers from immolating—"

"Everything is in hand," Jarvis interrupted her. "You do not need to do anything."

"But I can help," Allison insisted.

"I know you can," Jarvis said. "But Miss Lydia Martin has made her statement to the police, the audio of which Agent Romanoff was good enough to allow me access. You have been through enough for one evening, Allison."

Allison pressed her free hand to her forehead. "I want to help."

"I know. And if there is anything for which your unique talents indicate, I will contact you."

"You'd better," Allison said. "Sorry, I know you're busy. Good luck."

"And you as well."

Allison hung up. "Fuck," she breathed. She looked up to find Chris staring at her. "What?"

"What was that all about?"

"What, a girl can't have extra-curriculars?" she asked. "Stiles has lacrosse, Lydia has student council. I stop terrorists for fun."

Stiles turned the car onto the main highway. "Ugh, Allison, not to interrupt this charming conversation, but one of us needs to call my dad."

"I'll do it," Allison said, still glaring at Chris. "You don't get to tell me what to do anymore."

"That is becoming very apparent," Chris said frostily.

Allison went back to Stiles' phone and hit the contact for Noah's cell. The phone rang for a while before going to voicemail. Allison hung up, then tried the sheriff's line at the station. It rang ten times before Noah picked up. "Stilinski."

A wave of pure relief crashed over Allison at hearing Noah's voice. "It's Allison."

"Allison?" Noah repeated. "Where are you? Do you need an ambulance?"

"No, I'm fine," Allison lied. "I'm with Stiles, we're coming into the station."

"With Stiles?" Noah asked. "I thought I told him to stay somewhere safe!"

"Stiles hasn't done anything safe since he was seven years old," Allison said. "We're going to go around to the back, can you have someone meet us? I've got Dupont."

There was a beat of silence. "Say that again."

"I've got Dupont," Allison repeated. "He beat up and stabbed Lydia, so you're going to arrest him, right?"

"Of course, I am," Noah said. "How do you have him? Is he alive?"

"He's perfectly fine." Allison glanced down at Dupont's sleeping form. "He just decided to take a little nap in the back of Stiles' jeep. There wasn't even any police brutality involved."

"More's the pity," Chris muttered.

"Oh, are Derek and Peter there yet?" Allison asked Noah.

"Why would they be?"

"Because I know how fast Peter drives."

"No, why—" Noah broke off. "They just came in. They've got a girl with them."

Allison smiled to herself. "Good. Go say hi to Cora Hale."

_"What?"_

"See you in a few minutes," Allison said, and hung up the phone. "Your dad's going to kill you," Allison said, leaning over to put Stiles' phone into the cupholder.

"Yeah, yeah," Stiles muttered as he zipped past the rail yard.

"I thought Cora Hale died in the fire," Chris said.

"So did everyone," Allison said. "I asked her, and she said she'd snuck outside into the forest before the fire started." Allison looked up at Chris. His eyes were pale in the darkness of the car. "She was eleven years old, and she'd just watched her whole life burn at the hands of Hunters. She ran."

"So why did she come back?" Stiles asked. "Why now?"

"She didn't say."

"Just…" Stiles shrugged as he drove through the sheriff's department parking lot to the back of the building. "That's two Hales coming back from the dead in one year. Any chance there are any more?"

"What are you talking about?" Allison asked. "Everyone else died in the fire."

Stiles threw the jeep into reverse. "Derek and Peter seem to think they heard Talia and Laura howling up in the woods."

Allison sighed. "If any place in Beacon Hills deserves to be haunted, it's the Hale house."

Stiles pulled the jeep to a stop, killed the engine, and turned around to look at Allison. "There's _ghosts_ now?" he demanded.

Allison reached out a hand to slap Stiles on the cheek. "Let me out before I throw up in your car."

Stiles flung himself out of the jeep, leaving Chris and Allison to stare at each other. "Ghosts?" Chris repeated. He looked exhausted.

"Yes, and apparently they can only hurt me." Allison ran her eyes over his face in the lights from the building. "What happened to you?"

He smiled faintly. "After you and Lydia escaped, Dupont tried to take out his frustrations on me."

"Oh." Allison tried to figure out if she was sorry or not. "I had to get Lydia out of there. I couldn't come back for you."

"It's okay," Chris said, as the back of the jeep opened, to reveal a bevy of deputies, headed by Noah.

"Allison," Noah said in relief. "Come on, let's get you out of there."

Allison tried to move her legs, only to find that her time in the backseat had somehow drained her of all her remaining reserves. "I'm moving a little slow," she said.

"That's okay." Noah reached in, as if he was going to pick her up, but anticipation of what that would do to her back made Allison flinch away.

"Just…" She leaned forward to put her arm over his shoulder. "Heave-ho?"

Noah swung her out of the jeep, keeping his hold on her until her feet were firmly on the ground. "You look like hell," he said quietly.

"There is some truth in advertising, after all," she said. "Sorry, my knees aren't locking."

"Don't be sorry." Noah moved them back out of the way so Callahan and Strong could retrieve Dupont. "Lydia told us what happened to you."

"I'm fine," Allison said again. She watched as the two deputies carried Dupont into the station. "Is she at the hospital?"

"No, she's still here," Noah said. "She said she wasn't going anywhere until we got you home safe."

Allison sighed. That was a very good reminder that her night wasn't over. She still had work to do. Summoning all her strength, Allison made herself stand straight. "I'll go see her," Allison said, removing her arm from Noah's neck. "She needs to get that arm looked at."

"Melissa's here, taking care of her." Noah let his hand hover by Allison's arm until she gave him a nod. Then Noah turned around, his eyes landing on Chris, who had gotten out of the jeep. "What's he doing here?"

"Funnily enough, Chris didn't quite trust that I wouldn't drop Dupont off a cliff somewhere."

"Of course you wouldn't," Noah said, fixing Chris with a glare. "You'd never have involved Stiles in that, for one thing."

"It's nice that everyone understands you," Stiles complained, going around to close the various doors on his jeep. "Can we go inside? I'm cold and Allison's bleeding."

"No, I'm not," Allison said, frowning at Stiles.

He pointed to the asphalt at her feet. "You're dripping."

Allison looked down. Tiny drops of blood, almost black in the odd lighting, lay on the ground. She put her hand on her lower back, under Peter's jacket, and came away with a palm-full of blood.

"Jesus," Noah said. "Come on, let's get you inside." He held out his arm, and Allison leaned on it. "You too, Argent."

"I'll get the door," Stiles said, and bolted on ahead. Chris hung back as Noah helped Allison up the ramp.

"I should be healing faster than this," Allison said to Noah.

"It's okay," Noah said. "You don't have to worry about anything. Everything's under control."

"Is Natasha here?"

"She's inside."

"Oh." Allison carefully maneuvered through the door. The air inside the station was the usual assault to the senses, too loud and too smelly and too _much_. "Where did they take Dupont?"

"To lockup."

"I should go there."

"Why?"

"I should wake him up."

Noah hesitated. "How?"

"Same way I got him to sleep." Allison turned her head to look up at Noah, and let a flash of red pass through her eyes. "It's for the best."

Noah paused for another long moment. "Okay," was all he said as they changed direction to the holding cells.

Strong was dusting off his hands, and Callahan was closing the bars on the prone figure of Maurice Dupont on the ground of the cell. "What are you doing in here?" Strong asked Noah.

"Allison has one more thing she wants to do," Noah said.

Strong jerked his chin over Noah's shoulder. "We locking that one up, too?"

Chris hesitated in the doorway, beside Stiles.

"Not yet," Noah said ominously.

"He didn't do anything," Allison said, letting go of Noah's arm to shuffle over to the bars of Dupont's cell. She almost didn't want to wake him, but she knew the alpha's power could have weird repercussions, and she didn't want Dupont to die in police custody. At least not before he'd paid for what he had done to Lydia. Taking a deep breath, Allison let the alpha rise to fill her body, her voice, everything. When she said, "Wake. _Up,"_ nearly everyone in the room jumped.

Including Dupont. He opened his eyes, blinked a few times, then tried to sit up. His eyes fixed on Allison with a glittering hatred.

Allison stared at him for a long moment. She wanted to hate him for what he had done to Lydia, to her, but all she felt was empty. "See you in hell," she said.

"You'll be there first," Dupont spat.

Allison gave him the finger, then turned around and walked out of the lockup room under her own power. She made it all the way past Chris and Stiles, into the hall out of sight of Dupont, before another wave of exhaustion crashed into her and she had to stop walking.

"Allison," Stiles said, jumping over to her side. "Are you going to pass out?"

"I don't have the time," Allison said. "Where's Lydia?"

"In my office," Noah said, coming up on Allison's other side. "Strong, escort Argent to one of the interview rooms, we'll deal with him later."

"Am I under arrest?" Chris demanded.

"No, but given everything that Lydia has been telling us, you're being detained for questioning," Noah said.

"Allison," Chris said. "Be careful."

Allison tried to find some hidden reserve of energy, but came up empty. "Is anyone _else_ going to come after me?" she asked.

"No," Chris said. "They won't."

"Good." Allison put her hand on Stiles' arm. "Lead on, Mcduck."

"Isn't that Macduff?" Stiles asked, taking small steps towards the front of the station.

"That's also wrong." Allison put her weight on Stiles' arm. "Do you think I'm going to be able to sleep in tomorrow?"

"If you don't get to skip school tomorrow after being kidnapped, I'm going to lodge a complaint with the school board," Stiles said. "Do you need to go sit down or something?"

"Like I said." Allison took a deep breath as they passed into the deputy bullpen. Everyone was staring at her. "I don't have the time."

"Lydia said that Dupont was cutting into you, when you were unconscious."

"Yeah."

"And that he stabbed you in the leg and then started cutting the skin off your back."

"Yes." Allison took her eyes off the surrounding crowd of deputies to glance at Stiles. His eyes were dark. "Is there something you want to ask me?"

Stiles bit his lip nervously. "If he did all that, why didn't you do anything to him?"

Allison wanted to sigh. The middle of the sheriff's station was the perfect place to have this conversation. "Because my actions have consequences, and Maurice Dupont isn't worth dirtying my hands over."

"Even after what he did to Lydia?"

"He's in jail for that," Allison pointed out. "If we can't find something to get him extradited for, at the very least he kidnapped and assaulted an ordinary teenage girl, whose testimony will be unassailable in court."

"But…"

Allison squeezed Stiles' arm. "Stiles, my father is in the middle of fighting terrorists who have the President hostage. The last thing Tony's PR team will need is a story about his long-lost daughter going berserker in the woods."

Stiles' expression turned incredulous, his mouth doing that duck-face pucker it did when he didn't know what to say.

"Now. Lydia."

Allison could hear Lydia's voice, high and thready, and she knew that the girl was nearing the end of her rope. In the future, the end of that rope involved screaming and the occasional concussive blast.

Allison propelled herself on shaky feet towards Noah's office. The benches in the waiting area were taken up by Derek and Cora huddled together, while Peter leaned against the wall, arms crossed. He raised his eyebrows at Allison as she neared. "What did you do with Dupont?" he asked.

"Delivered him into police custody."

The corner of Peter's mouth twitched. "That's it?"

Allison shrugged, and regretted it. "We'll have this conversation later. I need to get to Lydia before she screams the place down."

Peter tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Do you know…"

Allison stopped. She couldn't remember how much Peter knew at this point in the timeline about Lydia's banshee powers, but the way he was looking at her made her wonder. "Do you know?" she shot back.

Peter's gaze flickered over Allison's shoulder. "We'll talk about this later."

"We will." Allison started moving again.

"You're bleeding."

"I told you I was going to ruin your jacket," Allison said without looking back. Taking a deep breath, she strode into Noah's office, where Lydia was arguing with her parents and Melissa McCall. Isaac and Jackson were on the couch, looking ill at ease. "Lydia?"

Lydia whirled around, nearly falling over. "Allison?"

Allison pasted a reassuring smile on her face. "I'm right here." Lydia reached for her, and Allison caught the girl's hands in hers. "Are you okay?"

Lydia was breathing a little too fast. "Jackson call the cops and we came here and no one knew anything about what was happening with you and they want me to go to the hospital and I couldn't go without you—"

Allison put her arm around Lydia's shoulders. "It's okay," Allison said into the flow of words. "It's okay. You're okay." She kissed the side of Lydia's head as the girl folded in against Allison. "You're going to be okay."

"What about you?" Lydia asked, voice muffled.

Allison let her eyes move over the room. Both Mr. and Mrs. Martin looked pretty freaked out, and Jackson and Isaac were staring at the two girls with wide eyes. Even Melissa wasn't able to pull up her professional detachment. "I," Allison said deliberately. "Am going to be fine."

"What about the bad guys?" Lydia asked.

"Dupont's in police custody." Allison patted Lydia's shoulder. Lydia pulled back to wipe her eyes. The bruising on her face had darkened, and Allison felt a curl of pure anger towards Dupont and the others. "I couldn't fit the others in Stiles' jeep, but maybe the deputies will find them before they skip town."

"What happens now?" Lydia asked.

"Now you need to go to the hospital and have someone sew up your arm."

"An excellent suggestion," Melissa said. "Lydia, you said you were going to stay here until we found Allison. We found her. Can you go now?"

Lydia stared at Allison with wide eyes. "What about you?"

"I still have miles to go." Allison gently detached herself from Lydia's clutching hands. "I will come see you tomorrow morning, okay? First thing."

"But what about the other bad guys?"

"I'll station a protective detail at the hospital for you," Noah said, making Allison jump. She hadn't realized he had come into the office. "No one's going to get at you again."

"What did they want?" Mr. Martin demanded, looking between Allison and Noah. "Why did they take you?"

Allison put on her blandest expression. "I have no idea," she said. "They didn't go into much detail when they were cutting me up." Mr. Martin blanched.

"Allison," Noah said quietly.

Allison stepped away from Lydia and went over to perch on the edge of Noah's desk. "Lydia, go to the hospital," she said. "Jackson, Isaac, you should go home."

"We could go to the hospital to make sure Lydia's okay," Jackson objected.

"Sure, knock yourself out." Allison put her hands on the desk. The room was a little wobbly. "Then call your dad to come get you, okay? Maybe call Erica and Boyd for a sleepover."

"It's a school night," Isaac said.

Allison turned her gaze on him. He flinched. "Call Erica and Boyd for a sleepover."

"What about Derek?"

"He's in the waiting room, go ask him."

"All right," Noah said with the voice of authority. "Lydia, thank you for your help, I know it's been rough. We'll get you to the hospital and get you ship-shape, all right?"

"Okay." Lydia broke away from her mother and veered over to Allison again. Instead of going in for an embrace, she wrapped her hands around Allison's arms. "Promise you'll be safe?"

"I will be." Allison kissed Lydia's cheek. "You too. Remember. Scream if you have to."

Lydia let her mother pull her away. Isaac had already vacated the room, but Jackson was standing in the doorway, frowning. "Who's that with Derek and Peter?" he asked.

"Peter's here?" Lydia asked, voice sharp.

Allison pushed herself off the desk to trudge over to Lydia's side again. "That's Cora," she said. "Derek's little sister."

"I thought everyone died in the fire," Jackson said, still frowning.

"Nope." Allison touched Lydia's arm. "Are you going to be okay?"

Lydia held her head high. "Of course," she said, sounding so much more like herself.

"Good." Allison waited as everyone bundled off, leaning on the doorjamb to keep herself upright. Lydia and Peter did eye each other warily, but there was no outright confrontation. Good. They could save that particular drama for another day.

"How are you even conscious?"

Allison turned her head. "Deputy Rushman."

"I'm serious."

"Nice to see you again too." Allison limped back into the office. Melissa and Noah were talking to each other, and Stiles had somehow materialized on the couch in place of Jackson and Isaac, picking at the zipper of his hoody in agitation.

"Allison," Melissa broke off talking to Noah. "You should go to the hospital too."

"Why?"

Melissa's expression was a marvel to behold. "Lydia told us what they did to you."

Allison waved that off. "I'll live."

"Why are you still bleeding?"

Allison turned around to find Cora standing in front of her. She hadn't registered how the girl had gotten there, and that was a little worrying. "The knives in my back, probably."

"Okay, what?" Melissa asked.

"It's not a big deal," Allison said, although now that she didn't have any other problems to deal with, the awareness of the barbs under her skin was sudden and nauseating.

"Knives in your back aren't a big deal?" Derek asked. Allison looked around, to find both Derek and Peter in the office. The place was getting a little crowded and Allison backed up a few steps to hit the desk.

"You need to leave," Natasha told Derek.

"No, it's fine," Allison said. She had to focus. Melissa by the filing cabinets. Noah and Natasha by the door. Derek beside Stiles, Cora in the middle of the room, and Peter… Peter, beside her. "Everyone in this room is fine."

"You look like you're about to wolf out," Cora said. Derek hissed. "What? You said everyone here knows about werewolves!"

"Not wolf out," Peter said, eyes on Allison. "But maybe freak out."

"I think I'm entitled." Allison shrugged out of the jacket. Her world had narrowed down to getting the last two barbs out of her back. "Does anyone have a knife?"

"Why?" Natasha asked warily.

"Souvenir from Dupont." Allison finally got free of the jacket and let it fall to the ground. "With whom I have finally reached the end of my patience."

Knife, knife, she needed a knife. There was one in Noah's desk, so Allison rounded it, putting her back to the room. Melissa made a small sound in her throat, and Stiles coughed.

Allison yanked open the drawer and pulled out the pen knife. "Does anyone have a mirror?" she asked.

Peter moved over to her side and pulled the knife out of her hand. "You do realize that taking a knife to your own back in a police station is a great way to get yourself into a straight jacket."

Allison turned on him. "Then you do it."

"I don't really feel like being tasered tonight," he said.

Allison could feel the crush of hysteria building in her chest. She had to get the barbs out of her back, _now_. "Fine." She reached behind her back, feeling for the metal shaft.

There was a babble of voices, but Peter's hand, gentle on her arm, stopped her. "Allison, wait."

"I need them out," Allison whispered.

"Okay," Melissa said, voice loud in the room. "Allison, is there any way I can convince you to go to the hospital?"

"No."

"I can't believe I'm saying this. We'll do this here. Everyone, out."

"No," Allison said. "They can stay."

"Allison," Melissa said. "Um."

Allison blinked at the woman. "No, it's okay, they're fine with blood."

Peter muttered something about prejudices, to which Melissa threw him a glare. "We may as well take everyone's statement," Natasha put in, turning the visitor's chair around. "Sit."

Allison lowered herself into the chair sideways, her back exposed. She felt more vulnerable here than she had facing down Dupont and all the Hunters in the clearing, and she started shaking.

Something invisible brushed against Allison's leg, and a cold tongue raked over her bloody hand. Allison closed her eyes in relief. Laura was here. Laura had come with them.

"So." Noah cleared his throat. "Who wants to go first?"

"I guess I should," Allison said. She looked around the room again to place everyone. Melissa and Natasha were unpacking some sort of medical kit on the work table, while Stiles and Cora sat on opposite sides of Derek on the couch. Peter had returned to lounging against a wall, his hands in his pockets. Noah stood by the closed door, arms crossed over his chest.

And Laura, invisible, her head a pressure on Allison's knee, her fur soft under Allison's fingers.

"Lydia was driving me to work," Allison said, her gaze returning to the array of medical instruments spread on the table. "She wanted to talk about something she heard at school." Allison glanced at Peter, then back to Noah. "We stopped at the park so she could yell at me a little, then the phones went out and I got shot." She frowned. "I don't know how we're going to explain that. Maybe we could say the bullet just grazed me?"

"Where did you get shot?" Stiles asked.

Allison stared at him. "I told you, in the park."

Peter rolled his eyes. "He means what body part?"

Allison pointed at her shirt. "I think they missed my liver."

Melissa came over, pulling on gloves. "Can I see?"

"Sure." Allison pulled up her shirt. "See? All better. But I got knocked out."

"We think there was something on the bullet," Natasha said. She had also gloved up. "Dupont's team wasn't taking any chances."

"Well, if it knocked me out, it would have killed a normal person." Allison let her shirt fall. "I woke up tied to a chair. Dupont was slapping Lydia around so I tried to distract him, which ended up with him sticking a knife in my cheek and then stabbing me in the leg." She stopped to breathe. The office was deathly silent. "When I didn't do what he wanted, he put a gun to Lydia's head and started shoving knives into my back to see what I'd do when he pulled them out."

Natasha moved around behind Allison. "What did you do when he pulled them out?"

"Scream, mostly." Allison shuddered as Natasha touched her back. "Tears. I might have begged him to stop. It didn't do any good."

"Why didn't he pull these ones out?"

"Chris showed up." Allison wrapped her hand around the chair back. Having Natasha behind her, touching her, was almost an agony of anticipation. "Which was a good enough distraction for me and Lydia to escape. The end."

"What happened when you got away from them?" Noah asked.

Melissa came over with a very shiny scalpel. "Allison, do you want something to numb the area?"

"Nothing you have in that kit will work," Allison said. "Just do it."

Looking very uneasy, Melissa went around behind Allison. "If you need me to stop, just tell me."

"Right." Allison took a steadying breath. When the scalpel sliced into her skin, she closed her eyes and made herself hold still. "Lydia and I went through the underground tunnels to the school," she said, resuming her story. "Jackson and Isaac were there, so I handed Lydia off to them and bolted for the forest."

"Why?" Noah asked.

"Because Lydia was in danger when she was around me," Allison said. She squeezed the chair back hard in an effort to stay still. The scalpel moved steadily through her skin. "Because I had a phone and a knife up at the Hale house."

"You could have stayed with Lydia."

The scalpel turned down. Allison kept breathing. "What, and miss the stunning finale with Dupont and everyone?" She opened her eyes. The room was in crystal, pure focus. Pain usually did that to her. "It's entirely possible that I wasn't thinking clearly, all right?"

"Hold on," Natasha said, and with a repellent squelching sound, the barb was pulled from Allison's body. Allison convulsed, turning her head into her arm to stop her scream.

"That is the most disgusting thing I have ever seen," Stiles muttered.

"How many of those did they shove into you?" Cora asked with clinical detachment.

Allison lifted her head. Natasha was holding out the bloody barb, the sharp bladelike edges dripping with gore. Allison felt a little sick herself. "Ten."

"And they just ripped them out?" Peter asked.

"Most of them. Some they pulled out slower." Allison focused on breathing. "One more. Come on."

"In a minute," Melissa said. Something pressed against her back over the wound. "Your skin should heal pretty quickly, right?"

"It should," Allison said. She was shaking now, shudders coming from her very core. "Can you get the other one out?"

There was a small hesitation before Natasha said, "This one looks a bit deeper."

"So?"

"So I'm worried that if we have to start cutting into muscle, it's going to take longer to heal."

Allison took her hand off Laura's mane to reach behind her own back to touch the barb. It was lower down than the others, and Allison could feel the thickness of the flesh over the metal. "Pull it out."

"This might need real surgery," Melissa said.

"No. Pull it out!"

"Are you sure she's not going to wolf out?" Cora asked.

"We can pull it out, but it's going to hurt," Natasha warned.

"You think I don't know that?" Allison asked. She was so cold, and everything hurt, and all she wanted to do was sleep forever.

"We'll do it," Natasha said. "But you need something to distract you."

"Sure." Allison looked around the room. "Stiles? Got any stories?"

The boy opened his mouth, then closed it. "I just forgot everything that ever happened to me."

Peter let out an irritated sigh. "You people." He pulled the chair by the wall over to beside Allison, sat down, and put his hand on Allison's wrist. His touch was almost scalding. "Did anyone ever tell you the story about the time Derek tried to eat a squirrel?"

"Hey!" Derek exclaimed, as Natasha began to pull the barb out of Allison's back.

"No," Allison said, staring at Peter. "Did he really?"

"Do not tell this story," Derek ordered, so annoyed.

"No, do go on," Cora said.

Peter rubbed a circle on the back of Allison's hand, grounding her. "I was about fifteen and I was supposed to be watching Derek—"

"Key word, supposed to," Derek interjected.

"But he was having a nap and I was writing an English paper or something when I look up and out my window, and do you know what I saw?" Peter pressed down on her hand, and she nodded. "Disappearing into the distance, was Derek's little two-year-old ass over the hill."

A blade hit a nerve, sending a spasm of pain through Allison so hard she saw stars. "Keep going," she gasped.

"Okay," Peter said. He put his free hand on her knee and squeezed, the momentary flare of pain enough to distract Allison from what was happening in her back. "So Derek is making his great escape and all I can think of is how slowly Talia would kill me if anything happened to her precious little boy, so I jump out of the window and chase the disaster child through the forest for a while."

"This is why Mom never asked you to babysit Cora," Derek said.

"Anyway," Peter went on. "I finally catch up to him when he starts trying to climb a tree after this squirrel, and when I get him around the middle to haul him back to the house, all Derek will say is 'Eat squirrel! Eat squirrel!' over and over."

"Excuse me," Derek protested. "Laura told me this story and she said that I was saying that I wanted to _meet_ the squirrel."

With a sickening pop, the barb slid free of Allison's back, and she gasped at the sudden absence of pain. Someone pressed something against her back. "All done," Melissa said quietly. "It's done."

Allison couldn't stop shaking. "Don't stop the story," she said. "What happened next?"

Peter shrugged. "I took him back into the house and kept an eye on him until Talia got home."

"He trapped me under a laundry basket and sat on it," Derek objected.

"You were fine," Peter said. "I shoved little bits of granola bar through the handle holes for you."

Derek shot an annoyed glare at Allison. "For the record, I want to point out that I have never eaten a squirrel."

"I have," Allison said. Everyone looked at her. "What? You've never gone hunting?"

"Was it… raw?" Stiles asked, repulsed.

"What? No!" Allison turned her hand over to twine her fingers with Peter's. "Campfires exist for a reason, Stiles!"

"Oh god," the boy said, slumping in his chair.

Over by the wall, Noah let out a long sigh. "Rushman, can you bag those for evidence?"

"Sure."

Melissa stood up, peeling off her bloody gloves. "I think Allison could do with a change of clothes," she said. "And scenery."

Allison looked at Peter. He quirked an eyebrow at her, but didn't say anything as he let go of her hand.

"Good idea," Natasha said. She returned from getting an evidence bag. "I'll go too."

"Why do I feel like I'm being escorted to a secondary location?" Allison complained. Still, she managed to stand under her own power. "I'll be back soon."

Natasha retrieved Peter's jacket from where it had fallen on the floor. "Here."

"What?"

"Trust me."

Allison narrowed her eyes. "Oh, you had to go and say that."

"I should be saying the same thing to you," Natasha said, and dropped the jacket over Allison's shoulders.

"Come on," Melissa said. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Allison smiled at Noah on her way past. "Thanks for keeping Lydia safe," she said.

"Oh, Allison," Noah said. He patted her shoulder. "You have no idea how glad I am that we've got you back safe."

Allison let Natasha herd her out into the lobby, and down the hall. Several deputies whispered amongst themselves when they saw her, but most were watching the television in the waiting room, with the screen showing footage of the White House on fire.

"Any updates?" Allison asked, slowing to look in vain for the red and gold of the Iron Man suit.

"They got the President out, but the terrorists burst out with the Secretary of State and they're on the run," someone said. "Iron Man and Captain America are in pursuit."

Allison looked at Natasha, who shrugged. "I don't know anything."

"That has never been true and you know it." Allison started walking again, and this time they made it all the way down the hall to the women's locker room. Allison waited while Natasha unlocked the door, then she went inside and collapsed on the first bench, her elbows on her knees. "I think I'm going to have a nervous breakdown now."

"I'm surprised it's taken this long," Natasha said, going over to a locker.

Allison gave her a two-finger salute.

"Allison, honey," Melissa said as she sat beside Allison on the bench. "Can I ask you some questions?"

Allison sighed. "Look, I know," she said. "Peter's old enough to be my father, I'm not eighteen yet, et cetera. Can we skip the lecture until all my skin grows back?"

"Not those sorts of questions," Natasha said. She returned with an armful of clothing. "Do we need to take you to the hospital for a rape kit?"

"No," Allison said. She stared down at her hands. The blood on her fingers had dried. "I know I was unconscious for a while, but I don't think anything happened to me. Why, did Lydia say something?"

"No." Natasha sat on the bench on Melissa's other side. "Is there anything you want to say without any men in the room?"

Allison shrugged. "There's a lot to unpack about five grown men shoving long metal objects through the flesh of two unwilling teenage girls, but Dupont and his band aren't my problem any more."

Melissa winced. "Are you going to be okay?"

Allison looked at the woman. "I have to be," she said. "I'll do what I always do, compartmentalize for a while, then have a total breakdown in private, scream for a little bit, and then get back to work a little more dead on the inside."

Melissa looked back at Allison. "You'll do what you always do?" she repeated. "Allison…"

"No, see, I'm still in the compartmentalizing part of the day," Allison said. She stood up. "The breakdown happens later."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Melissa asked. Natasha was oddly silent.

Allison walked up to the mirror. She could see now why everyone had been staring at her. She had smeared blood on one cheek, the front of her shirt a bloody ruin, and her jeans absolutely soaked in blood. She turned around. Her back was healing rough, angry red lines where the skin had been ripped apart. By contrast, the clean scalpel slice from the half-hour before was almost gone.

Her lip curled up in disgust. Monsters, Dupont and all of them. She almost wished she'd dumped his body off a cliff.

"No," Allison said as she turned on the faucet. "I just have to get through this on my own."

"You don't," Natasha said.

Allison looked at Natasha's reflection in the mirror. "I would have thought that you of all people would understand."

Natasha sighed. "No, I understand." She stood up. "But I don't have to like it."

"Oh, I don't like it." Allison shook her head. "There are a lot of things I can't change. However." She started pulling her shirt hem from her jeans. "I can take a shower and get all this blood off me."

"And then what?" Natasha asked.

"And then?" Allison paused in unbuttoning her jeans. "I should probably start thinking about what I'm going to do with the rest of my life."

"And you should eat something."

"Good idea." Allison kicked out of her boots. "Maybe I should take a page out of Derek's book and go chase after a squirrel."

Natasha shook her head. "Yeah, you're going to be fine."

Allison doubted that, but it was nice to have the vote of confidence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cora, in the car on the way to the sheriff’s station: So, what the hell has been happening here in Beacon Hills?  
> Derek: it is a long story  
> Peter: *glares *  
> Derek: …that I am not going to tell while trapped in a moving vehicle with you two  
> Cora: And how long have Allison and Uncle Peter been married?  
> Peter: *contemplates jumping from a moving vehicle*  
> Derek: Why did I ever want to become the Alpha again?


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Dupont is taken care of, Allison has to deal with the Chris Argent situation, then try to figure out what to do with Cora. Meanwhile in Washington, Steve Rogers battles terrorists, makes a new friend, and is stuck dealing with the emotional fall-out of the latest Tony Stark revelation.

* * *

Once she had showered and dressed in the spare deputy's uniform Natasha set out for her, Allison braided back her wet hair while Melissa and Natasha supervised in an uncomfortable silence.

"You can go home now," Allison told Melissa as she tied off the braid. "Go make sure Scott's okay and everything."

"Why wouldn't he be?" Melissa demanded.

Allison adjusted the too-large shirt across her shoulders. "I'm sure he is."

"Allison," Natasha said. "Do you think anything would be wrong with Scott?"

Allison turned away from the mirrors to face the two women. "Scott didn't do anything wrong," she said.

"Great," Melissa said. "So why wouldn't he be okay?"

Allison leaned against the counter. She was half-expecting the pain in her back to start up again, an irrational after-effect of torture. She hated it. "For the want of a nail, the kingdom was lost."

Melissa stood up. "Just tell me what is wrong with Scott!"

"I'm sorry," Allison said, her stomach hurting at the expression on Melissa's face. "The reason I was at the park with Lydia this afternoon was that Scott called me out on what I'm doing with Peter where Lydia could hear him. So Lydia and I went to talk about it."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Melissa asked, baffled.

"That means," Natasha said from behind the woman, "That if your son hadn't done that, Lydia Martin wouldn't have driven Allison to work, wouldn't have pulled the car off the road to the park, wouldn't have gotten out of the car, and Dupont's men wouldn't have been able to find Allison and Lydia alone like sitting ducks." She looked at Allison. "Is that it?"

"Yes," Allison said softly, hating the expression on Melissa's face. "Nothing that happened was Scott's fault. I know that. Lydia probably won't even think about it. But I don't know what Scott's going to think. Sometimes he thinks he's responsible for all the world's problems."

"This wasn't his fault."

"No, it wasn't," Natasha agreed, coming around to Allison's side. "But his actions set this afternoon in motion."

Melissa pushed a few strands of escaping hair back from her forehead.

"What would you have done otherwise?" Natasha asked Allison. "If you hadn't talked to Scott?"

Allison tried to think. "Stiles had plans, and my bike is still in the shop, so I was going to catch the bus to come into work."

"The bus," Natasha repeated. "After Friday, when you were jumped and assaulted by five men."

"Yeah, miles outside of town," Allison said. "I never thought they would escalate to doing something so stupid as trying to grab me in public like that."

"What would you have done, if they'd gotten you alone?" Natasha asked. "If they'd pulled you off the bus, all by yourself. If Lydia hadn't been with you?"

Allison turned on Natasha, crossing her arms over her chest. "If I didn't have to worry about Dupont cutting Lydia's throat?" she asked.

Natasha looked up at her with very green eyes. "Yes."

Allison moved close to Natasha, getting in her personal space. "Under my fifth amendment rights," she said deliberately, "I am refusing to answer your questions without my attorney present."

Natasha didn't move. "So you're not going to blame Lydia for what you went through?"

Allison let out a breath, absolute rage bubbling up in her chest. She knew her eyes were burning red with the alpha, but she did not care. "How dare you?"

"Allison," Melissa said. "Calm down."

"I am calm," Allison snapped. To Natasha, she said, "Do you blame Barton for what you went through in Ballarat?"

Natasha took an actual step back. "How do you know about that?" she demanded, with what might have been real shock.

"Guess." Allison stepped away, going over to her ruined piled of clothing. "I'm not going to blame Lydia for what happened to me, any more than I am going to blame Scott. The only people who are the focus of my ire are the ones who shot me and tied me to a chair and cut me open." Allison rolled up her bloodied jeans and the remains of her shirt. "Dupont's in a jail cell and the other four are a problem for another day. If there's nothing else?"

"Allison," Melissa said, stepping between her and Natasha. "Honey. Just breathe for a second."

It was about as reassuring as being told to _calm down_ , but Allison bit back her anger.

"Okay, look, I know how much you hate hospitals, but I'm going to say again that I am really worried about how much blood you've lost."

"I'm not going into shock," Allison said, taking her eyes off Natasha.

"No, I can see that." Melissa held out her hand to take Allison's arm, feeling for the pulse at her wrist. "Your heartbeat feels fine, but I'm still worried. Can you come in tomorrow morning for me to run some blood tests?"

Allison pulled her arm back. "I can't afford that."

"What you can't afford is any long-term damage you might run into with all this blood loss," Melissa shot back. "Noah can run interference with the hospital administrators, it'll give him something to do. Allison, please."

Allison looked away first. "I have to go see Lydia tomorrow morning."

"Great," said Melissa. "From the sounds of things, and from what I know about Natalie Martin, Lydia will be in the hospital until her arm is healed."

"That's stupid, there's nothing really wrong with Lydia."

"Mothers worry."

Melissa had probably meant to be reassuring, but still, the words hit Allison like Victoria's belt against her ribs. "If you will excuse me." Allison turned and fled before she could say something unfortunate.

Out in the bullpen, the deputies were still gathered around the television. Allison sidled up beside Callahan and Strong. Callahan looked her over. "So did you get shot or what?"

Strong hissed, but Allison shrugged. "Yes. It went right through my side, bled like a bitch." She transferred her bloodied clothes to her left arm with an exaggerated motion. As she had intended, everyone's eyes followed the gore-soaked fabric. "Melissa stitched me up."

"What about all that stuff the Martin girl was saying they did to your back?" Strong asked.

Allison put on her blandest expression. "Like I said, Melissa stitched me up."

"The Martin girl was in real rough shape when they brought her in here," Strong went on. "But she wouldn't tell us how you two got out of that basement room."

Allison raised an eyebrow. "The element of surprise."

"Uh huh." Strong's eyes never left her face. "I don't suppose you're at all… Canadian?"

Allison froze. He had made a remark about Canadians a few days previous, when he was talking about Peter's mother. At the time, Allison had assumed he was trying to awkwardly point out that Peter and Talia's mother hadn't been considered exactly white by the town fathers of Beason Hills in the early fifties.

Now, though… Was Strong trying to ask her if she was a _werewolf?_

Allison looked around the gaggle of deputies. Callahan appeared confused, as did most of the others, but Ibarra and Wu were looking at Allison with such wariness that her heart sank.

Oh god, they knew. Maybe not about werewolves, but they knew something supernatural was up in Beacon Hills.

Then again, Strong, Ibarra and Wu were the longest serving deputies in the department at the moment. Or, rather, the longest surviving deputies.

Allison took a deep breath. "I have heard rumours that there were some Canadians back in the family tree," she said carefully.

Strong nodded. "Good," he said. "You know what they say about Canadians."

Wu muttered something under her breath. Allison stared. "What is that?"

"Hardy."

"Hardy," Allison repeated. "Yes, that's me. One might even say resilient."

"Canadians have to be," Strong said, a hint of humour coming into his eyes. "With all that cold."

"Have you ever been to Canada?" Callahan asked Strong, confusion descending into perplexity.

"No, why?"

Allison turned her attention to Ibarra. "Did they rescue the Secretary of State yet?"

"Not yet." Ibarra indicated the screen. "Most of the channels are showing the fire at the White House still."

"No eyes on Iron Man or Captain America?"

"No. Why?"

Allison tapped the bloodied jeans. "No reason."

"Hey!" Noah's shout from his office door made everyone jump. "Why is everyone sitting around? The forensic team needs help at the water treatment plant. Strong, Callahan, you're supposed to be on patrol."

"Just keeping up on current events," Strong called as everyone jumped to do Noah's bidding.

"Is that what we pay you for?" Noah yelled after him. "Ibarra, who's on the interview rooms?"

"Me." Ibarra hauled himself to his feet. He looked at Allison. "We're all really glad you're okay."

"You sure?" she asked.

The man frowned at her. "Of course we are."

"Even if you're partly Canadian," Wu said over Ibarra's shoulder. "Come on, Christian, hop to it."

Allison watched the bullpen empty, then she slowly walked over to Noah's office. He had gone back inside, and Allison slipped through the half-open door.

"…didn't know what else to do," Cora was saying. The contents of the room had shifted in Allison's absence, with Cora having moved to the chair where Allison sat, Stiles was still on the couch with Derek, and Peter on the bench beside that. Noah leaned against his desk.

"You could have tried to find us," Derek said. He was picking at the seam on his jacket.

The glare Cora shot her brother was fierce. "I have _told you_ ," she said. "I thought everyone was _dead_."

Allison dumped her armful of bloody clothing on the worktable beside the metal barbs. "Where are we in the interrogation?" she asked.

"I'm asking Miss Hale about her timeline," Noah said. "She was declared dead six years ago, it's going to take a while to get her paperwork in order. And I need to know how I can help."

"He'll do what he can," Allison told Cora, crossing the floor to Noah's desk. "And whatever lawyers Derek can hire will do the rest."

"Are you telling me to trust a human?" Cora spat. "You, a Hunter?"

"I am not a Hunter." Allison shifted the stack of paperwork on Noah's desk, pulling free her mother's homicide file.

"You're an Argent! The sheriff said an Argent burned my family alive!"

"She did," Allison said, grabbing a few other folders at random to tuck around the Vasquez file. "And last year, someone very obligingly ripped her throat out in the exact spot in the house that your mother died." She lifted the armful of folders. "I understand that you're angry, Cora, but this anger isn't going to help you."

Cora rose to her feet, her eyes glowing with the wolf. Derek went still, and even Peter froze. "Help me do what?"

Allison came around the desk, putting herself between Cora and Noah. "I don't know. Whatever you came back to Beacon Hills to do."

"I came back because people were saying that a Hale alpha was building a new pack. But I thought that everyone was dead."

It was so faint that the others probably didn't hear it, but Allison could hear the quiver in Cora's voice. Allison had heard that, so many times, when Cora was speaking in the English of her childhood, and not the Spanish with which she had grown to adulthood. Allison switched to Spanish to give Cora a break. "Derek is building a new pack," she said. "Finding out that Derek and Peter are alive, it has to have been so hard. I can't imagine handling that as well as you are."

The switch in language was enough to startle Cora into silence.

"I don't know what you're going to do next, but life will be much less difficult if you let the sheriff help you," Allison went on. "You can get a passport instead of making a run across borders. You can have your share of the family money." Allison kept her eyes very closely on Cora. "You can go home."

Cora lifted her chin. "Isn't Beacon Hills supposed to be my home?"

"It was," Allison agreed. "And you can come back here any time. But I am sure there are people out there who miss you."

Cora surged forward, getting in Allison's face. There was a movement behind Allison, but she put out her arm to stop Noah. "What do you know about me?" Cora demanded.

"It's all right," Allison said in English to the room, then went back to Spanish for Cora. "I know that you're seventeen and you're very healthy, that your clothes are good quality and expensive under all that dirt, and that someone embroidered that little star on your back pocket next to your initials." She pulled her arm back from Noah. "I know that someone out there took you in and gave you a home after you lost this one. And I don't think you would willingly give that up, no matter what."

Cora stared at Allison, her jaw trembling.

"And even though it's going to hurt, Derek is going to support you in doing what you feel is best for you, like a good alpha big brother." Allison looked over at Derek. "Right?"

Derek settled back on the couch. "I got my sister back, and you're already trying to rip her away from me?" he asked in Spanish.

Cora turned her wrath on Derek. "Hey, I just got you back too!" she shouted, and Allison took the opportunity to turn around, mouth a _sorry_ at Noah, then moved over to Peter.

"Can I borrow a buck?" she asked under Derek and Cora's row.

"Why?" Peter asked.

"I have to go ruin Chris's life, and I don't feel like doing it with my blood sugar this low."

"Can I watch?" Peter asked, distracted from his last remaining family light into each other.

"No, but I promise I'll tell you all about it afterwards."

Peter pulled out his wallet and handed Allison a dollar bill. "Why aren't you scared of Chris anymore?"

Allison took the bill, the brush of Peter's fingers against hers sending a tired thrill down her spine. "Because if he wanted me dead, there were multiple opportunities tonight he could have made sure it happened." She folded the bill in her hand. "I'm starting to think he might not want to put me out of my misery after all."

Peter looked at her, then handed her another dollar.

"Thank you." Allison turned, sidled her way between Derek and Cora, and ducked out of the office. She had not expected Noah to follow her.

"Allison."

Allison paused. "Yes?"

Noah pointed at the files she held to her chest. "You don't have to do this."

"Someone needs to tell Chris."

"It doesn't need to be you."

Allison ran her thumb over the edge of one folder. "There are some things I need to ask him, about tonight. Unless you're going to charge him with something, in which case you can ask him."

Noah sighed, rubbing his hand over his eyes. "There's nothing to charge Chris with, at least not from tonight." He let his hand drop. "Rushman's been working on your mother's case. I don't know if they're going to pursue charges against Chris for what happened with you."

"I doubt it," Allison said. "If they do that, then this all goes out in the public eye." She shuddered at the memory of the media storm from the last timeline. "Things are a little complicated right now."

"What if Chris reacts badly to all this?" Noah looked around. "If someone told me that Stiles wasn't my kid, I don't know what I'd do."

"Well, you probably wouldn't blame Stiles for it," Allison pointed out. "Noah, unless you order me not to, I'm going to go talk to Chris."

Noah looked at her for a moment, then exhaled. "All right," he said. "If you need any help, yell."

"Sir." Allison gave him a salute, then carried on deeper into the station, past the bullpen, and down the hall to interrogation.

Deputy Ibarra was seated outside of interview room three. He frowned when Allison came into view. "What are you doing here?"

Allison held up the folders. "I'm working on my criminal interrogation merit badge."

"You know I can't let you in there."

"Why? Chris isn't under arrest." Allison tucked the folders under one arm. "As far as anyone knows, he hasn't committed any crime."

"If he does, then you talking to him could taint the evidence," Ibarra argued.

"Hey, I am the victim here," Allison said. "In more ways than one. It's not like I'm going to take a phone book to him or anything."

Ibarra hesitated.

"You can leave the door open," Allison went on, sensing weakness. "If I need help, I'll yell."

Ibarra stood up. "All right," he said. "If you feel even a little uncomfortable, I'll be there, okay?"

"Thanks," Allison said. It was nice to be back at work, where she was moderately certain that no one was going to try to murder her without warning.

With that, Ibarra opened the interview room door, and Allison went inside.

Chris looked up from his cell phone on the table. When he saw Allison, he pushed his chair back and stood up. "How are you?" he asked.

"Better," Allison said, walking over to the table. She sat across from Chris and set the folders down in front of her. Now that she was here, she had no idea how to proceed.

"Really?" Chris asked, sitting back in his seat. The bruise on his face was darkening, under a scruffy five o'clock shadow that Allison thought was uncharacteristic. "Earlier tonight, you looked…" He swallowed. "Bad."

"I was," Allison agreed. She folded her hands on top of the folders. "I'm better now."

The silence that followed that was pronounced. "I see," Chris said after almost a minute. "So tonight, when I asked you—"

"When I said that I wasn't anything covered by the Code, I meant it," Allison interrupted. No matter how many euphemisms for werewolves had been bandied about in the station that night, she didn't need Chris to come out and say it. "I'm just a human girl trying my best." She leaned back in the chair. "Speaking of which, what the hell was Mike trying to pull, telling Dupont that everyone had voted me in charge?"

Chris sighed. "The others weren't overly thrilled that Dupont was in town," he said. "After you were taken, I told him and Paul that I'd take responsibility for you."

"That still doesn't make any sense."

Chris met Allison's eyes. "After Dupont's crew went off looking for you, I called everyone in. I told them that moving forward, we were going to focus on people's actions, and not how they were born."

That was interesting. It was also counter to generations of Hunter teachings. "What did they say?"

"Mike said that he'd heard around town that you were protecting people, like those girls at the sheriff's department picnic."

Allison moved her fingers over the top folder. "How did you hear that?"

"People around town talk."

Allison sat forward. "Tell me," she ordered.

"Paul's wife Claire, she works at the elementary school," Chris said. "One of the mothers who was at the picnic mentioned it. Who came after the girls?"

Slowly, Allison eased back. "Some drifter," she said. She sketched an omega character in the air. "I don't think he meant the girls any harm, but better safe than sorry."

"Then with Jackson," Chris continued. "I told them what you did."

Allison turned her head, trying to gauge where Chris was going with all this. "How did that conversation go?"

"Paul wasn't thrilled, but Mike and Saul overruled him."

"They always do," Allison said absently. "So, what, after a quick heart-to-heart in the car, Mike decides to lie to Dupont and tell him that I'm head of the family so he'll leave town?"

Chris shifted in his seat. "Mike didn't lie."

Allison frowned. "What?"

Chris pushed his phone forward. "George went back and looked up the old records in the Code. Even if Mike was making things up, you claimed authority and dealt out summary justice, and no one objected. That makes you head of the family."

The words made no sense. Allison blinked, then blinked again. "What?"

Chris moved his jaw. Allison had no idea what the man was thinking. "That makes you the head of the Argent family."

Oh.

Oh _crap_.

"Great," Allison muttered. "Look, Chris, there's something I need to tell you—"

"You started calling me that after we got back to Beacon Hills," Chris interrupted her. "Before that, it was always 'Dad'. What changed?"

Allison hesitated. It was the perfect opening to tell Chris the truth, and she didn't know what to do.

"Then in the tunnels today, you called me Dad again."

"I was trying to get you to do something to help save Lydia."

Chris looked at her for a long moment. "Right."

"What are you trying to say?" Allison asked, suddenly feeling very tired.

"Allison," Chris began, "There's something I've needed to tell you for a while now, and I'm starting to think that it won't come as much of a surprise to you."

"What is it?"

Chris looked down at his hands. "Your mother and Dupont, they knew each other when they were younger."

"Yeah, I got that from all the various wisecracks Maurice kept making about how Victoria should have raised me better. Were they friends or something?"

Chris made a rueful expression. "Or something."

"So?" Allison asked. "Dupont hears about Victoria's death and comes into town to make sure that I was upholding the family name?"

"Not exactly." Chris rubbed his hand over his chin. "I think he came into town to see what you looked like."

"What the hell does that have to do with anything?" Allison asked, her heart sinking. Oh god, had Dupont helped Victoria to kill Clara and steal Allison as an infant?

As soon as the thought passed through her mind, Allison disregarded it. Dupont was old-school. He would never have let a werewolf's daughter live; he would have been far more likely to drown newborn Allison in a bucket of water than let Victoria raise her.

But then what was Chris talking about?

"Allison. I'm not…" Chris almost had to work to meet her eyes. "You're my daughter. You'll always be my daughter."

"Chris—"

"But I'm not your biological father."

Allison stared. She knew that, of course, but why was Chris bringing that up now, in a conversation about Maurice Dupont—

"Oh my _god_ ," Allison exclaimed, pushing her chair back in a squeal of metal over linoleum.

"Allison, I'm sorry," Chris said, looking down at his hands again. "I never thought it would come up, never thought it would matter, then Dupont came into town—"

"I don't look anything like him!" Allison exclaimed. Dupont was fair with blue eyes, very similar to Chris in that regard.

"And I think that was what pushed him over the edge a bit." Chris leaned forward in his chair. "I didn't realize how angry he was at your mother until after what happened up at the Hale house. I should have told you before."

Allison sat in a stunned silence for a moment. "Okay, let me get this straight," she said finally. "Victoria was sleeping with Dupont around the time she got pregnant, and he thought that he was my father until he comes to town eighteen years later, then he gets mad at Victoria for lying to him and takes it out on me by ripping the skin off my back? What the _actual fuck?"_

"Allison…" Chris said, but Allison was getting far too angry to want to listen to anything he had to say.

All of this was about _Victoria?_

Allison stood up. "I'll be right back," she said.

"Allison—"

Allison walked right out of the interrogation room and almost collided with Deputy Ibarra. "What the hell," the man said. "Are you okay?"

Allison looked at Ibarra. She wanted to push past him, go right into holding and hit Dupont for a very long time. All the violence and pain Allison had suffered that night, everything they had done to Lydia, and based on what? Dupont's anger at a dead woman?

"Are you okay?" Ibarra asked again. "That sounds like some telenovela crap."

Allison put her hand against the wall. The cool concrete under her fingers helped her to focus. She couldn't go off and murder Dupont in a holding cell. Certainly not in an election year. "My life is the world's most ridiculous telenovela," she said. Her voice shook a little. "I should sell the rights."

"So you're going to be okay?"

"Yes. No. Fuck, I don't know." Allison stood up straight, the anger having faded a little. "Keep Chris here, I need to go get a soda or something."

Allison walked down the hall to the break room. She bought and drank a can of soda without pausing for breath, then turned around and retraced her steps to the interview room. Ibarra was standing by the door, arms crossed. "You look better," he said.

"I don't know if I feel any better." Allison paused by the door to take a deep breath. "Okay. Round two."

"You don't have to go back in there."

"Yes, I do." Allison straightened her shoulders, and walked into the room. Chris hadn't moved. "All right," Allison began, plopping back into her chair. "Before we go any further, I'm curious as to why you think you're not my biological father."

Chris tapped his thumb against the table. "Victoria and I weren't in the same country at the time she got pregnant."

"So you were fine with raising someone else's child?"

It took Chris a long time to respond. "I told myself that I was. I knew Victoria wanted children."

"To, what, be head of the family?"

"Something like that. And when I saw you for the first time, after I got home from France, I really was fine with it." Chris gave an odd half-smile. "You were so small. I told myself that I was going to protect you, from all this, the life, all of it."

There it was, another perfect opening. Allison put her hands on the folders. "Chris," she said. "There's something I need to tell you."

"What?"

Allison moved the top folder aside, enough to expose the LAPD logo on the green folder. She had no idea how to do this. "Do you remember what else was happening in Los Angeles around the time I was born?"

"There were a lot of things," Chris said. "I was trying to balance work and taking care of you, and then we moved to Maine when you were about two months old."

Allison plucked out her mother's homicide file from the stack, and turned it around so Chris could see the name written on the front. He went still. "Do you remember this?"

Chris nodded. "I remember hearing about it," he said cautiously. "We weren't involved."

"You weren't." Allison rested her hands on the paper. "First off, I need you to know that I am really sorry for what's about to happen."

"What are you talking about?" Chris asked, shifting around in his seat.

"Did you ever see a picture of Clara Vasquez?"

"I don't know, maybe in the paper. I told you, we stayed out of it."

Allison opened the folder, and pushed Clara's headshot across the table to Chris. He stared at it, going pale. "I've seen Victoria's medical records," Allison said quietly. "She gave birth to a stillborn baby about a week before Clara was killed."

"No," Chris said automatically. He looked from Clara's photo, to Allison, then back again. "No, you were born at home, Victoria told me."

"It was the hospital in Bakersfield," Allison went on. "The baby was a girl. She probably was Dupont's daughter." Allison started setting out the photos of the crime scene, of Clara's broken and bloodied body. "A week later, Clara Vasquez, eight months pregnant, went missing. Joggers found her body in the early hours of the twenty-fourth, ripped open like this."

Allison tapped the photograph that displayed the entire, horrific scene in the early morning light.

"The coroner's report made it clear that some object had been used to open Clara up, probably a knife. There were tool marks on her ribs." Allison made herself point at the close-up of Clara's emptied abdomen. "I don't know who told the press that it was an animal attack, but they did." Allison moved the photograph of Clara's dead face forward, placing it next to Clara's headshot. "Everyone assumed the baby had been killed."

"Someone took the baby?" Chris asked, as if he was speaking from very far away.

"It had nothing to do with what was going on with the Vasquez family," Allison said. "Victoria wanted a baby, so she went out and took one."

"She wouldn't have done that," Chris said, but it didn't sound like he believed it.

Allison kept her hand on the photographs. "She took me, knowing who my parents were." Allison held her gaze as Chris looked up. "She knew I could never be turned. Wouldn't that come in handy in our family?"

"You can't be sure," Chris said. "Just because you look like a Vasquez…"

"We got the DNA results back this morning," Allison said. "Clara Vasquez and Tony Stark are my biological parents."

Chris closed his eyes.

"And I know this is a lot for you to take in," Allison went on, gathering up the photographs to stuff back into the folder. "But I think we need to get a few more things sorted out."

"What?" Chris asked, sounding exhausted.

"Are you and the guys going to have a problem with this? With me?" Allison folded her hands together. "Because I'd like to clear that up right now."

Chris put his elbows on the table. "No," he said after a pause. "None of the men on my team have problems with girls like you."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive." Some of the steel was coming back into Chris's spine. "I put this team together very carefully, Allison. You know them, you know what they're like."

"I do," Allison said, putting her elbows on the table to echo Chris's posture. "I can believe you when you say that they're not going to have problems with who my parents are."

"Then what?"

"There's something else."

"Of course there is."

"And it's something I want you to know about now so you can work past any problems you have before we run into each other on the street."

Chris narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"That thing that happened to me this summer?"

"That thing you won't talk about?"

"Yes." Allison turned her chair so that she was out of the direct line of sight from any of the cameras in the room. She wasn't foolish enough to think that someone, at the very least Natasha, wasn't videotaping this conversation. "That."

She let the alpha rise, red in her eyes, filling her with the certainty and authority of being in complete control. She was the Hale alpha. This was her town. This was her _right._

Chris's breath caught in his chest, but otherwise he didn't react.

"So." Allison kept staring at Chris, unblinking, unbowed in the face of a man who had spent his entire life trying to kill people like her. "What happens next?"

Slowly, Chris leaned back. "What happened?" he asked.

"You can guess the series of events."

"No, I mean…" Chris exhaled. "I guess I can."

"So," Allison said again. "What happens next?"

"If you're…" He faded off on the word _alpha._ "But you're not…" _A werewolf._ "How?"

"I don't know," Allison said. She let the alpha fade from her eyes. "But I mean what I've been saying. I'm going to protect people in this town, Chris, and I would like to know if I'm going to run into any objections from you and the guys."

Chris considered. "I would like to tell you that everyone will be fine, but I can't," he said after a moment.

"I appreciate your honesty."

"Let me talk to them. It might take a few days. I'll let you know how that goes."

"Again, I appreciate it." Allison stacked the files together in front of her. "Having said all that, I don't know what the cops are going to do about Clara's murder. You might want to get a lawyer."

"I wasn't in the country when that happened."

"I know that, and you know that." Allison stood up. "But the way things are going, I doubt that Tony Stark will be fine with taking your word on that."

"Your father," Chris said. "Right." Then he went pale again.

"Don't worry about my mother's family," Allison said. "I'll do what I need to, to keep the peace on this. They won't come after you."

"And you know this how?" Chris demanded.

"For starters?" Allison put her hand on the back of the chair. "This is my town, not theirs. Do you really think Anna Vasquez is going to risk another civil war, after what happened in ninety-four?"

"She's not in charge in L.A." Chris said. "Her father is."

"Victor might be the big boss, but Anna has been keeping that city safe for over ten years."

Chris's glare turned sharp. "How do you know that?"

"Haven't you heard?" Allison asked innocently. "I'm head of the family now. I need to keep up with current events."

The interview room door opened all the way, framing Noah. "Time to break it up," he said. "Chris, you're free to leave, but I want you to come back in tomorrow to make an official statement."

"On which case?" Allison asked. Noah gave her a look. "What, it's about me, I have a right to know."

"Regarding the murder of Clara Vasquez, and the kidnapping of Allison." Noah turned his attention to Chris. "Get a good lawyer. Maybe two."

Chris stood up. "What about Allison?"

"I am standing right here," Allison said.

"She's staying with me and Stiles," Noah said. "That hasn't changed."

"I'm right here," Allison said again.

"And you'll keep her safe?" Chris asked.

"Yes."

Allison looked directly at the camera in the ceiling corner, and rolled her eyes.

"Good." Chris picked up his phone. "I'll let you know if I hear anything on the wind."

"I appreciate that."

Chris took a few steps towards the door, then turned to Allison. "I'm sorry."

"About what?"

"About all of this."

"It's okay, I think all my skin has grown back."

Chris winced. "I don't just mean about tonight. I should have done something to stop all this."

"I'll say," Noah muttered.

"We can't change the past," Allison said, feeling like the universe's worst hypocrite. "We can only control what we do next." She rubbed her eyes. "What are you going to do next?"

Chris sighed. "Go home. Talk to the others. Maybe drink a bottle of whisky."

"Good idea," Allison agreed. "Me too."

"No, no drinking," Noah objected. "Why don't you go find Stiles and head home? I have a couple of things I want to say to Chris."

 Allison looked between the two men. "Sure." And she escaped into the hall.

Ibarra was still there, and his expression was downright flabbergasted. "Are you serious?" he asked Allison in a whisper. "Are you really Tony Stark's kid?"

Allison held out the folders. "Yes." She pulled out Clara's headshot and held it up next to her own face.

"I remember hearing about that case," Ibarra said. "It was all anyone talked about in L.A. until the O.J. Simpson case went to trial."

"Great." Allison tucked her mother's picture back into the folder.

"Wait, was that why you were asking about Iron Man earlier?"

"Of course." Allison pulled her braid over her shoulder. "On the day I find out who my real parents are, I get shot and tortured while my father is fighting self-immolating terrorists who kidnapped the president and half the executive branch. There's been a lot happening."

"Geeze."

"Okay, anyway, I have to get out of here before Noah and Chris come to blows. See you at work tomorrow."

Allison walked away on Ibarra's sputtering. The bullpen was finally mostly empty, so Allison kept going, making it all the way to Noah's office. Inside, Cora and Derek were sitting on the couch, talking quietly, while Peter sat on the bench and watched them. Stiles was in his father's desk chair, typing on his laptop. Everyone looked up at Allison's approach. "How did it go?" Peter asked. "Was Chris more destroyed emotionally or physically?"

"Emotionally." Allison dropped the folders on the worktable beside her bloody clothes, grabbed Clara's file, and went to sit beside Peter. After the long, chaotic and painful day, being so close to Peter helped to settle some of the lingering tension in Allison's body. "What did I miss?"

"Cora's going to stay in town for a while," Derek announced, almost a challenge.

"Good." Allison leaned against Peter's side, grateful beyond belief when he put his arm over her shoulders. "Chris said that he and the other Hunters are committed to a new approach in Beacon Hills. Unless anyone's an active danger to innocent lives, they're going to steer clear."

"What about you?" Cora asked. "You're a human alpha, but you're a Hunter, and you're married to Uncle Peter?"

There was a clatter at the desk, where Stiles had fumbled his cell phone. "Oh, my god," he said. "There is so much wrong with that sentence."

"I'm not a Hunter," Allison said. "Not like that." She turned her head to look at Peter. "And we're not married. Right?"

"Right," Peter said cautiously. "We're just… friends."

Cora huffed. "You smell married."

"Oh my god," Stiles whispered.

"It's complicated," Allison said.

"But you're an Argent."

"Not willingly."

Derek sat back. "What are we going to do now?" he asked. "Everyone's over at Jackson's house for the night. Why?"

"Because I gave Dupont's men until sunrise to get out of town, and I don't know what might happen before then." Allison put the folder on Peter's lap. "You all should stay over with us in case anyone decides that taking pot-shots at Hales would be a fun way to spend a Monday night."

"Why?" Cora asked.

"So I can protect you," Allison said. Peter looked at the folder, then at Allison, then took his arm from around her shoulders. "Which I cannot do if you all scatter to the wind. It's only for one night."

Peter opened the folder, and went still.

"Why are you trying to protect us?" Cora asked.

"That's what she does," Stiles said. "Me, the pack, Derek. And apparently now you too."

Peter touched Clara's headshot, then moved on to the written report.

"I didn't ask for her protection."

"And you probably won't need it," Allison said. "I can't make you do anything, Cora. It's just an offer."

Cora turned her head. "But you could."

Peter flipped a page.

"Could what?"

"Could make me do whatever you want. You're an alpha."

Allison frowned. "I know I could _make_ you do anything, but I'm not going to."

"Why not?" Cora pressed.

"Because it makes me feel bad, okay?"

Peter went on to the crime scene photos. Other than the movement of his hands, he was holding himself very, very still.

"How are you an alpha?" Derek asked. "And why did I hear my mother and my sister howling up in the woods tonight?"

"I wish I knew about what happened tonight," Allison said. It wasn't untrue. "I heard the howls, so I howled too, in case it was a challenge that needed answering. Then I heard Cora and went to find her."

"How did you know it was me?" Cora asked.

"I knew it wasn't anyone else in my pack," Allison said, ignoring the way Derek muttered _they're my pack_ under his breath. "So I wanted to see who might be around." It was the strictest truthful interpretation of the evening's events.

"But how are you an alpha?" Derek asked again, as Peter closed the folder and handed it back to Allison. A moment later, he took her hand, sliding his fingers through hers. Allison felt such an overwhelming relief that she closed her eyes for a moment. "Allison?"

She opened her eyes. "Do you really want to hear this story?" she asked. Derek glared, but Cora looked interested. "I had a friend. An alpha."

"You met an alpha werewolf in France and just made friends with them?" Derek demanded. " _You?"_

"And there was another pack trying to crash into his territory," Allison went on, because it was easier to ignore something than to try to lie about it. "He and I were out and got attacked." The memory of killing Derek, while staring at a very much alive version of the same man, made for a strange ache in Allison's chest. "While I fought a few with my knives, most went for him. They ripped him apart before I could stop them."

"They killed him?"

"No." Allison looked down at her hand, wrapped up with Peter's. "I killed them. Then he asked me to kill him so his sister would become the alpha."

"And you did," Cora said.

"I did." Allison looked up. She remembered Cora's face from that night, pale and grieving over her brother's dead body.

"Was she mad at you?" Stiles asked from the desk. Allison couldn't look at him, not with the memory of the other Stiles' rage and fury raked up to the surface by the story.

"Not exactly. I think she understood."

"What did the rest of the pack think?" Peter asked.

Allison let out a breath. "Let's say that my continued presence was not requested in France after this summer."

To her surprise, Peter lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. "And now you're a human alpha in Beacon Hills."

"Yep."

Derek let out a breath, and everyone in the room tensed. "They're my pack," he said out of nowhere. "You can't have them."

"I don't want to take the pack away from you," Allison objected. "They're my friends. I want to keep them safe."

"I don't like it," Derek grumbled.

"You don't have to like it. Tell me, has your power base been eroded at all since I got back to town?" Allison asked.

Everyone looked at Derek. "No," he said reluctantly.

"Are the pack getting along better now that they have someone to hold their hands during the school day?"

Derek glared at her.

"They're teenagers," Allison said. "All they want is to be a real pack. They want to feel like they're part of something important."

"They are," Derek said.

"I know." Allison hesitated. "Sometimes, you have a hard time showing them that."

"I'm better at it than some people," Derek said, shooting a glare at Peter.

"No fucking kidding," came a mutter from the desk. Peter let out a low growl.

Allison squeezed Peter's hand in a warning. "So we'll both keep everyone safe and happy and that includes Cora as long as she's here."

"I don't know how I feel about that," Cora said.

"You don't have to feel anything about it." Allison squeezed Peter's hand again, then let go and stood up. "Come on, I want to go home. I could eat a horse. All of you, let's go."

"Just like that?" Cora said. "Hi, I'm a human alpha, you're all coming over to my place?"

"Yes."

Cora and Allison stared at each other for a long beat, then Cora shrugged and stood up. "Fine. But I get first shower."

Stiles bounced to his feet. "I don't know if we have enough leftovers for everyone."

"We'll figure it out." Allison looked around. "Is my backpack in evidence?"

"I'll get it," Stiles said, and vanished out the door.

Cora picked up her backpack. "Is there some place I can do laundry?" she asked.

"Yes."

"We'd be just as safe at my loft," Derek said from the couch.

"The house is more defensible," Allison argued. "That's where I have all my knives."

"Is the sheriff going to be okay with this?" Peter asked.

"I don't care," Allison said, as Stiles crashed back into the office with her backpack. It still had the plastic evidence tag tied around one strap. "Didn't you hear? I'm in charge."

"Yes," Peter said. "You, in charge of the Argent Hunters."

Cora made a disgusted sound and walked out of the office, followed by Derek and Stiles.

"How did Chris take it?" Peter asked once they were alone. "Finding out that you aren't his?" His eyes were tinged with a slight malicious blue.

Allison sighed. "He always knew I wasn't his biological daughter," she said. "I think he's more relieved than anything that I'm not Dupont's biological daughter, either."

The series of emotions that flowed over Peter's face were a sight to behold. He finally landed on revulsion. "What the fuck is wrong with Hunters?"

"So much," Allison said, and hooked her hand through the crook in Peter's arm to steer him outside. "You and Derek should take your car so you can get your stories straight."

"About what?"

"I don't know, all of last year?"

"Great," Peter muttered. Allison gave a smile to the deputy manning the front desk, then pulled Peter outside. The crisp fall air was a welcome change to the stuffiness of the station. "So, if I'm staying over at your place, does that mean I get to sleep in your bed?"

"If you want Noah to shoot you, sure," Allison said. "You can have the couch."

"Vasquez hospitality leaves so much to be desired," Peter said. He looked at Allison sideways. "What do you know about them?"

"I've heard a lot," Allison hedged. "Hunters have a lot of things to say about the Vasquez pack."

"So you know that Clara Vasquez…"

"Was a werewolf, and Tony is human, and that makes me something very interesting indeed." Allison stopped midway across the parking lot, hanging back from where Cora and Derek stood by Peter's car. Stiles must have run around the station to get his jeep. "Born to the dark of the moon, isn't it called?"

"Yes." Peter looked up at the sky. "It's an old moon, tonight. "

"How do you feel?" Allison asked.

"A little tired, like always." Peter looked at her. "I hate this time of the month."

Allison rested her forehead against Peter's shoulder for a moment. "I'm glad you're here," she said.

"Are you?"

"Yes."

They stayed like that until the muted roar of the jeep came around the building. "Anyone who wants to stop at the drive-through, come with me," Stiles called through the open window.

"See you at the house," Allison said, and let go of Peter's arm to walk over to the jeep. "Come on, Cora, Stiles is buying us milkshakes."

Cora grumbled, but she climbed into the jeep. Allison hopped in the back, gave Derek a sunny smile, and waved as Stiles peeled out of the lot. Then she started rooting around in her backpack in the vain search for food.

"So what do you do?" Cora asked Stiles.

"I, uh, go to school," he said. "I'm seventeen."

"Then why are you sleeping with my brother?"

Stiles nearly drove into a lamp post. "What? I'm not!"

"He isn't," Allison called from the back seat. "Although it might be easier on everyone if Derek was getting laid."

"I'm not sleeping with Derek!" Stiles yelped. "He's straight, anyway."

"Then why do you smell like him?" Cora asked.

"Derek is over at our place a lot," Allison said. "He's been coming over for Sunday dinners and everything."

Cora turned to look at Allison. "What's the deal with you and Uncle Peter?"

"There is no deal," Allison said, as Stiles slowed to turn them off Bonaventura back into town.

"You're an Argent and he's a Hale."

"Sure."

"He was in the house when it burned down. Aunt Teresa and the Nicks died in that fire."

Allison met Cora's eyes. "I was eleven when Kate Argent murdered your family," she said. "I didn't have anything to do with it."

Cora frowned. "I was eleven when the fire happened."

"Yes," Allison said. "We're both seventeen."

Cora's frown grew deeper. "Uncle Peter is almost forty. That's…"

"Weird?" Stiles suggested. "Creepy? Illegal in California?"

Allison hit the back of Stiles' seat. "I turn eighteen next Monday."

"Weird," Stiles said again. "Creepy."

"It's fine."

"He tried to kill you!"

"Multiple times," Allison agreed. "We're over it now."

Cora was a little incredulous. "What has been happening in Beacon Hills?" she asked.

"Bad things," Allison said. She yanked her cell phone out of the front pocket in the bag, unlocking it to reveal a staggering number of messages and missed calls. "You were probably safer on your own in the world, than around here over the last seven years."

"Where were you, anyway?" Stiles asked. "Not that I need to know or have any reason to be told."

Cora settled back in her seat. "Argentina," she said after a minute. "South of Mendoza."

"What's down there?" Stiles asked.

"Farms, wineries," Cora said. "We're close to the mountains."

"Who's we?"

Cora stared straight ahead for almost a minute. In the silence, Allison scrolled through the news feed Jarvis had sent her, detailing the timeline of the terrorist attacks. Finally, Cora said, "My pack."

"That's good," Stiles said. "Right? Having pack?"

Cora shrugged. "I don't know how they are."

Allison cleared her phone's screen and held it out. "Call them."

"What?" Cora said. "I can't…"

"Call them," Allison said again. "I have a good long-distance rate."

"But it's after midnight there."

Allison hauled herself up to put her chin on Stiles shoulder. "If any of my pack needed to talk to me at any time of the day, I'd take their call."

Slowly, Cora took the phone from Allison's hand. "I didn't tell them where I was going. I just left." She stared at the phone. "What if they don't want to talk to me?"

"Then you will give me the phone and I will talk to them."

Cora huffed, a sound so similar to Laura's wolfly laugh, and started dialing.

"Are we still going for hamburgers?" Stiles asked.

"Yes," Allison said, sinking back down. "Before I start chewing on your head."

The phone rang and rang. Cora sat motionless, waiting.

"Hello?" came a voice in Spanish on the other end of the line, after an eternity. Cora nearly crumpled in relief. "Who is this? Do you know what time it is?"

"Uncle Mateo?" Cora whispered.

"Cora?" the man exclaimed. "Cora, where are you? Are you hurt? Lucia, wake up, it's Cora!"

Cora started crying, hiding her eyes with her free hand. "I'm in Beacon Hills," she said. "Uncle Mateo, not everyone died. Derek and Uncle Peter didn't die in the fire."

Allison looked out the back window at the dark road behind them. She didn't want to be here, listening to Cora fall apart over the phone to her pack over six thousand miles away, but this was how they had ended up.

At least Cora was safe. Allison had kept her promise to Talia and Laura on that.

* * *

The phone call lasted through the stop at In-and-Out, and all the way to the house, where they found Peter and Derek arguing beside Peter's car. Cora ended the call and handed Allison back her phone as Stiles pulled into the driveway, nearly mowing Peter down. "Thanks," she said, subdued.

"What's next?" Allison asked, as if she hadn't heard every single detail.

"I'm going to call them tomorrow," Cora said. "Once I figure out what I'm going to do."

"You can come inside and eat some of this," Stiles said, staggering out of the jeep with the bags of food. "Derek, sherpa me!"

"That's good," Allison said, opening the back door. "We'll get it figured out."

Cora shrugged, and followed Derek and Stiles into the house.

Peter lingered. "What were you going to tell me on Wednesday?" he asked without preamble.

"About who I really am," Allison said. She started stuffing her things into the backpack. "We were waiting on getting the DNA results back."

"How long have you known?"

"I've suspected for a while now." Allison left her running shoes in the back of the jeep, and zipped her bag closed. "I've known since earlier today."

"And you're okay with this?"

Allison put on her backpack, flinched when the weight hit the places Dupont had ripped through her skin, and took it off again. "With what?"

"Knowing your mother was an animal like me?"

Allison dropped her bag and shoved Peter hard against the jeep. She grabbed his shirt to keep him in place. "Talk about yourself however you want," Allison said through gritted teeth. "And you can say whatever you like about me. But don't you _ever_ talk about my mother like that again."

"Or what?"

Allison let him go. "Or maybe I'm going to reconsider our little arrangement."

"What arrangement?" Pete asked. "Maybe I'm reconsidering it, too."

"What, now that screwing me isn't some great way to get back at the Argents?" Allison snapped.

"Do you have any idea of the political ramifications there would be at a Hale-Vasquez alliance?" Peter asked, brushing dust off his shoulders. "Especially considering what you are?"

"What am I?" Allison demanded. "A liability? A walking reminder of everything that happened after Clara died?" She spread her hands. "Or are you talking about the fact that a lot of packs think about women like me as nothing more than breeding stock?"

"Allison…" Peter tried, but Allison wasn't done.

"I'll tell you what I am, Peter. I am sick and tired of people thinking they can control my life just because of how I was born. I'm done with it. From here on, it's my life. I'm choosing my own path." She let her hands drop. "If you want to be part of that, that's your choice to make."

"Do you want me to?" Peter asked.

"To what?"

"To be part of your life."

Allison was confused. "Of course I do."

"Your intentions haven't traditionally been very clear."

Allison wondered what the neighbours would do if she started screaming. "When have my intentions _not been clear?"_

"In most of our interactions?"

The urge to scream was growing. "I'm going to say to you what I said last week on what was apparently our _wedding night_." Peter snarled at her. "This is you and me, not anything else. I'm with you because I want to be."

"Why?"

"Because I do."

"I'm going to need a little more than that."

God, Peter could be so fucking frustrating. "Because you're the only person in town who I feel I can have an honest conversation with," she said. "Because I don't have to worry about you being shocked or appalled at anything I say or do." Allison stepped in closer, putting her hand on Peter's chest. His breath hitched. "Because you understand that sometimes there's not going to be a happy ending, and the best you get is an ending."

"Tell me one thing," Peter said. He put his hands around Allison's waist, pulling her closer. "What would have happened if the Hunters had only grabbed you, not Lydia?"

Allison looked at Peter for a long moment, then listened hard. She could hear Stiles, Derek and Cora distant inside the house, and no one lurking nearby. She took a breath. "I would have torn them to shreds, sealed their bodies in that little tiny underground room where no one goes, and walked away."

"Instead you let them rip you up."

"I did what I had to, to keep Lydia alive."

"Was it worth it? All that pain for your little friend?"

Allison let her hand drift up to Peter's throat. She laid her fingers on his pulse, gently. "I told you after I went up after the wendigo, when I'm hunting on my own, the only thing I have to worry about is the threat. If I'm with someone else, I have to keep them safe."

"Was it worth it?" Peter said again.

Allison considered him. She wasn't really sure what he was digging for. "Lydia is alive, and she'll heal," Allison said honestly. "So, yes."

"Would you have gone through all that for me?"

"It wouldn't have gone the same way," Allison said. "They'd probably have started off torturing you as some sort of object lesson for me, so I would have needed to eliminate their threat as soon as possible. You can heal from more damage than Lydia."

"So if it had been me down there with you, you'd have let me get cut up."

Allison put her arms around Peter's neck. "I'd have banked on the fact that Dupont's a drama queen. He'd want to draw out your pain, and I'd have ten seconds to get loose and kill them all. Or maybe I'd have cut you loose and we could have killed them together." She leaned in to press a soft kiss against Peter's lips. "It could have been our first date."

Peter let out a shaky breath. "I don't know if I'm terrified or turned on right now."

Allison kissed him again. "You've been a werewolf your whole life, you know exactly what you can do," she said. "Lydia is a banshee who came into her powers today, in the worst possible way, almost too late to save our lives. You're not the same." She let Peter go, and went to get her backpack.

"I wonder if Lydia will see it that way?" Peter asked.

Allison shook her head. "I'd ask you not to tell her, but I know better than to think you'll listen to me." She came back to put her hand on Peter's arm. "But I can tell you that you scare Lydia, and that, combined with this little guilt trip? She's a banshee whose trigger is anger. You might survive what she does to you, but your hearing probably won't."

Peter ran his tongue over his lower lip. "Point taken."

"Let's go inside, I'm hungry."

"You're always hungry."

"So are you."

"I'm trying to make up for six years on a liquid diet."

"Tell you what." Allison picked up her backpack. "One weekend, you and I are going to Las Vegas to hit up every all-you-can-eat buffet in town."

"You want to drive eleven hours to Las Vegas for the food?" Peter asked as he followed her into the house.

Allison breathed deep. For a few dark minutes that afternoon, she'd thought that she would never step foot in the Stilinski house, her _home_ , again. She was suddenly, indescribably happy. "I'm not old enough to drink and I don't like to gamble, so what else is there?"

 "There's another reason people go to Las Vegas."

Allison rolled her eyes. "I'm not driving to _Las Vegas_ to get married when Reno is only four hours away."

Peter tripped over the threshold.

"No one's getting married," Derek yelled from the kitchen. "I'm the alpha and I forbid it."

"Derek's eating all the fries," Stiles called.

"He better not be." Allison dropped her bag by the bench, closed and locked the door behind Peter, and hurried down the hall into the kitchen. "I got tortured, so I get half the fries."

"You were outside beating up Uncle Peter," Cora said through a mouthful.

"We were renegotiating the basis for our relationship." Allison crammed half a hamburger into her mouth on the way to the knife block. "Stiles, where's the leftover steak?"

"Fridge," Stiles said, then glared at Peter. "Hey, no, there's only four chairs. You have to stand."

"Why don't you go sit on Derek's lap?" Peter suggested.

Allison plucked her favourite large knife from the wooden block and carried it with her over to the refrigerator. "Stiles, can you please go get another chair?"

"Fine," Stiles muttered, getting up. "It's a good thing you were shot and horribly tortured, otherwise I'd feel like you were pushing me around."

"I am pushing you around." Allison carried the plate with the three leftover steaks to the table. "Cora, eat."

"Why does Cora get steak?" Peter asked, darting a hand in to grab a strip of beef.

"Cora's been living rough in the woods," Allison said. She laid the knife down on the table to shove the rest of her hamburger into her mouth. "You had roast chicken for dinner last night."

Across the table, Derek was eyeing Allison and Peter warily. Finally, he turned to Peter. "Whatever happened to you asking if she was biding her time before taking us all out?" he asked.

Cora stopped chewing.

"I think I prefaced that by saying I was playing Devil's Advocate," Peter reminded him. He sat in Stiles' seat just as the boy wrestled a folding chair into the room, and smiled.

Angrily, Stiles unfolded the chair and slapped it down at the corner of the table between Derek and Cora.

"Besides, Allison shared some news with me that has led me to reconsider a few things." Peter picked up one of the wrapped hamburgers.

"What's that?" Derek demanded when Peter didn't continue.

Peter looked at Allison. "Do you want to tell him?"

Allison shrugged. "Why? You're having so much fun with this."

Peter took a bite of hamburger. "It turns out that Allison isn't an Argent at all, but the long-lost Vasquez baby that so many werewolves died in a civil war over."

Stiles whipped his head around so fast Allison got whiplash. "Do you have proof?"

"DNA test came back this morning," Allison said. She slurped on her soda. "I was going to tell you this afternoon, but, well, Dupont."

Derek was blinking at Peter. "Say that again."

Peter laid down his hamburger. "Allison is a Vasquez."

Derek kept staring.

"That's weird," Cora said. "For real?"

"Yes." Allison reached for more steak. "Victoria Argent lost her baby a month before it was due. She killed my mother and cut me out of her uterus in the middle of a cold September night in Los Angeles, to raise me as an Argent."

"That is so fucked up," Cora breathed.

"Tell me about it."

Derek still hadn't said anything, but he was staring at Peter with a very strange smile on his face. "What?" Peter finally snapped.

"Can I be there?" Derek asked. "In the room, when someone tells Victor Vasquez that you imprinted on his seventeen-year-old _granddaughter_?"

Peter stopped moving.

"Victor doesn't get any say in my life," Allison said. "The only person who runs my life is me."

"And you're going to use this new-found agency to stay involved with my uncle?" Derek asked, finally turning red eyes on Allison.

"Yes," Allison said, letting the red rise to her own eyes. "If he wants to."

They glared at each other across the table, until Cora reached over to Derek's plate and grabbed a handful of fries. "Hey!" he exclaimed.

"Menace or eat," Cora said. "You can't do both."

Peter went back to his hamburger.

"Where's everyone going to sleep?" Stiles asked, stealing a fry from Derek.

"Derek can bunk in with you," Allison said. "Cora can take the guest room. Peter's on the couch."

"The guest room is your room," Stiles pointed out.

"Do you honestly think that I'll be getting any sleep tonight?"

"You're going to sit up all night?"

"I'll have my laptop. I can check in with Jarvis to see how the whole _terrorists kidnapped the president_ thing went. Speaking of which."

Allison pulled out her phone and went to the chat stream with Jarvis. There was one new message. _Mr. Stark and Captain Rogers have tracked the Secretary of State and his abductor to Warner Theatre. Negotiations are under way._

 _Tony as hostage negotiator, that's a terrifying thought,_ Allison responded.

_Captain Rogers is doing most of the talking._

_Not sure that's better. Good luck._ Allison put her phone down. She was starting to feel less ravenous. "Good news, Iron Man and Captain America have the last terrorist pinned. Bad news for local theatre, it's in the middle of the late-night show."

"Wait," Derek said slowly. "Your father is Iron Man. Tony Stark."

"So?"

"So you're going to be rich."

"So? You're rich."

"Like, _rich._ We're millionaires. Stark's a billionaire."

"Wait," Stiles said through a full mouth. "You're a what? Dude, I bought you dinner!"

"How many times have I saved your life?" Derek retorted.

Stiles glared so hard he nearly fell off his chair. "How many times have I saved _your_ life?"

"I'm going to take a shower," Cora announced, standing up. "Allison, can you show me where it is?"

"Sure." Allison reluctantly put down her steak, and licked her fingers. "Boys, no bloodshed."

She pretended not to notice Peter nicking the steak from her plate as she left the room.

"If you give me your clothes, I can run them through the wash tonight," Allison said in Spanish on the way up the stairs. "You can borrow some of mine until they're dry." She ran a mental eye over the remains of her wardrobe. "I've got running pants and some sweatpants that I'm borrowing from Stiles, you can take your pick."

"What are you really doing with Uncle Peter?" Cora asked as soon as they cleared the landing.

"What are you talking about?"

"The way you look at him." Cora paused in the doorway to Allison's room. "It's like my Aunt Lucia looks at Uncle Mateo."

"What's your point?" Allison asked, going over to pick up some dirty clothing scattered by the closet.

"They've been married for thirty years."

"Good for them." Allison went over to strip the bed.

"How long have you been together with Peter?"

"Two and a half weeks."

Cora was quiet for a moment. "Why does that sound like both the truth and a lie?"

"It's the truth." Allison yanked the pillowcase off her pillow. "I'll get you another blanket."

"Why?"

"So you don't get cold overnight."

"Why are you doing this?"

Allison stopped, arms full of sheets. "Doing what?"

"Doing this." Cora crossed her arms over her chest. "Mom used to be like this. She would be talking through really hard stuff and also taking care of me. You're _my age._ "

Allison's hands tightened over the sheets. "Cora, I am five seconds away from having a nervous breakdown over what happened tonight, and if I stop to think about things, I am going to start screaming. So I'm not stopping. You can grab whatever you want out of the closet, I'm going to get clean sheets. Leave what you want washed outside the bathroom door." With that, she walked out of the room.

She could hear voices on the main level as she stalked over to the linen closet. There were spare sheets for the guest bedroom bed on the shelf, so Allison dumped her armful on the carpet and went into Stiles' room. The boy had four blankets piled up on his bed, and two more folded in his closet. Allison grabbed one from the shelf and went back into the hall. Cora was walking into the bathroom, holding an armful of Allison's clothing.

"There's a hairbrush in the right-hand drawer," Allison said. "And some new toothbrushes under the sink."

Cora nodded and closed the door. Allison went back to her bedroom. With Cora occupied, Allison could finally get to her knives. She moved the mattress to look over her collection. The hatchet, she would take, even if she still hadn't had a chance to get a fine edge back on the head. Then the hunting knife, and the stiletto, and the throwing knives. A knife for each hand, and two for backup. That should be enough to keep the bad guys at bay.

She put the mattress back in place, made the bed, and bundled all the dirty clothes up into the hamper with her knives on top. Lastly, she grabbed her laptop, and headed out into the hall.

Inside the bathroom, the shower was on. Cora's clothes were in a heap outside. Allison added them to her laundry basket and went downstairs.

Derek and Stiles were arguing about something, so she left them to it, instead continuing down to the basement. She was just shaking the dirty clothes into the washing machine when she heard a soft tread on the stairs. "Peter."

"Allison." Peter sat on the bottom step, watching her. "Why are you doing Cora's laundry?"

"Because she's a guest in this house."

"That's not the reason."

Allison pulled a wadded-up paper napkin out of Cora's pocket, then dumped the jeans into the washer. "Because if I stop moving, I'm going to fall apart."

"What's that going to look like?"

Allison shrugged.

"Who are those knives for?"

Allison glanced down into the laundry basket, which now held only her laptop and knives. "Dupont's crew. If they come around."

"Do you think that would stop them?"

There was a pressure building in Allison's head. "I hope we don't have to find out."

"What if we do find out?"

Allison slapped her hands down on the washer. The metal creaked. "Then I'll die trying." The room was getting a little wobbly around her, but Allison blinked it off. "That's what I do, okay? That's what I was made for, that's all anyone ever wanted me to be, just another knife to throw into danger."

The world was starting to lose focus, narrowing to a tunnel and oh shit, Allison had been through this before, had lived these panic attacks for years after Derek died. She couldn't breathe.

Then Peter was there, right in front of her where she could see him, his hands out and around hers. "Hey, don't kill me," he said. "Is that what your mother would have wanted?"

Her mother. Clara. Anna had described her as hot-headed and fiercely protective; dead at twenty-one before she could grow into the alpha she was supposed to have become. "What?"

"Did your mother want you to be just another knife?"

"No," Allison gasped. Peter squeezed her hands, this side of pain, and it helped Allison to focus. "No."

"What about Stiles?"

"No," Allison said again. "He's my friend."

"Although I can't understand why," Peter said as an aside. "Do you think that's what I want?"

Allison turned into the lee of Peter's body, shaking. She had a focus now – she had to answer Peter's question. "No," and she felt stronger for having said it. "No."

"What do you want?" Peter asked, voice quiet in her ear.

"I don't want to be the knife, I want to hold the knife," Allison said. Peter put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her in close.

"Why?"

"Because when I'm holding the knife, I'm thinking." Allison rested her forehead on Peter's shoulder. "When I'm the knife, someone else is in control."

"That doesn't sound good."

"It's not. When I'm thinking, there's still hope." Allison turned to put her arms around Peter's neck. "And when there's hope, there's a chance that things might end up with everyone alive."

"That sounds like the best outcome," Peter said into Allison's ear. He was holding her just as tight as she was him.

"It is." Allison let out a shaking breath. "So, apparently this is what happens when I fall apart."

"It's not so bad." Peter kissed her hair. "I can tell you're not wearing a bra."

Allison breathed against his throat. "Dupont cut through it before he started the evening's flaying."

"Oh." Peter was quiet for a moment. "That takes a bit of fun out of the seduction game."

Allison sighed, snuggling closer to Peter. "You're not seducing me, Peter, you're comforting me."

"How am I supposed to tell the difference?"

"On the whole, seduction is ninety-per-cent less likely to happen on days that I've been shot."

"I'll make a note of that."

They stood there for a few minutes, the trembling in Allison's limbs slowly fading. This was the only place she wanted to be; with Peter, in the quiet, without anyone needing anything from her, no demands, no expectations.

She knew Peter had demands and expectations of his own, but for some reason, she could handle Peter differently than the others. And it wasn't even part of how she'd handled the other Peter in the future; if Allison had gone to him seeking solace after a mission gone wrong, he wouldn't have stood there and let her shake. He'd have made it into a power play, depending on how bored he was.

It was in that moment that Allison realised she wasn't thinking of that other Peter as _hers_ any more. This Peter, right here, this was her Peter.

"Oh."

"What?" Peter said, drawing back to look at her.

"I really am in love with you."

Surprise and shock and a tiny bit of hope crossed over Peter's face. "No need to sound so unhappy about it."

"I'm not." Allison put her hand on Peter's cheek. "I just realized it."

Peter moved on to looking uncomfortable. "I'm not saying it back."

"I'm not asking you to." Allison kissed him, a quick, soft press of lips. "But I'm not sorry I said it."

Peter looked at her for a long time, before tracing his fingers over her cheek. "What is this world coming to?" he asked rhetorically. "A Vasquez, in love with a Hale."

"Me, in love with you," Allison corrected. "We're not who are parents were, or where they come from. We make our own choices."

"And you choose me." Peer shook his head. "What a day."

"Yeah." Allison reluctantly pulled away. "I'll turn the washer on."

"Okay." Peter watched her go. "You know, beige isn't your colour."

"It's a good thing I have no plans to go into law enforcement," Allison said. She dropped soap into the washer, closed the lid, and turned it on.

"What are you going to do?"

Allison turned around. "When I grow up?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. "In two years when I graduate from high school?"

Peter let out a pained sound.

"Maybe I'll skip college and go straight to being a superhero," Allison went on. She picked up her laptop and her weapons cache from the laundry basket. Overhead, she could hear a door close, and Noah's voice join in the conversation with Stiles and Derek.

"Why would you want to be a superhero?" Peter asked.

Allison shrugged. "Health benefits." She turned towards the stairs. "Coming?"

"I had hoped to," Peter muttered.

Allison leveled a glare at him. "No sex in the sheriff's house."

"Until you're eighteen?" Peter asked, following her.

Allison glared harder. "Ever."

"You're no fun."

Allison climbed the rest of the steps, Peter at her back. She went into the kitchen, where she found Stiles trying to prevent his father from eating a hamburger. "Hi, Noah."

"Allison." Noah took the momentary distraction to grab the burger from Stiles and move around the table. "Oh. Peter."

"Sheriff Stilinski," Peter said, lounging against the wall. "Allison was giving me a tour of your lovely home."

Honestly, _men_. "I was doing laundry and Peter was helping me walk through another round of PTSD roulette." She rested a hip against the counter. "Dupont's still in custody, right?"

"Yes." With one more glare at Peter, Noah unwrapped the burger. "I've got my guys patrolling for the other four, but nothing so far." He cleared his throat. "Chris said that they wouldn't be a problem. He also didn't tell me exactly what he was planning on doing about them."

"Nothing that would leave any evidence," Allison said. Everyone looked at her. "What? Argents don't leave evidence."

Derek let out a low growl. "You mean like the fire?"

Allison turned on him. "Or murdering my mother in the middle of an urban park in Los Angeles so well that the coroner declares it an _animal attack?"_ She looked back to Noah. "Chris won't kill those four. Not tonight."

"I'm not feeling great about this," Noah said through a mouthful. He and Stiles had been spending too much time goading on each other's bad habits.

"Me neither." Allison went to grab some Gatorade out of the fridge. "I'm going into the living room to try to figure out these terrorist attacks."

"Don't you ever slow down?" Derek asked.

"Why would I do that?" Allison asked, and left the room.

Ten minutes later, Peter came into the living room and slumped down beside her on the couch. "I'm bored."

"I have some true crime books in my backpack from the library," Allison told him, never looking up from the chat with Jarvis.

"Why? Career preparation?"

"I've read everything else at the library except for the sci-fi section."

"Don't you like sci-fi?"

"The science is all wrong." Allison narrowed her eyes at something Jarvis had just sent regarding the analysis of an Extremis virus's RNA. "Do you know anything about virology?"

"Not really."

"Okay." Allison started up a few new search strings. If she was right, then maybe they could use the flaw in the Extremis virus itself to create a customized patch for each infected victim. If she was right, they could save the rest of Killian's Extremis army from blowing up.

It wouldn't do anything to help Tony or Steve in Washington at that very moment, but it was something Allison could do.

"You're cute when you're ignoring me."

"Thanks."

Peter left in disgust, but returned a few minutes later with a book in his hand. He sat down at her side again and started to read. It was uncharacteristically meek of him, and Allison found out the reason in a minute, when Noah came into the living room. "Are you staying?" Noah asked gruffly.

Peter put the book down. "Why, thank you for the offer, Sheriff."

Allison glanced up from her laptop to see Noah looking at her. "What?"

"What's the plan?" Noah asked.

"The Hales stay here tonight, because it's the most defensible location in the city."

"Chris said Dupont's crew won't be a problem."

Allison shifted her jaw. "He can say whatever he wants. Tonight, the people in this house are under my protection. That includes Peter, so stop glaring at him."

Peter smiled at Noah.

"What happens tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow, the Hales need to find a lawyer for Cora to get her legally resurrected, Stiles goes to school, and Melissa made me promise that I'll go let her suck out my blood in exchange for a hefty fee." Allison reached for the Gatorade bottle. "Life goes on."

Noah was frowning at her. "Just like that?"

"Just like that." Allison drank the rest of the liquid in one gulp. "That's my new philosophy in life."

"Is that a helpful coping mechanism?" Peter asked.

"Maybe I've reached the tipping point in my life that so much terrible shit has happened to me, it can't get much worse, so may as well keep moving." She put her laptop to the side and stood up. "I need a refill."

"I should buy stock in Gatorade, with how much of that crap you and Stiles drink," Noah said as Allison headed past him.

Allison hadn't heard anything from Derek or Stiles in a while, so she was a little surprised to find them still in the kitchen. She was even more surprised when Stiles turned away from her. "What's wrong?" Allison asked.

Derek glared at her. Stiles shook his head. "Nothing."

"Okay." Allison went over to the fridge to get another sports drink. "Did anyone text? Is everyone okay?"

"They're fine. Erica's worried about you."

"I'll send her a message. I've been busy working on viral mutation."

Stiles was looking down at his hands. "Okay."

Allison was getting more concerned by the minute. "What's wrong?" she asked again. "Are you mad at me?"

"No," Stiles exclaimed, pushing his chair back. "I should have done something to help you, and Lydia, instead of just sitting around."

Allison felt a wave of exhaustion crash over her. She had been through hell that day, and she didn't have a lot of energy left to deal with other people's emotional breakdowns.

But she was the grown-up in the room. And that meant she had to suck it up, deal with her own shit, and help the others out. "Come here."

"No."

"Stiles." Allison rounded the table to pluck at his shirt. "Up."

Reluctantly, Stiles stood up. It took him a minute to meet her eyes.

"I'm right here," Allison said. "Lydia is safe, and she'll heal. Everyone is all right."

"But I should have done something to help you."

"What did you do?" Allison asked. Stiles blinked at her. "What did you do after you found out Dupont grabbed me and Lydia?"

Stiles looked away, his expression changing from self-recrimination to _thinking_. "Dad asked me to send him a picture of what you were wearing, and to tell the station so they could put out an APB."

"Then what?"

"I stayed with Erica and Boyd at the library because no one knew what to do. Until Isaac texted to say that you and Lydia showed up at the school looking like you'd fallen in a meat grinder."

Allison put her hand on Stiles' arm. "And then?"

Stiles shrugged, rubbing his fingers over the back of a chair. "I went over to Derek's house to get him to go find you in the woods."

"Good." Allison squeezed Stiles' arm. "And you did, and you helped me get Dupont down into town, and you helped Derek with Cora."

"I didn't need any help," came the quiet mutter from the corner.

"Sorry, what I meant was, you helped Derek deal with the terrible catastrophe of being Derek," Allison said. Stiles gave her a watery smile. "Stiles, you helped a lot of people tonight."

"It doesn't feel like it."

Allison tapped his cheek. "Too bad. I'm the alpha, you have to listen to me."

Stiles smiled again. "I don't think Derek likes that idea."

Allison glanced over to see Derek glowering at her. "Derek will feel better after a nap."

"Don't tell me what to do," Derek said.

Allison sighed. "Are you feeling better?" she asked Stiles.

"A little."

"Good." She pointed a finger at Derek. "Be nice to Stiles."

"I'm always nice to Stiles," he protested.

"You are not," Stiles snapped, and Allison escaped back into the living room.

Cora had come downstairs and was sitting on the other end of the couch from Peter, who was still pretending to read his book. Noah was in his favourite armchair, passive aggressively watching the news. Allison sighed, and went back to sit beside Peter.

"What?" Cora asked.

"Thanksgiving is going to be so much fun this year," Allison said. She hauled her laptop over. "What's happening in the world?"

"The fire at the White House is out," Noah said.

Beside Allison, Peter deliberately flipped a page. She put her hand on his arm, feeling the tension there. "Good."

"Did anyone die?" Cora asked.

"Doesn't look like it," Noah said, as Allison sent the question off to Jarvis.

"No," Allison said once she received Jarvis's reply. "They had already evacuated the building when the fire started."

"Oh." Cora pulled her legs up to her chest. "Good."

Derek and Stiles came into the living room. Stiles plopped down on the ground to lean against Allison's legs, but Derek hesitated, looking between the spot on the couch beside Peter, and the space between Allison and Cora. "Sit down," Stiles said, annoyed. "You're blocking the TV."

Derek went to sit on the ground beside Stiles, and gradually, he relaxed.

"Tell me about your pack," Cora said after a few minutes.

"Why?"

She poked his shoulder with her toe. "Because they're your pack, dummy."

With a sideways glance at Noah, Derek began to awkwardly describe the werewolves, with Stiles quick to jump in with commentary. Allison was vaguely amused that Derek managed to gloss over any detail that might trigger Noah's crime-fighting instincts.

They sat like that for a while, Derek and Stiles talking, Cora listening, Noah watching the news, while Allison worked with Jarvis on trying to crack the RNA code of the Extremis virus to find a cure.

And if Peter wasn't saying anything, Allison could only worry about that a little. She'd deal with Peter after she saved the world.

She had survived another day. That had to be enough.

### Steve Rogers

"Stay back!" the man yelled for a third time, his hand tight around the back of the Secretary of State's neck. They'd backed up right to the stage steps at the theatre, wedged in with no exit, which should have been great from a tactical perspective, but Steve had no doubt that if the man blew up, he would take everyone in the theatre with him.

Steve held his shield at the ready, not that it would do him any good if the man blew up. "It's going to be okay," Steve said, trying to stall. Hawkeye was trying to get a shot from the dress circle, and Iron Man…

Well, it was hard to be calm when a red-and-gold metal suit of armour was glaring at you.

"It's not going to be okay!" the man yelled, sounding desperate. "I can't—I have to do this!"

"No, you don't," Tony called, his voice projected from the suit. "There's thirty people in this building, and only a few of them came to watch the comedian die on stage."

"I heard that," came a mutter from the clump of people huddled by the blocked fire exit. Everyone else had made it out of the theatre, but one broken fire door had led to a serious hostage situation in the middle of Washington.

"I don't want to do this, but I have to!" the man yelled again.

Tony cocked his head. At the same time, Jarvis's voice came over Steve's earbud. "I have finally retrieved information from the military databases. This is Bill Turner, age twenty-five, formerly a corporal in the Marine Corps. Received a medical discharge after he lost his legs in an explosion in Afghanistan."

"Copy," Steve whispered. He raised his voice. "Corporal Turner?"

The man's face crumpled. "How do you know my name?"

"Surveillance footage from the White House," Steve said, taking a step forward. He was starting to worry about the Secretary of State; an old man, who was getting very pale. "I know that you lost your legs in Afghanistan, and I know that at some point along the way, you met Aldrich Killian. I just don't know what he told you to get you to do this."

"If we didn't do this, he'd stop our blockers," Bill said. "That's what happened on Friday, he told the others to go to a certain place and wait, but he'd sabotaged their blockers. They didn't mean to blow up!"

"I was afraid of that," Tony said, ears-only over Steve's earpiece. "Jarvis, how's research into those blockers?"

"Working on it, sir," Jarvis muttered.

"Hey," said Clint. "I have a shot, but if it doesn't kill him, we'll all die.

"Hold," Steve whispered. "Let's keep him talking."

Then, to Steve's dismay, someone detached himself from the huddle of people by the fire exit. "Where'd you serve in Afghanistan?" the man asked.

Bill blinked. "Ghazni."

"I was based out of Kandahar." The man took another step forward. "Sam Wilson, Air Force."

Bill bit his lip. "Billy Turner, Marines."

"Hey, Billy." Sam took another step forward. "Captain America said you lost your legs?"

"IED," Billy said. Steve wondered when, exactly, he had lost control of the situation.

"How'd you get them back?"

"They said it was science. But it was a trick, it made us all into time bombs."

Sam nodded. "Is there a way to fix it?"

"We're working on it," Tony said.

"It won't be in time," Billy said, with a thread of exhaustion and nihilism that made Steve tense, in case this was it. "Killian told us it wouldn't be in time. If I want to live, I have to do this."

"You don't," Sam said. He took another step forward. "You can let everyone go. You can make that choice."

"I don't want to die."

"No one ever does. But sometimes, you have to make the call to do the least amount of harm." Sam took another step. "That's a choice you can make."

The theatre was motionless for a long heartbeat.

Then Billy let the Secretary of State go. "Okay," he said, and sat down.

"Hold your shot," Steve said to Clint as he slid forward, meeting the man midway across the floor. "Everyone is going to go outside now," he called, beckoning the gaggle of theatre-goers over. He heard Tony's voice over his earpiece, giving instructions to the platoon of cops and FBI and Secret Service stationed around the theatre. "You're going to be all right, sir."

The man looked at Steve, face grey. "Sir? I'm forty years younger than you are."

"Yes, sir," Steve said with a smile. "Let's get you out of here."

He transferred the old man onto the arm of a teenager with a headset, one of the house staff who'd been caught in the kerfuffle. Then he turned back to the theatre, to find that one of the night's hostages hadn't taken the opportunity to leave. Sam Wilson was standing about ten feet away from Billy, talking to him.

Steve went over to Tony. "What are we going to do with him?"

Tony flipped up his face-plate. "How do we take someone into custody if he might blow up at any moment?" Tony asked. "How the hell should I know?"

"Can we find any of those blockers that he was talking about?" Clint asked from overhead. "Were there any at Killian's lab?"

"I didn't know what they looked like," Tony said. "Maybe we can ask the human candle over there."

"Be nice," Steve ordered.

"I'm always nice." Tony whistled. "Hey, Turner!" Both Billy and Sam looked up. "These blockers, what do they look like?"

The next few minutes were complicated. Billy described the blockers, Tony left the building to fly to where the FBI was scouring Killian's lab, and Steve was left trying to run interference with the various members of law enforcement who wanted to storm the theatre to get at Turner.

Steve had shouted himself horse by the time Tony returned, triumphantly bearing a case marked A.I.M. on the outside. Steve took the case into the theatre while Tony barricaded law enforcement outside, and it was a tense few minutes while Billy administered the blockers to himself.

"I'm Steve Rogers," Steve said to Sam, as they huddled behind a concrete wall, just in case Billy blew up.

"Yeah, I know who you are." Sam held out his hand. "Sam Wilson. It's been one hell of a night."

"Tell me about it." Steve peeked out. Billy was still standing. "Were you here with friends?"

"Blind date," Sam said. "She left after the first act. Missed all of this drama."

"It didn't work out?"

"I'm not great company these days."

Billy coughed. "I think it's working," he called.

Slowly, Sam and Steve stood up. "See?" Sam called back. "We live for another day."

 Billy nodded.

"All right," Steve said over his earpiece. "Tony, we're good."

And with that, in swarmed a handful of Secret Service agents, who bundled Billy Turner off with extreme care. Sam raised his hand in a farewell, and Billy nodded. "I hope he ends up okay," Sam said. "He didn't hurt anyone, right?"

"No, no one died tonight," Steve said. He looked at Sam. "What's your day job? Hostage negotiator?"

Sam grinned. "Nah, I just got out of the Air Force. I started at the V.A. last month."

"Civilian life," Steve said in commiseration.

"Hey, I found the one job in D.C. that pays less than the military, I ought to get a medal for that alone." Sam held out his hand again. "Nice to meet you, Cap."

Steve shook. "Steve. And thanks for saving everyone's life tonight."

Sam shrugged. "A bit of self-preservation goes a long way." He headed off, out of the theatre.

Clint came up behind Steve. "The funny thing about being a superhero," Clint said, "Is when you're there, all decked out in spandex and sparkles, and the civilian walks in to save the day in a button-down and chinos."

"He was on a date," Steve said.

"Lucky him."

"No, his date went home early."

Clint sighed. "Isn't that always the case? You save the world and no one's around to appreciate it." He shouldered his bow. "Speaking of which, I need to call Nat. Someone needs to be impressed by my afternoon."

Steve frowned. "And you think that someone's going to be Natasha Romanoff?"

"Bah, you don't understand our bond." Clint sat on a theatre seat, his feet on the cushion, and pulled out his phone.

Tony clunked down the aisle. "Rhodey's got the White House under control," he announced. "I love it when he takes command."

"He's a Colonel in the Air Force," Steve pointed out. "He's literally always in command."

"Speaking of the Air Force, where did your new best friend get off to?"

"He left."

Behind Tony, Clint exclaimed, "What?" and fell off his seat.

Tony sighed. "Barton? Really?"

"He's talking to Natasha," Steve said with a tiny bit of concern.

"Oh, then it all makes sense," Tony said. "Hey, Woody Woodpecker, what gives?"

Clint stood up, ignoring Tony. "Are you sure she's all right?" he asked in an urgent undertone. Steve's concern grew. "What should I tell Stark?"

"Oh, why do I think this is going to suck?" Tony said to himself.

"Do you think Natasha is all right?" Steve wondered.

"Isn't she always?" Tony took a step towards Clint. "Barton, ding-ding, wrap it up."

"Next time," Clint said over the phone, "You're the one fighting terrorists while I get babysitting duty." He pocketed his phone, and turned to Tony. "So."

Tony flipped up his faceplate. "What?"

"Um, Mazel tov? We got Allison's DNA results back this afternoon. Congratulations, it's a girl."

Tony froze. It took him a minute to say, "Are you sure?"

Clint nodded. "We ran her DNA against a sample that was in the LAPD evidence locker, of the, uh. Placenta. And independently against your DNA that SHIELD had on file. Allison is your daughter."

Tony blinked. "If this is such great news, why do you look like you're expecting me to repulsor you into next week?"

Clint took a deep breath. "Do you remember everything that happened to Allison on Friday?"

Tony's eyes narrowed. "When she was cornered and attacked on a deserted highway?"

"Yes." Clint hesitated. "So I'm going to preface this all by saying that Allison is fine."

Tony took a step towards Clint. "You'd better start talking," Steve suggested. "I don't think Tony was kidding when he was talking about that repulsor to the face."

"He didn't say anything about my face," Clint said. "Okay, so this afternoon, Dupont and his crew abducted Allison and her friend Lydia in broad daylight, and it took the girls a while to get away."

Steve's stomach dropped. "What happened?" he asked.

Clint hesitated. "Dupont was torturing Allison for information before the girls escaped."

"What information?" Steve asked. Tony was completely frozen. "Torturing her _how?"_

"Natasha didn't give me all the gory details," Clint said, which sounded like a lie. "But they got away, and then Allison goes and pulls one hell of a stunt, bagging Maurice Dupont and hauling him into the sheriff's station herself. How's that for Stark-sized balls?"

"Is she in the hospital?"

"No, Natasha said she's recuperating at home." Clint looked at Tony, all hints of bluster fading away. "Are you going to be okay?"

Tony finally moved. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"Nat said that they got the call about the kidnapping just after the hostage situation at the White House developed."

Tony crossed the floor to get in Clint's face. "Why didn't anyone _tell me?"_ he demanded.

Clint met his eyes. "Nat said she made the call not to tell you. You were too far away to do anything about Allison."

"So," Tony said, "Agent Romanoff made the call that it was more important for me to save the lives of twenty old men, instead of my own daughter?"

"She did. Turns out it was the right call to make."

Tony's lip curled. "Don't try to mitigate this," he said. "Don't try to make this any better."

"Allison is going to be all right," Clint said again. "Natasha said she's at home with the sheriff and some friends. No one's going to get at her tonight."

"Sir," came Jarvis's voice over Steve's earpiece. From the way Clint and Tony reacted, they all were included in the call. "I can assure you that Allison is well and in good spirits. She is working with me on analysis of the data on Extremis found at the laboratory in West Virginia."

"Wait, how?" Tony asked, incredulously. "She's in high school, how much can she know about Extremis? It took Hansen and Killian over a decade to get anywhere with it."

"Allison is very quick to pick things up," Jarvis said. "She is, in that respect, very much her father's daughter."

"Jarvis" Steve interrupted, "Can you confirm that Allison is safe for the time being?"

"She is."

"Good. Tony?"

Tony whirled around. "What?"

"The night's not over," Steve said. "Killian's still in the wind, same with Hansen, and we don't know how many more kids might be running around with Extremis in their veins. Are you going to California?"

Tony didn't respond for a moment. Then he turned back to Clint. "Does she know? Does Allison know about the DNA?"

"Natasha said that Stilinski told her this afternoon, before everything went to hell."

Another pause. "Jarvis, has she asked about me at all since she found out?"

"No, sir," Jarvis said with what sounded like regret. "However, she knows that you have been busy battling terrorists in our nation's capital."

Tony looked away for a moment. Steve and Clint exchanged a glance. Steve might not have known Tony Stark for very long, but he was pretty sure that this was shaping up to be one hell of a disaster.

"I'm staying here," Tony said finally. "Rhodey needs me, and you two get into more trouble than Little Orphan Annie on your own."

"Tony—" Steve tried.

"What? You heard Jarvis. Allison has made zero effort to get in touch with me in over two and a half weeks, and that hasn't changed now that she knows I'm her father." He slapped his faceplate down, and the eyes on the Iron Man suit glowed. "I'm going to go save the world. Are you coming?" He turned and stalked off.

"Fuck," Clint muttered. "I was hoping that would have gone better."

"Could that have gone any worse?" Steve asked as they followed Tony out of the theatre. "Why isn't Allison trying to get in touch with Tony?"

"I don't know," Clint said. "But, and shooting this right back at you, why isn't he trying to get in touch with her?" Clint strode on ahead, and Steve took a moment to pray for strength.

It probably wasn't a good sign for his life, when battling terrorists who turned veterans into self-exploding time-bombs was the easiest part of his day.

Straightening his shoulders, Steve went back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Allison: _*listens to Chris’s story that Dupont thought he was her father*_ What the fuck is this, Mama Mia?
> 
> Next chapter: Notice how there's a whole bunch of stuff that no one's told Cora yet? We'll see what happens when she finally figures it all out. 
> 
> Sam Wilson will return in future chapters!


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allison finally cracks. Cora puts two and two together and comes up with homicide, and some Hale family secrets are laid bare at four in the morning. Noah has his suspicions. Lydia has questions as she begins to learn more about banshees. And lastly, Anna Vasquez comes to Beacon Hills and wonders why everyone is acting so weird.

* * *

Peter's sleepy voice broke the darkness. "What time is it?"

Allison glanced at the corner of her dimmed laptop screen. "Quarter to two."

Peter shifted onto his side on the couch. "Why are you awake?"

"I'm keeping watch."

"Uh huh."

Allison blinked a few times. Her eyes burned. "I am."

"Do you know that you _smell_ tired? I didn't know that was possible."

"It's only for another five hours."

"Come here."

"Why?"

"Because I'm cold."

Allison looked over at him. His eyes reflected silver in the light. "No, you're not."

"I'm lonely?"

"In the end, we're all alone."

Peter sighed. "Allison, even if someone did break in, do you really think that three werewolves wouldn't hear before they made it through the door?"

"Maybe." Allison blinked at the screen again. The words were starting to blur. "But I said I'd stay up."

"You got shot and tortured tonight, you're allowed to sleep."

After a minute, Allison closed the laptop. She had to strain to see in the resulting darkness. "I'm not going to sleep," she cautioned as she put the laptop on the table.

"Duly noted."

Allison picked up the hunting knife from its place at her side, carrying it over to the couch. She reached out with her free hand to find Peter. "Maybe I can protect you better from over here."

Peter's exasperated sigh was a thing of beauty. "I don't need protecting."

"Of course not." Allison lay down. Peter put his arm around her waist. "You're warm."

"You're not." Peter's breath burned hot against her throat. Allison shivered. "You're cold and tired."

"Do you want me to go back to the computer?"

Peter's arm tightened around her. "No."

"Okay." Allison turned her head. Peter kissed her cheek. "I like it here."

"I like you here." Peter's hand drifted over her stomach. "You're warming up."

Allison let her knife slip down to the carpet, still in easy reach. The tiny glow from the VCR clock cast enough light around the room for her to make out details. "Do you tend to feel colder at the new moon?" she asked.

"Sometimes." Peter's fingers dipped under the hem of her shirt, brushing over her hipbone. "Maybe I need something to keep me warm."

"I could go and get another blanket," Allison suggested.

Peter slid his hand up to her ribs. "Stay."

"Okay."

Allison let Peter pull her in closer. He was fading back into sleep, his breathing slowing, his heartbeat steady. "How are you?" he murmured after a few moments.

"I was working on something to help with the side-effects of Extremis," Allison said into the darkness.

"Hmm." Peter nosed at the hollow behind her ear. "That's not what I asked."

"I know." Allison put her hand on his arm. "Go back to sleep."

"Bossy," Peter mumbled, and fell silent.

Allison stared at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of the house. Derek and Stiles had long since stopped talking, and even Cora had ceased her pacing up in Allison's room. The refrigerator hummed gently, the water heater whispered below, and it was all so _normal_.

Allison had almost lost it all, lost them all, at the hands of Maurice Dupont and his thugs.

She wasn't going to let that happen again. No matter what happened, Allison was going to keep everyone she cared about safe.

But first, she had to stay awake until dawn. She could do that. No matter if the couch was so comfortable to lie on, or that Peter was like a werewolf-shaped hot-water bottle at her side.

Or that Allison had hardly slept in weeks, or that she had been through so much pain.

It seemed unreal, to be lying in the darkness with Peter warm at her side, knowing everyone she cared about in Beacon Hills was safe. Tony was safe, too, Jarvis had told her, mouthing off at the combined FBI and Secret Service task force looking for Aldrich Killian and the minds behind A.I.M. Everyone she loved was safe.

Except for Bucky.

And Morgan.

Allison felt the prick of tears. She couldn't do anything about Bucky, not now, not yet. Maybe not ever.

And Morgan…

Morgan…

A tear slid down Allison's cheek. For a few hours that day, she had stopped thinking about her sister, but now it all crashed back in on her, wave after wave of overwhelming grief. Missing Morgan was worse than anything that Dupont had done to her. Dupont was behind bars now, out of her life. She had survived him.

But the loss of Morgan was going to be a dark, gnawing pain in Allison's gut forever. And no one would ever understand.

She must have made a sound, because Peter twitched. "Hey," he said, sounding suddenly awake. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Allison tried to sit up. Peter's arm tangled around her waist, keeping her down.

"Are you in pain?" he asked.

Allison shook her head. "No."

"Then why are you crying?"

Instead of an answer, Allison let out a broken sob. Peter put his arms around her and she clung to him, trying to breathe around the tidal wave of agony.

"Allison?"

Allison pressed her eyes against his shoulder. He was so solid under her hands, so real. "Lie to me," she managed to get out. "Tell me everything's going to be okay."

"Everything's going to be okay," Peter said, and the lie was a sticky, terrible thing. "We're all going to be okay."

It was something Allison could focus on. "Keep going."

Peter sighed, rolling to his back and pulling her with him. "Nothing bad will ever happen to us ever again," he said as he rubbed her back. "It's all going to be sunshine and roses and no one's going to die alone or in pain."

Allison curled in against his chest. "Tell me this wasn't my fault."

Peter's breath caught for a moment. "This wasn't your fault," he said, almost confused. His words were cool and clear, crisp like a bite of apple on a sunny autumn afternoon. "How was any of this your fault?"

"I didn't want any of this," Allison whispered, holding onto Peter like it would actually do any good.

"Of course you didn't." Peter put his hand on her neck, a warm, centring pressure. "None of us ever asked for what the Hunters did to us."

Allison didn't move. Peter's pulse was loud in her ear, a reminder of where she was, of _when_ she was. She hadn't wanted to be the one forced back through time to save the universe, but here she was. There was no way home. There was no hope that Morgan would ever be born, or that she would ever get Bucky or Sam or her team back.

Even the living were lost to her.

So she lay in the dark, Peter's arms around her, and waited for morning.

Only, at some point, she forgot that she was supposed to stay awake.

* * *

Something cold and wet sliding across her face pulled Allison back to consciousness a bare second before sharp teeth bit down on her arm.

"Damn it, Laura," Allison groaned, opening her eyes to see a ghostly wolf in the middle of the Stilinski living room. Then she saw Cora standing behind Laura with a really big knife in her hand. "Cora?" She slid off Peter. "What's going on?"

Anger and rage poured off Cora. "I figured out what none of you were saying," she said, glaring at Peter as the man sat up. "About Laura."

"Okay." Allison contemplated going for her own knife, but that might set Cora off. She stood. "What about Laura?"

"Derek said that Laura survived the fire and then she died when she came back to Beacon Hills." Cora took a step towards the couch. "I thought he meant Hunters did it, and that's when he became the alpha."

Allison wanted to swear. Of course no one had told Cora the truth. Why would anyone in Beacon Hills have an honest conversation with anyone else? "And now?"

Cora fiddled with the knife. "All those teenagers in Derek's pack, he wouldn't have started turning teenagers."

"Au contraire," came Peter's voice in the darkness. "Derek's been wafting through town, looking for any depressed teenager without self-preservation skills to bite. Try again."

Cora snarled. "Derek would have had to have been really close to Laura when she died, to become the alpha. But he said last night that he didn't come to Beacon Hills until after she died."

"So?" Peter asked.

The blade in Cora's hand gleamed oddly in the green light from the clock. "So who killed Laura?" Cora demanded.

Out of the corner of Allison's eye, the ghostly wolf vanished, turning into Laura Hale's human form. The ghost stood silently, staring at Cora.

"Will it make you feel any better if I say that I did?" Peter asked. "That I came across the alpha who abandoned me to six years of torment and I just lashed out?"

Allison was pretty sure that wasn't what happened, but she didn't have time for any commentary as Cora lunged forward. In a flash, Allison stepped between her and Peter. "Cora, stop," Allison ordered, pulling on all her own alpha authority. "Peter, you too. This isn't the place for this conversation."

"I say it is," Cora exclaimed, but she circled away before Allison could grab the knife out of her hand. "Why are you all lying to me?"

"Maybe we thought you might freak out," Peter said.

Allison glanced at the clock. She had had less than two hours of sleep, and the weight of the day was pulling at her. Adding to the conflict in the room, Laura was turning cold amber eyes on Allison, and the last thing Allison needed was to be eviscerated by a ghost in her own living room.

"All right, everyone shut up," Allison ordered. "You want the truth, Cora?"

"Yes!"

"Then here's the truth. Peter killed Laura and became the alpha. Then he systematically massacred everyone in town who helped Kate Argent murder your family." Allison went up on the balls of her feet, ready to make a grab for Cora if the girl moved. "It was bloody and very well deserved."

"Thank you," Peter said.

Allison ignored him. "Then Peter cornered Kate in your old house and ripped her throat out," she went on. "Then Derek killed him."

Cora flinched. "What?"

"You left out the part where you set me on fire," Peter said.

"I also left out the part where you repeatedly tried to kill me," Allison snapped. "Where was I?"

"Derek murdered me and buried me under the floorboards in the house," Peter said.

Overhead, Allison could hear footsteps. Likely Derek, his werewolf hearing having picked up the conversation. "Right." She looked very hard at Cora. "Peter got himself resurrected on the worm moon and he and Derek have somehow been managing to make it work over the last several months without any additional assassination attempts. Until tonight."

Cora took a few steps back, walking through Laura as she did so. "What is wrong with you all?" she demanded.

"Desperate times," Allison said as Derek burst into the room on soundless feet. Stiles was on his heels, brandishing a baseball bat. "Would someone turn on a light?"

Stiles went for the light switch, and they all blinked at each other for a moment. "What's going on?" Stiles demanded. "Did Hunters come?"

"No." Allison turned back to Cora. "Your sister is far more perceptive than you give her credit for, Derek."

"Did Uncle Peter kill Laura?" Cora demanded. "Did you kill him?"

Derek looked about as uncomfortable as Allison had ever seen him, which was a feat. "Yes."

Cora looked between Derek and Peter. "What did you mean when you said Laura abandoned you?" she asked Peter.

Laura's ghost put out a hand to touch Cora's hair.

"After the fire," Derek said abruptly. "We thought everyone was dead. We ran in case the Hunters came after us next."

"So?"

Derek looked away. Peter stood up. "Are you going to tell her who paid my hospital bills, Derek?" he demanded.

"Laura didn't tell me for a year," Derek shot back. "She didn't tell me you were alive."

"A _year_?" Peter repeated. "I was in that hell for six goddamned years!"

"Hey," Stiles said. "As much fun as Hale family therapy has been, I can hear my dad getting up."

Peter glared at Derek for a moment longer, then turned his attention on Cora. "This is apparently your call, niece. What are you going to do? Bring the cops into it?"

For some reason, Cora looked at Allison. "If Peter kept trying to kill you, why did you marry him?"

"Because," Allison said, ignoring Stiles' faint gagging noise. "When Peter came out of his coma, there was something deeply wrong with him."

"Thanks," Peter said.

"Whatever happened when he came back from the dead, he's not as broken as he was," Allison continued. She had to hurry; she could hear Noah's footsteps on the stairs. "Derek killed the monster that killed Laura. Whoever Peter is now, he's different."

"You can't be sure of that," Cora said.

"I know enough to know that everyone in this room exists in shades of grey, not black and white," Allison said. With a thump, Noah burst into the room, the gun in his hand aimed at the ground. "I know that we've all made choices that we have to live with."

"What's going on?" Noah demanded, eyes sweeping the room.

"We're fine," Allison said. "We are _all_ _fine_. Right?"

"Right," Stiles said. "I'm fine. Are you fine?"

By now, Noah had focused on the knife in Cora's hand. "Cora?"

The girl looked down at her hand, almost seeming to see the knife for the first time. "I, um." She coughed. "I thought I heard something. I came down."

"And it was nothing," Allison said. She glanced over at Stiles and Derek. "Right?"

"Right!" Stiles jumped in.

"Then why are you holding a baseball bat?" Noah asked his son.

"Because I thought I heard something too," Stiles said. "But what I thought I heard was Cora thinking she heard something and not, in fact, anything that I had really heard."

"Uh huh." Noah kept his eyes on the room. "Cora, do you need that knife?"

Cora shook her head. Carefully, Allison moved in to take the blade from her hand. Once Cora was disarmed, Noah relaxed.

"Is everyone okay?" he asked.

"Great," Peter said, dropping back onto the couch.

"We've all had a very long day," Allison said. "It's after four. Is anyone going to try to get any more sleep?"

"I think we should," Noah said. "Stiles?"

"Dad?" Stiles blurted out.

"Why don't you and Derek head back on up to your room?"

Derek looked as if he was about to protest, but Stiles grabbed his arm. "Yeah, okay. Words I'd never thought I'd hear you say, but sure." The boy grinned at his father's glare, and hauled Derek away.

Noah turned to Cora. "Is there anything you want to say to me?"

Cora lifted her chin. "No, Sheriff Stilinski."

"All right." Noah stepped back. "Why don't you go upstairs? We can talk more in the morning."

"Of course." With one last glare at Peter, Cora walked stiffly out of the living room. After a moment, the vague shape of Laura's ghost drifted after her sister.

Interesting.

This left Noah and Allison staring at each other. "What's going on?" Noah asked after they heard the door upstairs close.

"Absolutely nothing you need to be concerned with," Allison said. She went to put the knife Cora had obviously found in Allison's room on the side table. "Stiles is safe with Derek."

"Safe from what?"

"I don't know, Hunters?" Allison rubbed her eyes.

"What about Cora?"

"Please." Allison let her hand drop. "Stiles is in absolutely no danger whatsoever from Cora Hale."

"Is anyone else in this house?" Noah glanced at Peter, who was leaning back, his hands folded over his stomach.

"Probably not." Allison went over to retrieve her phone. "Right, Peter?"

"I'm not involved in this," Peter said to the ceiling.

"Of course not." Allison dropped onto the couch beside Peter. "Noah, Cora has been on her own for a very long time. It makes sense that she's a little jumpy."

"She had a knife with her."

"So did I, the first night I was here," Allison pointed out. She met Noah's eyes steadily. "Can we talk more about this in the morning?"

"You're sure about this?" Noah asked.

"Noah, if I thought that you or Stiles were in any danger, would I be down here about to start answering emails?"

"I suppose not." Noah cast one last suspicious glance at Peter. "I'll see you in the morning, then." He left the room.

Allison exhaled. She rubbed her hand, where Laura had bitten her, then moved over to curl up beside Peter.

"Did you mean what you said?" Peter asked her after a moment's silence.

"What did I say?"

"You said that I came back from the dead different."

"Oh. Yes. You did."

Peter put his arm around her shoulders. "Do you believe that?"

Allison laid her hand on his thigh. "It's not a matter of belief. You did."

"How?"

Allison turned her head to look at Peter. "You're more in control now. You don't smell as unbalanced. And you've dialed back the melodrama."

Peter frowned. "What do you mean, I don't smell as unbalanced? I thought you only got your alpha powers while you were away this summer."

"I did." Allison touched his cheek. "Do you remember that time in the store, when you came over to menace me while I shopped for dresses?"

"Yes," Peter said slowly.

"You smelled like…" Allison cast her mind back through the years. "It's like the taste of biting into Sichuan peppercorn, just this sharp hint on the air."

Peter's frown deepened. "I smelled like pepper and you thought I was _unbalanced_?"

"You held my hand and told me my skin was perfect," Allison reminded him. "It was creepy."

"And yet, you bought the dress I suggested," Peter said.

"Of course I did, it looked great on me."

"But pepper?"

"Look, I've always been able to smell things in a way normal people didn't," Allison said. "It just got more pronounced after the alpha thing."

"And now?" Peter asked. "How do I smell now?"

Allison looked at him for a long moment, then deliberately lowered her head to sniff his neck. "More normal." She licked his throat for good measure, and he shivered. "More balanced."

"So dying fixed my insanity."

"Did it?" Allison asked. "You're the only one living in your head, Peter. You tell me."

Peter was quiet for a long time. Allison took the stillness to cuddle up against him, glad for his warmth. Finally, he said, "I don't know."

"Do you want to kill me as much as you did before?"

"No." Peter kissed Allison's hair. "I don't want to kill you at all."

"Good." Allison wrapped her arms around his chest. "You should try to sleep, it's going to be a weird day tomorrow. Or, today."

Peter let out a huff. "I woke up with my niece standing over me with a knife," he said. "Do you honestly think I'm going to do any more sleeping in this house?"

"Then what?"

"Can I borrow your laptop?

Allison sighed. "Sure." She reluctantly disentangled herself from Peter to retrieve the computer. She opened it and went to the chat window she'd nearly fallen asleep over a few hours previously. _Can I create a guest account for someone to use this laptop?_ she asked Jarvis.

 _One moment._ A dialogue box popped up, code speeding down the interface. A button appeared. _To return to this account, click on the menu and provide biometric identification._

 _Thanks,_ Allison typed, then clicked on the button. The screen blanked for a moment before a clean desktop appeared. "Here." She handed the laptop to Peter.

"What are you going to do?"

"Nothing." Allison lay down on the couch, her feet pressed against Peter's leg. "I'm going to do nothing."

"Suit yourself." Peter started typing.

Allison let herself breathe. What a strange start to the day. Cora, she knew, would be okay eventually. The girl had never come to like Peter in the other timeline, not after what happened to Laura, and it looked like this would be the same.

Unless she decided to tell Noah what she'd heard.

But there was no evidence linking Peter to Laura's death. The body had been so damaged that no physical evidence remained, and according to medical records, Peter had been comatose until weeks after Laura's death.

Still. Allison would have to talk to Cora to see what the girl would do. Maybe they could expedite Cora's return to the land of the legal living, so she could head home to Argentina as soon as possible. That might be the best for everyone.

Not that Allison wanted to lose Cora; she had come to value the other girl so much in the years following the Snap. But this Cora was only seventeen, and she still had a long way to go in finding out who she was going to be.

They all did.

"When is your birthday?" Peter asked into the stillness.

"September twenty-fourth," Allison said sleepily. "Legally, anyway. Why?"

"No reason."

"Are you buying me a present?"

"No."

"I like knives and potato chips."

"I'll buy you a bag of Doritos."

"Okay."

A hand settled on Allison's calf, and Allison closed her eyes. Maybe, if Peter was going to stay awake, maybe she sleep.

Just for a few minutes.

* * *

"Allison."

"What?" Allison asked, hauling herself awake. God, she felt like death.

"I'm leaving."

Allison rolled over. The room was brighter now, the first rays of sun showing behind the drapes. "What?"

"It's sunrise." Peter crouched down in Allison's line of sight. "The Hunters should be gone. And I'm out of here before Cora decides on a repeat performance."

"Okay." Allison sat up. "When am I going to see you again?"

Peter touched her cheek. "When do you want to?"

"Mmm." Allison caught his hand in hers and kissed his palm. "Tonight?"

"How about Wednesday like we planned?"

Wednesday. Allison let Peter's hand go. The day she'd planned on telling him about her birth parents. "You already know what I was going to tell you on Wednesday."

"I know." Peter stood up. "I need to think about a few things."

Allison felt her stomach drop. "About what?"

"Things." Peter held out his hand to her, and she used it to stand. "You and me. Us."

"What about us?"

Peter drew Allison into his arms. "I told you last night. A Vasquez and a Hale, that's not something that everyone would want to see."

Allison put her arms around Peter's neck. "I don't care what anyone else wants."

"Not even your grandfather?" Peter was watching her very closely.

"What do I care about what Victor wants?" Allison asked. "I don't know him, and he doesn't know me. What I do is my business." She leaned in to kiss Peter. He responded like he always did, hot and emotional. When the kiss finally broke, they were both breathing hard. "What we do, that's our choice," Allison said. "So go, make your choices. I'll see you tomorrow."

Peter cupped her jaw, stroking her cheek with his thumb. "What about you? Don't you have to think about this at all?"

"No." Allison kissed the inside of Peter's wrist. "I've made my choices." She reluctantly pulled away. "I'll see you out."

"I do like the view from back here," Peter said as Allison towed him towards the front door. She sighed. "You're the one wearing running pants."

"Only because Hunters ruined my last pair of jeans." Allison let go of his hand to unlock the door. "Why, what do you want me to wear?"

A half-smile played over Peter's face. "Nothing?"

"Interesting in theory, difficult in practice." Allison pulled open the door. "Go home."

"Fine." Peter snatched another kiss on the way out, then headed down the walk to his car. Allison waited until he got inside and had backed out onto the road before closing the door.

Overhead, Allison could hear movement. It was nearly seven, and if Stiles was going to school, he would have to get a move on.

With another sigh, Allison went to make coffee.

Noah came down a few minutes later. "How are you doing this morning?" he asked, ready for work.

"Beats me." Allison sat at the table, fortifying herself with a cup of coffee. "Peter left."

"Good." Noah retrieved his travel mug from the cupboard. "Do you want to tell me what really happened last night?"

"Nope." Allison slurped her coffee.

"I don't buy that Cora thought she heard something."

Allison lowered her mug. "Peter didn't do anything."

"That's not what I'm talking about." Noah sat across from Allison at the table. "Cora was making no bones about not liking that you were raised by Hunters."

Allison narrowed her eyes. "Noah, Cora didn't come down last night to stab me in the ribs," she said.

"Good." Noah deliberately took a drink from his mug. "She seems like a good kid who's been through a lot."

Allison was getting whiplash from this conversation. "Then what?"

He shrugged. "There's a lot that happens in this town with the Hales, that's all."

Allison stared at him for a moment, then picked up her phone.

"What are you doing?" Noah asked.

"Hang on." Allison typed in a search string. "That's what I thought. It's illegal to go fishing in California without a licence."

Noah sat back. "This is the only licence I need," he said, tapping his badge.

"The California Department of Fish and Wildlife might disagree."

"Allison."

"Look, Noah, if you want answers, ask me a question."

"Okay." Noah crossed his arms over his chest. "Why did Cora come downstairs with a knife last night?"

Allison tried to figure out how to phrase her response. "She wanted to know more about Laura's death."

"Why ask you and Peter?" Noah asked.

"I don't know."

"She should have talked to Derek."

"Probably."

Noah sighed. "Maybe I should take up fishing." He stood up. "I'm going to make sure Stiles is getting ready for school. When are you going to be ready to go to the hospital?"

"Now, I guess."

"You're not going to change?"

"Into what? This is all I have left."

"Running pants and one of Stiles' shirts?"

"Yes."

Noah muttered something. "You need to go shopping."

"Tell me about it."

Noah left the kitchen. Allison stayed at the table long enough to finish her coffee, then hauled herself up and went back into the living room. Cora found her there a few minutes later. "Hi," the girl said, looking awkward.

"Hi." Allison put her laptop on the coffee table. "Peter's gone."

"Oh." Cora hesitated. "Derek said that I should go with him, back to his place. That we can talk."

"Do you want to?" Allison asked, then switched into Spanish. "You can always ask Noah to help you find a place to stay until we get everything sorted out with the lawyers."

Cora shook her head. "I want to talk to Derek," she said immediately. "He needs to explain himself."

"If you want. Just know that if you need anything, you can call me any time."

Cora looked at Allison. "I held a knife on you last night," she said. "Why are you being so nice?"

Allison waved that away. "Standing five feet away from me with a knife in your hand is nothing," she said. "If you really wanted me dead, you wouldn't have needed a knife."

Cora kept looking at her. "At the sheriff's station, you said that someone killed the Hunter who killed my family, in the place where Mom died."

"I did," Allison said, not sure where this was going.

"Uncle Peter killed the Hunter?"

And oh, this was a pickle. Allison knew very well that Kate Argent wasn't dead, that Peter's claws had bled her as they turned her into a werejaguar. Cora would hear any lies Allison told her. "Peter ripped her throat out," Allison said cautiously. "It was quite gory."

"I see." Cora was silent for a moment. "I'm sorry I missed that."

"Are you?"

Cora lifted her chin. "Yes," she said, and her eyes glowed.

"All right." Allison could hear Noah and Stiles arguing overhead. She wondered what Derek was up to. "Do you want to get your clothes?"

Cora trailed down after Allison to the basement, where she dug her clothes out of the dryer. "Can I ask you a question about Uncle Peter?"

"If you want."

Cora pulled off the borrowed clothes to change into her clean ones, clearly unconcerned about nudity in front of Allison. "Why are you two together?"

"An excellent question," Allison said. "And one that I have no idea how to answer."

"Is it sex?" Cora asked bluntly. "Mom always used to say that Uncle Peter's dick got him into more trouble than anything else."

Allison's eyebrows went up. "Your mother said that? Around you?"

Cora sighed, exasperated. "Mom didn't know I was listening," she said. "She was talking to Dad. Something about a bad car accident, and two people died?" Cora shrugged. "I remember because it didn't make any sense. It was just around when Aunt Teresa had the Nicks."

Allison sat on the lower step, thinking furiously. Peter's twins had just turned two before the fire, which put the conversation Cora overheard at when Cora was about nine years old. That was around the same time that Malia's adoptive family had been run off the road by the Desert Coyote, and Malia herself had shifted for the first time to her werecoyote form, killed her adoptive mother and sister, and run off into the woods.

And Talia Hale, who had taken Peter's memories about Malia and dropped her own niece in the foster system to keep her hidden from her werecoyote mother, would have known all about it.

What exactly had Talia set in motion?

"So if it's about sex, I get it." Cora buttoned her jeans.

Allison shook her head, hauling herself back to the present. She could worry about finding Malia another day. "What if it's more than that?"

Cora pulled on a shirt. "Is it? You said you were just friends, last night."

"Because Stiles doesn't like Peter." Allison rubbed her eyes. She was so tired. "I don't know. Maybe I want more from Peter than he wants from me. We'll figure it out."

Cora shoved her clean clothes into her dirty knapsack. "Do I have to call you auntie?"

Allison leveled a finger at Cora. "Absolutely not."

"Tía Allison?"

"Stop."

"Are you at least older than I am?"

"Yes," Allison said. "My birthday is next Monday."

"That's something." Cora hefted the bag over her shoulder. "What is the deal with Derek and Stiles?"

Allison sighed. "They're so dumb. Derek's afraid of losing everyone and Stiles is afraid of rejection."

"So, boys." Cora pulled her hair over her shoulder. "Although I thought Derek was straight. He always had girlfriends in high school."

Allison, who knew those girlfriends spanned the gamut from _dead at Derek's own hand_ to _murdered his entire family_ , kept her mouth shut.

"I guess you never really know anyone until you grow up," Cora mused.

"People can surprise you," Allison said, and stood. "Come on, time to go."

They found Derek in the hallway, glowering as Stiles raced between the kitchen and the living room. Derek eyed the girls suspiciously. "What were you talking about?"

"Your love life," Allison said. "Peter left."

"Noah said so." Derek transferred his gaze to Cora. "Are we okay?"

Cora straightened her spine. "Not yet," she said with ice on the words. "But we might be."

Stiles tripped back into the hall. "Come on, I'm going to be late!"

"So?" Cora asked.

"So I'm driving you over to Derek's," Stiles said, and bolted down the hall.

"Have fun at lacrosse practice!" Allison called after him. She put her hand on Cora's arm. "Be safe. And call if you need anything."

"I will." Cora leaned in to kiss the air by Allison's cheek. "Bye."

Derek's suspicious glare turned on Allison. "What were you two talking about?" he asked again.

"Like I said." Allison leaned against the wall. "Your love life."

With a faint growl, Derek stalked off down the hall. The door closed on the gaggle, leaving the house in stillness.

Or, almost stillness. Noah came out of his office after a moment. "Are you ready?"

"On reflection, I need a different shirt," Allison said, turning towards the stairs. "Be right back."

"I'll get you some breakfast," Noah called after her.

"Thanks!" The house smelled different, with Cora and Derek's scents hanging heavy in the air. Allison wondered if Derek had slept in Stiles' bed or on Stiles' floor, then decided she didn't really want to know.

Her bedroom was tidier than if Allison herself had spent the night in it. Allison would have marvelled that Cora had actually made the bed, if not for the fact that there was a ghost perched on the mattress.

"I wonder where you had gotten to," Allison said on her way to the closet. "Thanks for waking me up before Cora stabbed me in the face. Honestly, Laura, can't you go back to the house?"

Laura's human expression didn't change as her eyes followed Allison around the room.

"I'll keep Cora safe," Allison went on, yanking off her shirt and running pants. "And yeah, we may have some difference of opinion, but Cora didn't actually kill anyone last night, which I think was a good first step."

Allison pulled on clean undergarments before getting back into her running pants and another of Stiles' shirts.

"What did you think of what Peter said about when he killed you?" Allison asked. Laura didn't react. "Were you really paying his hospital bills?"

Laura stood and drifted over to the window.

"I know it had to be hard," Allison said. She pulled on her last intact flannel overshirt. "Being the alpha after losing your family."

"You wouldn't have left Peter there," came a whisper over the air.

"No." Allison braided her hair back in a few deft movements. "But I'm forty-six years old and I have more resources than you ever did. Still, we both made our choices."

Laura turned from the window to stare at Allison. She was growing more and more translucent.

"I'll keep Cora and Derek as safe as they'll let me," Allison said. She tied off her braid. "So will you please stop biting me?"

Laura vanished.

Allison sighed, and ran downstairs.

Noah was standing in the hall, jacket on. He waited while Allison jammed her feet into her boots, ran into the living room for her laptop, and grabbed her phone and her backpack before handing her a piece of toast. "Rushman's on point at the station this morning," he told her. "I'm all yours until noon."

"You don't have to be," Allison said as they left the house. "I can get the bus from the hospital. Or walk."

"Not a chance." Noah unlocked his car, and they got in. "If I had come to pick you up before your shift yesterday, none of this would have happened."

"You don't know that." Allison shoved the toast into her mouth. God, she was so hungry. "They might have just pulled up next to your car and shot us both in the head."

Noah drove out into the road. "Except that they needed you stationary for a while."

"It's over, at least." Allison chewed. "Can I skip the whole day of school? I really don't feel like facing biology class."

"I've called it in," Noah said. "I think getting kidnapped is a good enough reason to miss a day."

"Thank you," Allison said fervently. "So Melissa sucks out all my blood, then what?"

"I'd like to take you to the station, get a statement from you about what happened yesterday," Noah said. "For the case against Dupont."

Allison groaned. "That might be more complicated than it's worth."

"We can keep it focused on what happened with Lydia."

"I guess. Is Lydia still in the hospital? Can I go see her?"

"Sure." Noah turned east. "I need to talk to Melissa about some things."

"Like, things about me?"

Noah shifted uncomfortably. "Maybe."

"Can you at least tell me what they are?"

"I don't know much about teenage girls," Noah said after a minute.

Allison stared at him. "So?"

"So maybe I want Melissa's advice on how… you know."

Allison kept staring. "Do go on," she said frostily.

"Look, I get Stiles," Noah said. "Well, not really. In any way. But I understand teenage boys. I wanted to ask Melissa if there's anything different I should be doing with you."

Allison turned in her seat so she was facing Noah. "You're doing fine," she said. "Remember how we both agreed that you're not going to treat me like a child?"

"Yes, I do." Noah slowed at a light. "I also want you to know that you have a home with me and Stiles as long as you need it. Or want it."

Something in Allison's chest felt a little strange. "I do know that," she said. "Why, did I do something wrong?"

"No, not at all." Noah glanced over at her. "Allison, you found out yesterday that you have relatives. A father. And your mother's family."

"I already knew about them." It was almost like a broken rib, Allison distantly decided. Pain, when she breathed.

"But now we have proof," Noah said. The light changed, and they drove on. "And soon enough, they'll know too, and I don't know if they might try to take you away. If you don't want that to happen, it won't."

"I don't…" Allison looked down at her hands. "I don't know what they'll do. My mother's family… they might not want me in L.A."

"Why not?"

Allison thought back to those odd months following her first eighteenth birthday, with Inez putting on a brave face when she came to visit, all trying to hide the political turmoil that Victor and Anna were dealing with at the sudden resurrection of Clara's dead daughter. "Werewolf politics."

"Do you think they're going to be upset you're alive?" Noah asked, incredulous.

"No, not that," Allison hastened to say. "Just… it's difficult. After Clara died, a lot of werewolf stuff happened in L.A., and there's likely to be some fallout now."

"What kind of werewolf stuff?"

"The kind one doesn't talk about with law enforcement," Allison said delicately.

"Ah." Noah turned the corner. "What about your father?"

A fresh pain slid along Allison's ribs. "What about him?"

"You've been talking to Jarvis all night, right?"

Allison moved around in the seat, watching the scenery glide past. "We've been working on trying to find a cure for the Extremis virus to save the rest of the test subjects," she said.

"Natasha said that Barton was going to tell your father about the DNA results."

"So?"

"So has he tried to reach out to you?"

"He probably doesn't know." Allison ran her thumb over the buttonhole in her cuff. "Terrorists and everything." Noah was quiet for so long that Allison finally turned to look at him. "What?"

"Do you want him to know?" Noah asked. "You said you'd been talking to Jarvis for a while, but did you ever ask him about Tony Stark?"

"No." Allison folded her cuff back. "I wanted to have proof first, so he wouldn't think I was trying to trick him or anything."

"Trick him into what?" Noah demanded.

Allison shrugged. "Money. Or counter-terrorism maneuvers."

"Does this have anything to do with the Winter Soldier?"

Allison nearly swallowed her tongue. "What? No!"

"Natasha seemed pretty freaked out by this guy."

Allison shook her head, her heartrate slowly returning to normal. "Don't worry about him. Well," Allison hedged. "I mean, if he comes to town, we all have a lot to worry about. But they won't send him here. I'm just a little minnow in a big sea, to his handlers."

"I thought you said he was your friend," Noah said.

"He was." Allison swallowed down on the wave of grief for Bucky. "What do you know about brainwashing?"

"Like what happened in the Korean War?"

"What they do to him, it's deeper than that," Allison said. "He told me about it, and I've seen the files. It's a constant bath of mind-altering chemicals, electric shock, cryostasis freezing between missions. They pull him out, load him up with a mission, and he's back in a few days before his brain can start to heal."

"He told you this," Noah said, sounding more skeptical with every word.

"He did," Allison said. "However, I am not the only source of information in Beacon Hills on the Winter Soldier. Talk to Natasha." She shook herself. "He got away from them, which was where I met him in France. He told me that if I ever saw him again, I should kill him. Or run as fast and as far away as I could."

"Geeze, Allison, this guy sounds like a piece of work."

"He's the best assassin in history," Allison said. "Even with a brain made of swiss cheese, he's miles ahead of anyone else." She stared out at the sidewalk. "And he was my friend. He told me things. We talked."

"Do you think he was using you to get something?"

"Like what?" Allison was getting more tired of this conversation by the minute. "He never asked me anything about Tony. He never asked me to do anything. He was nice to me."

Noah took a deep breath, like he was preparing for something unpleasant. "Allison…"

Allison had a pretty good idea of what Noah wanted to know, and she wasn't going to help him. "Yes?"

"Did he ever…"

"What?"

Noah coughed. "When you got back from France, you were a little skittish around, you know. Uh. Men."

"Still am."

"Right. So." Noah took another deep breath. "Did this guy hurt you, or make you do anything you didn't want to?"

Allison had known the question was coming, and still she felt such a wash of rage that it took a moment to answer. "No," she ground out. "He didn't hurt me, he didn't rape me, he didn't even so much as touch me."

"Allison…"

"He has nothing to do with what's wrong with me, okay?" Allison pressed back into her seat. "If anything, he saved me. He taught me how to fight and how to protect people. I don't think I'd have been able to save Lydia if I hadn't met him."

"I'm sorry," Noah said.

"He's my friend," Allison said again. "Or at least, he was." She spotted the hospital in the distance, and her skin crawled. "They probably took all his memories out of his head, and he's never going to know me again."

"I'm sorry," Noah said again. "I really am."

"It doesn't matter." Allison rubbed her eyes. "Life goes on."

"I know how hard it is to lose a friend," Noah said.

"Yeah." Allison pressed her hand against her mouth. Her stomach was sloshing as they drove closer to the hospital. "Do we have to do this? Can't we just tell Melissa that I'm fine?"

"No." Noah pulled the car to a stop in a parking stall marked _law enforcement only._ "You went through a lot last night, and we should have taken you to the ER then—"

"I did not need to go to the ER," Allison interjected hotly.

"So this is a good compromise," Noah went on. "Please?"

With a growl, Allison got out of the car. Her irritation with Noah was enough to help her walk through the hospital without throwing up. It was breakfast time, and the smells for the hospital food dug in under her skin. Her bones ached with every step, and she refused to think about why.

Noah delivered Allison to Melissa in an exam room with a flourish. "I'm going to swing up to the hospital administration," he said. "See you both in a bit."

"I'm going to Lydia's room after I'm done here," Allison called after him. "Melissa."

"Allison." Melissa was looking at Allison with professional interest. "How do you feel?"

"Fine." Allison let herself be herded over to the exam bed. "How's Lydia? Is she okay?"

"Lydia is fine," Melissa said soothingly as she reached for the blood pressure cuff. "She's upstairs and she's likely going home around noon."

"Were there any complications with her arm?" Allison asked, anxiety curling around the nausea in her stomach.

"Of course not." Melissa took Allison's blood pressure. "We just like to be thorough." Some of Melissa's professional calm slid away as she took Allison's blood pressure again. "You're not feeling faint?"

"No."

"Okay." Melissa took the cuff off Allison's arm. "Roll up your sleeve."

"How's Scott doing?" Allison asked as she complied.

"He's fine," Melissa lied. "Off to school early."

Allison thought about calling Melissa on the lie, but she didn't know if it would do any good. Instead, she just let Melissa poke around to find a vein. It took a while, but Melissa finally got the needle in, and the blood out.

"Can I go now?" Allison asked after Melissa finished labelling the numerous vials.

"Not yet." Melissa fetched a stethoscope. "Breathing time."

Allison breathed deep, then deeper as Melissa listened to her lungs. "Will I live?"

"Possibly," Melissa said. "Can I see your back?"

"Nope." Allison slid off the bed. "It's all healed. Thanks for the tire rotation." And she escaped out into the hall.

Finding Lydia was as simple as checking her text messages. Lydia had sent her a note at four in the morning about being moved into a private room, _oh my god my mother will not sleep_ , and the number. Allison waited for the elevator with a crowd of others, and was eventually debouched onto a quiet floor. She spotted Deputy Greene on guard duty and gave an awkward wave as she ducked into the room.

Lydia was staring out the window while her mother dozed in the chair beside the bed. Allison knocked gently. "Can I come in?" she whispered.

Lydia whipped her head around, eyes wide. The bruises on her face were ugly purple and red, and Allison was struck with a sudden desire to go to the sheriff's station and hit Dupont really hard. "Are you okay?" Lydia whispered back, making grabby motions with her hands.

Allison tiptoed into the room, set her backpack on the floor, then climbed onto the bed beside Lydia. The girl curled up against Allison, shaking just a little bit. Allison put her arm around Lydia's shoulders. "I'm okay," Allison said quietly. "Are you okay?"

Lydia nodded into Allison's shoulder. "How's your back?"

"It's fine." Allison smoothed Lydia's hair down, waiting as Lydia slowly relaxed. "All better."

"How?"

"Human alpha."

"Oh." Lydia played with one of Allison's buttons. The large white bandage on her arm was spotted with tiny drops of brownish-red blood, seeping through the gauze. "Did… did that make it hurt any less?"

"No."

Lydia sniffled. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. I should be sorry." Allison projected alpha warmth and safety at her friend. "I put you in that position."

"You got us out."

"You're the one who saved us," Allison corrected.

"Do… do you know more about what I did?" Lydia asked, casting a quick glance over at her sleeping mother "What a banshee is?"

"I do." Allison took hold of Lydia's hand. "Banshees can scream really loudly, like you did, as a weapon or as a way to channel their precognition powers."

"What does that mean?" Lydia asked.

"It means you can sense the potential of death," Allison said. This explanation was verbatim from a lecture Lydia had given the twins when they hit puberty. "You might be able to hear beyond the perceptive range, but that might not manifest until later."

Lydia poked Allison in the stomach. "Did you just say I'm going to _manifest?"_

"Yeah, but not like growing horns or bat ears." Allison caught Lydia's hand again. "You're going to be so amazing, Lydia."

"By screaming and telling the future?"

"By saving people." Allison kissed Lydia's temple. "It's going to suck, in a lot of ways, but if you want to focus on your powers, I can help you."

Lydia burrowed in against Allison's side. "I don't know," she whispered. "My grandmother was crazy."

"Maybe," Allison said. "Or maybe she had a hard time."

"Yeah." Lydia squeezed Allison's hand. "What do you mean, precognition?"

"Sensing when someone's going to die."

Lydia shuddered. "I hate that so much."

"It's not fun." Allison could hear footsteps in the hall, and she cast her eyes around the room, at what she might be able to use as a weapon. The IV stand, or the unused chair. In a pinch, she supposed she could throw herself into battle.

"Can I block it?"

Allison hesitated, because the last time Lydia tried to block her powers, it had ended up very badly, for everyone. Still, it was Lydia's choice. "If you want to," Allison said cautiously. "I will help you look into that."

"Okay." Lydia was quiet for a few minutes. Allison took the calm to relax, which she hadn't been able to do since… for too long. Days, if not weeks. "Wait, what do you mean, the potential for death?"

Allison sighed. This, too, she remembered from Lydia's discussion with her children about banshee powers. "Okay, so I'm sitting right here. Right?" She stretched her hand out in front of her. "My present state is my wrist. Based on probabilities, I could end up at the end of any one of my fingers. If the end of my index finger is, I don't know, going for burgers, but the end of my ring finger is getting hit by a car in the parking lot, you might start feeling it."

"But does it mean someone's going to die?"

"Not always." Allison put her hand down.

"But not never."

"No." Allison let Lydia curl in against her again. "I'm sorry."

"Why me?" Lydia whispered.

"Genetics, usually."

Lydia sniffled. "I hate it."

"I'm sorry."

That was the point at which Mrs. Martin woke from her nap, blinking. The woman froze when she saw Allison in bed with Lydia. "Oh."

"Allison came to see how I was doing," Lydia said.

"Hi," Allison said. "The sheriff drove me over. He said he'd come by at some point to see how Lydia is."

"How are you?" Mrs. Martin asked. "You looked pretty terrible yesterday."

"Mom," Lydia said repressively. "You don't just _say_ that to someone."

"It's fine." Allison twined her fingers through Lydia's. She remembered how protective of Lydia Mrs. Martin had been in the years following the divorce, and in trying to repress all knowledge of Lydia's banshee powers. It had taken the Snap for the woman to really value her daughter's gifts, something that still bothered Allison all these years later. "I'm better now."

"Right." Mrs. Martin paused. "How?"

"I had a good nurse," Allison said. "Besides, it was just flesh wounds."

Lydia whimpered.

"Is there any word on the other four men who attacked my daughter?" Mrs. Martin demanded, recovering.

"And Allison," Lydia snapped.

"Sheriff Stilinski hasn't mentioned anything," Allison said. "He's downstairs. He might come up after to say hi."

"Is Stiles at school?" Lydia asked.

"Yes."

"Good." Lydia frowned. "Jackson and Isaac didn't want to leave last night. I think it was because Isaac wanted an excuse not to go to school today."

"That's not it," Allison said. "Jackson loves you. And Isaac likes you too."

"Please," Lydia said, and gave a seated flounce. "I'm Isaac's ticket to a scholarship via student council. He'd better like me."

"Lydia, honey, don't you think you'd better take it easy for a while?" Mrs. Martin asked.

Lydia fixed her gaze on her mother. "I am perfectly fine," she said. "I didn't get shot or tortured or anything."

"All of us will be around," Allison put in. "Jackson and Isaac and Erica and Stiles and Boyd and Scott. Anywhere you need us."

"What about you?" Lydia said with just a hint of alarm, sitting bolt upright. "You're not leaving town, are you? Oh god, did your dad show up? Is he taking you away?"

"Lydia, it's all right," Allison said soothingly. "No, Tony didn't contact me. He's been in DC all night dealing with A.I.M." She pulled Lydia down. "He probably doesn't even know I exist."

Lydia's frown was a sight to behold. "But you told me you got the DNA test back yesterday."

"We did." Allison patted Lydia's hand. "It doesn't matter."

"Lydia, dear, what are you talking about?" Mrs. Martin broke in.

Lydia looked over. "Allison's real mother was killed and Allison kidnapped as a baby," she said. "The Argents raised her but her real father is Tony Stark."

Mrs. Martin's expression was almost identical to Lydia's one of exasperated incredulity. "What…"

"Technically," Allison put in. "My mother was pregnant and Victoria Argent killed her and cut me out of her. I'm sure there's some sort of technical criminal term for that."

"He's Iron Man, how does he not know you exist?" Lydia asked.

"He's been busy," Allison said. "Fighting bad guys. I'm just one person, it doesn't matter."

"I'm just one person," Lydia said, getting angrier by the second. "And you almost died protecting me yesterday."

"Because you're important," Allison said, rubbing Lydia's shoulder.

This was not the right thing to say, apparently, because Lydia's mouth twisted in anger. " _You're_ important," she said, and hugged Allison hard.

"Hey, it's okay," Allison said, hugging Lydia back. She wasn't entirely thrilled with the way Mrs. Martin was looking at them, but she'd save the awkward _I'm not hitting on your daughter_ conversation for another day. "We're okay. We're right here."

"Don't leave town without telling me," Lydia said, voice muffled against Allison's shoulder.

"Never."

A clatter at the door, and in came Noah, followed by Melissa and an orderly pushing an empty wheelchair. "Oh, good," Melissa said brightly. "You're alive. Into the chair."

Lydia pulled back from Allison's shoulder, wiping her eyes. "Why?" she asked.

"Not you, Lydia." Melissa came over to the bed. "Allison. Up."

"What did I do now?" Allison asked warily, disentangling herself from Lydia.

"You somehow managed to walk in here under your own power," Melissa said, snapping a hospital intake band around Allison's wrist. "Your blood iron levels are so low that the lab wondered if I got them from a corpse."

"I feel fine," Allison said, but let Melissa pull her off the bed. "So now what, more vitamins?"

Noah cleared his throat. "The doctor said you need a blood transfusion as soon as possible."

"This is so stupid," Allison said as she picked up her backpack. "And I can't afford that."

"If we don't get your iron levels up, you could do some serious damage to your heart," Melissa said.

"How many times do I have to tell you, I don't have health insurance?"

"Allison," Noah said, cutting her off. "Forget about how much it costs, okay? We'll figure it out."

Lydia reached out for Allison's hand. "I don't want you to get hurt," she said. "Maybe you should go do this."

"Fine." Allison brought Lydia's hand up to kiss the back of her wrist. "I'll see you at school tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay."

Allison turned around. "I'm not riding in that thing," she said, pointing at the wheelchair.

"Of course you won't," Melissa muttered. "If you fall on hospital property once you've been admitted, you can sue and I'll get fired. Would you please just get in the chair?"

Glaring, Allison snapped her jaw shut and sat in the very uncomfortable hospital transfer wheelchair.

"Thank you."

"I'll be right down," Noah said. "I have to talk to Lydia and Natalie for a minute."

Allison raised an eyebrow at _Natalie_ , but just waved as the orderly followed Melissa out of the room down the hall.

"Hi," Allison said over her shoulder after a few yards. "Allison."

"I'm Bill," the man said. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"I could have walked," Allison said again.

"Oh, now, you'd best listen to the nurse," Bill said. "It makes things around here go so much smoother."

"I bet." Allison cast a baleful glare at Melissa's back. "How about we change places?"

"Nope." Bill pulled Allison to a halt by the elevator. "I get paid to do this."

Allison sat back in disgust.

They ended up in a treatment room on the second floor, meeting up with a Dr. Flanigan, who sat Allison down on the bed and gave her another physical examination while Melissa fiddled with the IV stand.

Once Dr. Flanigan was satisfied that Allison wasn't going to expire on the spot, the woman sat on the little stool beside the bed. "Have you ever had a blood transfusion before?"

"Yes," Allison said before she thought.

"Was if for chronic anemia?"

Shit. "No, I'm not sure what it was for."

This was apparently the wrong answer, because the doctor frowned and Melissa looked worried. "Do you remember how old you were?" the doctor asked.

"Uh, not really? I was in the hospital a lot as a kid, it happened then." She did have a vague memory of a blood transfusion at a young age, something that was linked in her mind with Easter and snow… maybe when they were living in Chicago? Allison was too tired to go digging around the traumas of her childhood to disinter what Victoria had done to her that time.

Dr. Flanigan flipped through the chart. "Do we have a medical history?" she asked Melissa.

"It wasn't illness related," Allison interrupted. God, why didn't she think? "I fell down a lot."

Dr. Flanigan closed the chart. "Miss Argent, I know that you're seventeen—"

"Eighteen in a week," Allison pushed back.

"And that's old enough to make informed decisions about your medical care," the doctor continued. "Based on your blood tests from this morning, and from last week, I am recommending this blood transfusion as medically necessary treatment."

"Sure," Allison said. "What, like I have a choice?"

"You do."

Allison narrowed her eyes. "Can I see my chart?"

"What do you want to know?" the doctor asked.

"How low is my hemoglobin?"

She consulted the chart. "Last week it was ten grams per hundred millilitres, and now it's down to five."

Yikes. Now Allison understood Melissa's sense of urgency. "Okay, sure, fill me up." She held out her arm.

Dr. Flanigan smiled for the first time. "Nurse McCall will set you up and sit with you for the first fifteen minutes," she said as she stood. "You should make an appointment with your family doctor to follow up in a few days."

"Sure," said Allison, who had no intention of doing anything of the sort. "Thanks."

The doctor made a few notes on the chart and left before Melissa took Allison's temperature. "Are you ready for this?" Melissa asked.

"I guess so." Allison settled back on the gurney. "I mean, I'm probably going to have to drop out of school to get a job to pay for all this, but it's better than having a heart attack at seventeen, right?"

"That's the spirit." Melissa inserted the IV needle into Allison's arm. "And you're not going to have to drop out of school."

"May as well." Allison stared up at the ceiling as the familiar sensation of saline tingled into her arm. "It's not like I don't know it all."

"You should stay in school," Melissa said. The blood pressure cuff on Allison's other arm started to inflate. "You're smart, you should go to college."

"I'm not smart," Allison said. "If I was smart, I never would have let Lydia get hurt."

Melissa patted Allison's hand. "That wasn't your fault."

It was, but Allison was too exhausted to have to argue it. "I'm sorry I was such an asshole last night," she said after a minute.

"It's okay." Melissa took Allison's temperature again. "I've seen a lot of people go through a lot, around here, but what those men did to you…"

"Is over," Allison said firmly. She turned her head to look at Melissa. "I'm really fine."

"Really?"

Allison tried to smile. "I have to be fine, because the alternative isn't great."

"Okay." Melissa stayed by Allison's side, occasionally checking her vitals in silence.

A soft knock on the door drew their attention. "Hey," Noah said. "Can I come in?"

"Please," Allison said. "Otherwise I'm going to fall asleep."

"How's she doing?" Noah asked Melissa.

"Very well," Melissa said, getting up. "No signs of any reaction to the transfusion. Her blood pressure is getting better, too."

"How long is she going to be here?"

"About an hour," Melissa said, and Allison groaned. "That is how long it takes."

"This is so boring," Allison said. "Can I use my laptop?"

"No. No phone, either." Melissa turned to Noah. "Do you want to sit with her for a while?"

"If she wants me here."

"I don't want to keep you if you're busy," Allison said. "I know there's a lot going on."

"I have a team of very qualified deputies handling all that." Noah sat in the chair beside Allison's gurney. "I don't have anywhere else to be."

"I'll be back to check on you in a few minutes," Melissa said. With a final pat on Allison's shoulder, she left the room.

"Really," Allison said. "You don't have to stay. I'm fine."

In response, Noah settled down in the chair. "I know I don't have to stay. But I want to be here."

Allison looked at him for a moment. Something in his tone was a little off. "Is Lydia okay?

"She's fine. Natalie's going to be taking her home soon."

"Then what?"

"What what?"

Allison drew a circle in the air around her face. "You know how Stiles gets when he's thinking really hard about something and doesn't want anyone to know he's freaking out?"

"Yes," Noah said slowly.

"Apparently that expression is genetic."

Noah sighed. "Has anyone ever told you that you are far too perceptive for your own good?"

"Brodie, weekly, when I'm solving your cold cases," Allison replied. "What's up?"

Noah slumped back in the chair. "I got a message from Natasha," he said. "Dupont's prints checked out against a few outstanding warrants, for robbery and grave desecration." Allison made a face. "There's also a homicide charge up in Quebec. Given that, we're going to transfer Dupont to Sacramento where the Attorney General can figure out if they want to bother to extradite him, or just ship him back to Florida for the other charges."

"God." It was all so much easier in the last timeline, when Dupont had conveniently died impaled on a tree-stump up in the woods. "Did you tell Lydia?"

"I did. I think she's relieved that he's going to be leaving town."

"Then that's that." Allison touched the IV line running red into her arm, thinking. "Chris should know, in case there's anything he has to do."

"I'll tell him later, when he swings by the station." Noah sat forward, his elbows on his knees. Allison waited. "I was asking Natasha a few other questions, too."

"Such as?"

Noah rubbed his hands together. God, he and Stiles were so alike. "Never mind. I shouldn't have said anything."

"If it's about me, I have a right to know."

"Yeah." Noah tapped one hand on the gurney rail. "You do." He sat back. "I asked Natasha if she'd heard anything from Tony Stark. About… about you."

Allison let out a breath at the stab of anxiety through her ribs. "And?"

Noah looked at her. "Natasha said that Barton told him last night."

Oh.

"She said that Barton told him what happened yesterday, to you."

"He's busy," Allison said. Her mouth felt like cotton. "He needs to be fighting terrorists. He's Iron Man."

"He's your father, he should be here."

"He doesn't know me," Allison objected. "He doesn't—I'm not—" She gulped down a breath. "He's fighting bad guys. I'm just one person. It doesn't matter."

"Allison." Noah put his hand over hers. "It matters. He should be here."

Allison stared at the IV for a while, before turning her hand over in Noah's. "It doesn't matter," she said, and this time she was able to push down some of the buzzing in her head. "He doesn't know me. I've been dead to him for eighteen years. Maybe he just needs some time to get used to the idea."

But that wasn't it, not really. The last time she'd lived this, Tony had freaked out about finding Allison was alive, but the very next day he'd landed on her doorstep in Beacon Hills, Pepper at his side. But now…

Now, Allison didn't know what Tony knew. She couldn't believe that Jarvis had kept any detail back from Tony, not when Tony ended up battling the very agents of evil that Allison had sent him after. Had he listened in on her conversations?

Allison had half-expected her video chats with Jarvis to have ended up with something. She knew how much she looked like her mother. Jarvis himself had sent over those pictures of Clara. Had Jarvis been hiding her from Tony?

Or did Tony know everything, and just decided that he didn't care?

Allison turned onto her side so she could pull her legs up to her chest. She ached.

"Do you need me to get Melissa?" Noah asked.

"No." Allison kept hold of his hand. "Just… no."

"I don't get it," Noah said. "If it was me…" He let the thought drift off. "Sorry."

"No, don't be." Allison squeezed Noah's hand, then let him go. "If you found out you had another kid, you'd have been there yesterday." She looked at the blood bag hanging from the IV stand. "I don't want to talk about Tony anymore. Can we talk about work?"

"What about it?"

"How about those burglary cases up in the Heights five years ago?"

Noah sighed, but he reached into his jacket to pull out his notebook. "Hit me."

"They reminded me of what happened the previous year, in the spring," Allison said. "Out along Westgate?" She told Noah her suspicions about the similarities, and Noah ran though his mental list of suspects. That conversation lasted through the end of the blood transfusion, and the next twenty minutes where Melissa made her sit and wait before standing up.

All in all, Allison had never been so happy to leave a hospital in her life as when Noah wheeled her out of the building over to his car. "So, the station?" Noah asked as he started the car.

"Is Dupont gone yet?"

"Yeah, the transport van to Sacramento left half an hour ago."

Allison let out a breath. "Thank god."

"I take it that's a yes?" Noah pulled the car out of the parking lot.

"Yes." Allison dug out her cell phone. The group chat had ballooned to ninety unread messages, with many other individual texts from her friends. Moving down her contact list, Allison sent a quick note to Jarvis. _Strange request but can you send me Chris Argent's phone number?_

 _Of course._ A string of numbers appeared. _Is there anything untoward in the offering?_

_Nah. I need to tell him Dupont's being transported to Sacramento for extradition._

_I am aware of this transfer,_ Jarvis replied. _May I ask, was this at your request?_

_No, Noah just told me about it. But I'm glad Dupont's out of my town._

_How are you doing?_

_Alive._ Allison contemplated the scenery for a few moments. _I'm on the way to the sheriff's station so I can skip school for a day, at least._

_May I inquire as to what you were doing at the hospital?_

Allison tapped her thumbnail against the phone. Jarvis probably knew full well what she had been doing. The servers at the Beacon Hills Hospital in 2012 were about as secure as a sieve.

Well, fine. If Jarvis wanted to know what was up with her, she'd tell him. _My iron levels were low and the docs were worried about heart failure. So I had a blood transfusion. No big deal._

_One might say that would be a very large deal._

_Well, that someone wouldn't be me._ Anger was starting to build in Allison's chest. All the things Tony likely knew about her, what she had been through, and he hadn't reached out? _May I inquire as to if Mr. Stark has been informed of my current situation?_

_To what situation are you referring?_

Allison bit her lip as she replied. _My newly confirmed paternity._

The screen was blank for several seconds. Then the reply came. _Yes._

Great. Just great. _OK. I have to go._

Allison scrolled back up the chat history to copy Chris's number. She didn't understand why she was so angry. She was forty-six years old. She had a mission. She had to be the adult in the room because that's what she _was_.

But god, she was so _mad_.

She added Chris's number to her contacts under the header of _Ex-Dad_ and typed out, _Hi it's Allison hope everyone's ok. Dupont being transported to Sacramento pending extradition to Canada re homicide and/or criminal charges in Florida. Please let me know if you hear anything on the wind._ Then she locked her phone and shoved it in her backpack.

Noah said, "That was some pretty unhappy typing there."

"Why on earth would I be unhappy?" Allison demanded. "Everything's so great with my life."

"Uh huh." The car bumped over the tracks on the way to the station. "How much sleep did you get last night?"

"A few hours. Peter stayed up after Cora came down."

"How would you feel about a nap on the couch when we get to the station?"

Allison exhaled. "Could I?"

"Absolutely. That's the rules. You get shot, you spend the next day sleeping."

Allison rubbed her eyes as Noah parked in the sheriff's spot out front of the station. "Will you wake me up in time for my shift?"

"Nope," Noah said blithely. "Because you've already filled your shift today."

Allison glared at him. "What are you talking about?"

"At the hospital." He got out of the car. Allison kept glaring at him as he came around to the passenger side to open her door. "That counts. Out."

"Sheriff Stilinski, are you circumventing the rules?" Allison demanded, climbing out of the car with her bag in hand.

"Never." Noah slammed the door. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I'm ready to punch God." Allison strode towards the station. She could hear Noah chuckling behind her.

She walked into the station like she owned the place. "Ibarra, Rushman," she said to the deputies behind the front counter. "How's crime?"

"Shouldn't you be in school?" Natasha asked, the corner of her mouth twisting with faint amusement.

"Shouldn't you?"

Deputy Ibarra came out from behind the desk. "You look a hell of a lot better than you did yesterday."

"I'm not sure she could have looked any worse and not been in a body bag," Natasha said.

Allison glared at Natasha, then smiled at Ibarra. "Thanks for everything last night," she said. "I felt a lot better, knowing you all had my back."

"Any time, kid." Ibarra picked something up from a folder on the desk. "I didn't know if you were coming in today, but Maria and the kids wanted you to have this."

He handed her a folded piece of paper. Allison took it. On the front, in coloured marker, it read _Get Well Allison!_ above a bunch of drawings of people made in a child's hand.

Allison opened the card. Inside, at the top of the page, were the words _We hope that you feel better soon._ On the page were five traced hands of various sizes, with the names of the Ibarra children under each handprint. It was obvious that most of the children had coloured in their own handprint, with Alicia's having a collection of flowers, while Tomas had drawn a soccer ball. Damian had contributed a four-year-old's version of a wolf. Gabriela's handprint held a colourful scrawl, unconcerned with such pedantic conventions as lines.

Even the baby's handprint held a little smiley face.

Allison was having trouble breathing. All these people she had met so briefly, and they had taken the time in their no-doubt busy morning to create a get-well card for her.

She didn't know what to do.

"I told Maria a bit about what happened yesterday," Ibarra said. "She was worried about you."

"She…" Allison swallowed. Her throat hurt and her eyes burned.

"What do we have here?" Noah asked, coming over to her side.

Allison took a deep breath. Oh god, she was _not_ going to start crying. "It's a card," she got out, her voice shaking just a little. "Look, even the baby signed it."

"That's really nice."

"Damian drew me a wolf." Allison brushed away the tear that slid down her cheek. She could feel a strange hysteria bubbling up in her chest and she absolutely did not want to collapse in tears in the middle of the sheriff's station. Certainly not in an election year.

"Come on," Noah said gently, putting his hand on her arm. "Let's get you set up on the couch and you can get some of that sleep I hear is all the rage with the kids these days."

"Thank you," Allison said to Ibarra. "Tell everyone that I love the card, okay?"

"I will," the man said.

Noah tugged Allison in the direction of his office, guiding her right over to the old couch. "You can sleep as long as you need," he said. "I'll tell Stiles to come over after lacrosse practice and we can figure out dinner from there, okay?"

Allison nodded. She put her backpack down beside the couch and pulled her legs up onto the cushions.

"Are you going to be all right?" Noah asked.

"They made me a card," Allison said. She set the card on the couch arm, where it would be safe. "They hardly know me and they made me a get well card."

"The Ibarras are good folks."

Allison looked at the card for a long moment. Then she turned away and curled up, putting her head on her arm. Behind her, she heard Noah sigh, then the creak of his office chair, and the shuffling of papers.

Allison closed her eyes. She didn't want to think. Because if she started thinking, all she would focus on would be that Christian Ibarra and his family had taken the time to make her a get-well card after she'd been shot and tortured, and that Tony Stark hadn't even asked if she was okay.

She didn't want to think.

### Anna Vasquez

Anna got out of her rental car and looked around. So this was Beacon Hills. Small, surrounded by mountains on all sides, with the oozing affluence of tech money mixed in with the older echoes of forestry and mining.

God, Anna missed L.A. already.

The air smelled crisp, with hints of pine and cedar drifting on the wind in the afternoon sun. Anna wondered what it would be like to actually live here, to be able to run in the forests surrounding the town on the night of a full moon.

Not that she'd ever find out. She was an urban werewolf on a foreign territory, and she knew she would not be welcome on another pack's land.

It made her uneasy, to be in another pack's territory, but no one knew who the Beacon Hills alpha was, and so she hadn't been able to ask for safe passage. And when the gap in her schedule had opened up, giving her a day free of vital meetings, Anna had booked the first flight up to Redding and drove the hour north to Beacon Hills.

She knew she was chasing a ghost, but she had no choice.

She had to find the girl who had looked so much like Clara. Anna just hoped that she could do so without running afoul of the local wolf pack.

She also hoped that her father didn't find out she had left town without his permission.

Anna didn't have time for dithering. Her flight back to L.A. left Redding at seven, and she only had six hours to locate the girl who looked like Clara.

Where was she supposed to start?

The sheriff's station was the obvious answer, but Anna found herself hesitant to just walk in and start demanding answers. What could she say? _Hello, have you seen my dead sister's child?_ What if the girl had a family? What if it was all just a coincidence?

Anna shook her head. She had been up since five, when her four-year-old had decided it was time to jump on Anna's bed. She needed coffee. Luckily, the street on which she had parked had a proliferation of the places.

She locked the car, hefted her purse, and headed into a café at random. There was a bit of a line, so Anna had time to wait and regret her life choices in the coffee-scented air. Something about Beacon Hills was setting her on edge. Maybe it was all the fresh air.

Maybe it was something else.

Either way, she wanted to be out of here before sunset.

Finally, the customer ahead of her moved, and Anna stepped up. But before she could open her mouth, the barista set a cup of black coffee on the counter and said cheerfully, "Law enforcement discount! On the house."

"What?" Anna asked, confused.

"We heard about what happened," the barista said, lowering his voice. "We hope everything's going to be okay."

"Right," Anna said slowly. Not sure what was going on, she picked up the coffee and left the shop.

Outside, the town looked exactly has it had before. Only now, Anna was more than a little worried.

Why had the barista mistaken her for a cop? _How_ had he? She didn't look like a cop, not in this outfit. Did everyone in town know who the mysterious girl was?

Anna took a sip. Too sour for her tastes. Still, free coffee was free coffee. She went back to her car, got in, and unfolded the county map she'd bought at the Redding airport. The map showed enough detail of Beacon Hills that she could locate the sheriff's station. She could get there in a few minutes.

Anna put the map down. She could go to the sheriff's station and ask if they knew anyone who looked like her, just like that, and end eighteen years of speculation and grief.

But it wouldn't bring Clara back.

Nothing would bring Anna's sister back from the dead.

Anna lowered the sun visor to look in the little mirror. She had watched the video of the girl so many times, had compared the video to every photo of Clara she could find. The girl was so much like Clara, but so different, and that was only in a short video clip.

If the girl really was Clara's daughter… would she want to know her mother's family? Would she be terrified of her mother's real nature? Anna had always looked up to Clara as the model of what a werewolf should be – caring and hopeful, as protective as she was impetuous.

Most of Anna's hope had been ripped away from her after what she'd had to do during the pack wars. She wondered if this girl had any hope left.

Anna flipped the visor up. If she didn't drive to the sheriff's station right now, she never would.

Beacon Hills was not a large town, and after a few wrong turns, Anna finally pulled up into visitor parking outside of the Beacon Hills Sheriff's Department. It took her a moment of deep breathing to calm herself before she got out of the car, slung her purse over her shoulder, and walked toward the entrance with her head held high.

She had no idea what she was going to say.

However, there was no need for her to formulate a plan, for the moment she stepped through the door, the deputy behind the front desk glanced up at her and said, "When did you wake up?"

Anna stopped. "I _beg_ your pardon?"

The deputy, whose eyes had been half on his paper, snapped to attention. "Can I help you?" he asked, suddenly warry.

Anna walked across the lobby. "Can you?"

The deputy, whose nametag read _Strong_ , leaned back in his chair. Off to their left, another couple of cops were staring at Anna like she was a ghost. "Are you here looking for someone?" he asked.

Anna's pulse was pounding so fast she wondered if it was possible for a werewolf to have a heart attack. "Is there someone I can talk to?"

"Oh, absolutely," Deputy Strong said. He made a snapping gesture at the other deputies, and one of them vanished back into the station. "This is above my paygrade."

"What is it now?" came a voice from the back room. "I am trying to run a department here—" A man in uniform appeared around the corner, took one look at Anna, and stopped dead. "Oh."

"Sheriff," said Deputy Strong, "You have a visitor."

The sheriff cast a glare at the deputy. "Thanks, Mark," he said sarcastically. He crossed the floor, his hand held out. "Sheriff Stilinski," he said. "And you are?"

"Anna Vasquez," Anna said, shaking the offered hand. The man winced, and she pulled back. She couldn't be losing control, not here, not when she was so close.

"I didn't think the LAPD were going to do the notification until tomorrow," said the sheriff.

"What notification?" Anna demanded.

The man looked perplexed. "Why are you here?"

"I'm looking for my sister's daughter," Anna said. It was the first time she'd said it out loud, and the words sounded strange in her ears. "I found a video online. Do you know where she is?"

The man's expression changed. "I need you to stay here for a minute," he said.

Anna took a step forward. "Do you know where she is?"

"Ma'am, I'll be with you in a moment." The sheriff nodded, glanced over her shoulder at the deputies, and headed over to a door marked _Sheriff's Office_.

Anna thought she was going to start screaming.

The man went into the office, vanishing from sight. "Allison," he said. "Hey, Allison."

"What?" came a sleepy voice. Young. Female. "Am I late for school?" Anna's heart beat faster.

"You're at the station," said the sheriff. "Remember?"

"Yeah." A beat. "Wait, why do you look like that?"

The sheriff took a deep breath. "There's someone here to see you."

"Is it Tony?" the girl's voice asked, suddenly breathless.

Anna's stomach dropped. Did the girl know Tony Stark? Did Tony know that Clara's daughter wasn't dead?

Pack and human laws be damned. If Anna found out that Tony had been hiding this girl away, she was going to rip his throat out in the _middle of the goddamned street_.

"No, it's Anna Vasquez."

"Anna?" Movement, and a girl appeared in the door to the office.

For a moment, Anna wondered if she was going to pass out. It was _her_ , the girl from the video, a girl with Clara's face and a confused, hopeful expression that Anna didn't understand.

Then the girl smiled, wide and bright and Anna's knees got weak.

"Anna," the girl said again, crossing the floor to take Anna's hands. "Hi. I'm, um. I'm Allison."

Anna couldn't speak.

"Are you okay?" the girl asked, happiness sliding to worry. "Sorry, I didn't mean to just spring this on you. Do you need to sit down?"

"Sit down?" Anna echoed.

"Noah," the girl called. "Can we take this into your office?"

"Sure," said the sheriff. Around them, more and more deputies were poking their heads in, watching the scene. "All of you, back to work!" he called.

"Come on," the girls said. She put her hand under Anna's elbow and drew her over to the office. "Are you alone? Did anyone else come with you?

"What?" Anna asked. She put her hand over the girl's wrist, solid and real and oh god, this had to be her, it had to be.

Clara's daughter hadn't died after all.

"The LAPD were planning on notifying the Vasquez family tomorrow," Stilinski said, following them in.

The girl sat Anna down on the couch, looking between her and the sheriff. "Wait, no one told them?"

"Not yet."

The girl turned to Anna. "Then why are you here?"

Anna stared hungrily at the girl. After the first, wild glimpse, Anna could see that something was _wrong_ with the child. She was sickly pale, with dark circles under her eyes, and she was drawn like she hadn't had enough to eat in a long time. What had they done to her? "Do you know who I am?" Anna asked.

The girl, Allison, wrapped her hands around Anna's. She took a deep breath. "My name is Allison," she said. "We did a DNA test, and got the results yesterday. My mother was Clara Vasquez. Your sister."

Anna had to struggle to contain the wolf. It was almost too easy, finding Clara's daughter just like that.

But the intervening years had been very long, and very dark.

"Are you sure?" Anna asked.

"We are," said the sheriff. "The results were confirmed by the LAPD forensics lab yesterday."

"And you're…" Anna struggled to breathe. "Do you know? What do you know about our family?"

Allison put her arm around Anna's shoulders. The embrace from a stranger should have felt strange, but the girl's hug was warm and safe in a way Anna hadn't felt in years. "I know what happened to Clara," she said. "And I know what happened after."

Anna went still. "What?"

"Do you have permission to be in town?" Allison went on.

Anna drew away. "From who?"

Allison looked at Anna with clear brown eyes. "The alpha."

Anna's heartrate sped up as she stared at Clara's beautiful daughter. "What?"

"The Beacon Hills alpha," Allison said. And the sheriff didn't so much as react. Did he know about the supernatural? "Derek didn't call me, I don't think." She leaned over to dig in a backpack, pulling out a phone.

"I didn't…" Anna swallowed. This had taken such a strange turn, so suddenly, she didn't know what to do. "Who?"

"The Beacon Hills alpha," Allison said again. "I should tell Derek he needs to get on the California alpha directory, this is starting to get old."

Across the office, Stilinski was staring at the girl. "There's a directory?" he demanded.

"No, but there should be." The girl tapped on the phone and brought it to her ear. The call was answered almost immediately. "Derek, hi. Anna Vasquez is in town and I need you to give her permission to stay."

"What?" came the quick response.

"Please. Here." And she shoved the phone into Anna's hand. "I will be right back."

"Wait," Anna called. "Don't leave."

"I'm not leaving, I have to go to the bathroom," Allison said, blushing a little. "Too much saline and too long asleep." With that, the girl practically vanished in a puff of dust.

Anna looked at the sheriff, then at the phone, then lifted it to her ear. "Hello?"

"Did you really come into my town without asking first?" said a male voice.

"Does anyone know how to get in touch with the Beacon Hills alpha?" Anna shot back.

"See?" said a distant voice from over the line. "This is what I'm talking about."

"Cora, shh," the man hissed. "Why are you here?" he asked. "You're not taking Allison away unless she wants to go."

"I'm not—I didn't come to town to take anyone away," Anna shot back. "I came looking for my sister's child."

"And you found her." A low grumble. "How long are you staying?"

"My flight leaves Redding at seven."

"Make sure you're on it. And next time, if you want to visit Beacon Hills, tell Allison in advance. She'll arrange permissions."

"She will?"

"Of course she will," and now the voice was starting to sound amused. "You don't know what you're getting into with Allison."

"She's family," Anna retorted.

"She's family for a lot of people in town, too." A moment's pause. "You just got your family back. Don't fuck it up."

"I'm not going to hurt Allison," Anna said. Across the office, Stilinski was watching her.

"Ms. Vasquez, I'm starting to think that nothing will hurt Allison." The line went dead.

Anna stared down at the phone, at the lock screen showing a bunch of teenagers, with Allison smiling and happy in the middle of the shot. "What just happened?"

"Beacon Hills is a little strange," said the sheriff. He appeared to reconsider. "That might be an understatement, actually."

"Where did you find her?" Anna demanded, putting Allison's phone down. "Allison?"

"Find her?" Stilinski echoed. "In my guest bedroom. Allison has been staying with me and my son for a few weeks now."

"Why?"

"Because," said Allison, slipping back into the room. The girl walked like a wolf, and Anna was even more confused. Allison had been born to the dark of the moon, she could never be a wolf. "Noah has been very kind in letting me be a part of his family." She sat on the couch beside Anna. "I am going to explain this, but I need you to listen."

"To what?"

Allison took a deep breath. "Clara wasn't killed by anyone seeking retaliation for anything that was happening in L.A.," she began, and no, she couldn't know about what had been happening in Los Angeles before Clara's death. How could anyone know? "She was killed by a Hunter, who wanted a baby after hers died."

The words hit Anna like a sledgehammer to the chest. "What?"

Allison took another breath. "I was raised by Hunters," she said. "By Argents."

"No." Anna got up, took a few steps across the office. A lifetime of belief had just exploded in her face. Her sister, killed by Hunters, by _the_ Hunters. Her niece, raised by human monsters.

"Anna," said Allison, getting to her feet. "I know what they are, and I know what you are." She held out her hands in a gesture of placation. "I know what I am."

"Hunters," Anna said. "You were raised by Hunters."

"Yes." Allison looked over at Stilinski. "Noah, help, I'm fucking this up."

"Allison is a good kid," the man said, his eyes on Anna. "She does a lot to protect people. I know what the Argents did to… folks, in this town, and I can tell you Allison's not like that."

Something stirred in Anna's memory, finally, about Beacon Hills, and Hunters.

"The Hale family," Anna said. "Hunters took down the Hale family."

Annoyance crossed over Stilinski's face. "Did everyone know about this but me?" he demanded. "It sure would have been nice to know when I was trying to find evidence to lock Kate up."

"Noah, come on," Allison protested. "What self-respecting supernatural creature was going to pop their heads up to say that to law enforcement?"

"Who's the alpha now?" Anna asked, drawing their attention again. "Are there any Hales left?"

"A few," Allison said. She threw Stilinski a look. "You talked to one. He's got control over this territory now. Everything's under control." She smiled encouragingly.

"Does he know about you?" Anna asked. "About Hunters?"

Allison's smile vanished to a quick flash of rage that faded to sadness. "He does," she said. "About everything."

Anna tried to think. They'd heard that most of the Hale family died, burned out in their own home. Anna thought about her family, her parent and her brothers and her children, and about Hunters coming after them all. All that agony at losing Clara, but instead, losing everyone…

"Hey," Allison said, suddenly at Anna's side. "It's okay. You're okay."

There was a low vibration in her voice, that warmth and comfort and safety that had been there before, as Allison put her arms around Anna and hugged her. Anna couldn't do anything but hug Allison back.

Her sister's child. Alive.

"I know a lot has happened," Allison said in Anna's ear. "I know there's still a lot that is coming up, and most of it's going to suck. But I've got you. You're safe here."

"You're human," Anna protested, pulling back to look at Allison. "You're _seventeen."_

Allison smiled, and it was an expression so much older than her years. "I am," she said. "And when you're in Beacon Hills, you're under my protection."

A tap at the office door, and a redhead poked her way in. "Sheriff," the woman said cautiously. "We just got word. Chris is coming in a bit early to give his statement."

Both Allison and Stilinski went still. "How early?" Stilinski asked, getting to his feet.

"In the next twenty minutes."

"Okay," Allison said brightly. "We're leaving."

"What?" Anna asked, automatically grabbing for Allison's hand. "No, wait—"

"No, we are leaving," Allison said. "You and me. Away from here."

"Allison?" Stilinski said.

"It's no big deal," Allison continued, still too bright. "I am so hungry I could eat an entire deer in one sitting, so me and my aunt Anna are going into town to talk. You all have fun here in the pursuit of law and order."

"Are you sure?" asked the redhead.

Allison threw the woman an annoyed glare. "Of course I am." She glanced over at Stilinski as she scooped up her bag. "I'll call Stiles for a ride after practice or something. Have fun."

Stilinski in turn looked at Anna. "Allison's been through the wringer these last few days," he said. "I know this is a lot to take in, but take it easy on her, okay?"

"I won't do anything to hurt her," Anna said, offended.

"Of course she won't." Allison took Anna's arm. "See? We're already getting along." Without any delay, she headed for the door, dragging Anna with her.

"Where are you going?" asked the redhead, following them.

"I don't know, maybe Anton's." Allison stopped suddenly. "Damn it. Hang on." She dropped Anna's arm and vanished back into the office. Anna could hear her asking if she could borrow some money.

The redhead looked at Anna very steadily, then turned and walked away. Anna waited while Allison and Stilinski talked, the conversation touching on Allison's safety and Allison's very indignant reply. Life in the station carried on, not caring that Anna had suddenly gotten all she had ever wanted, Clara's daughter back from the dead.

Anna tried to keep breathing. She needed to calm down. For all that Allison knew about werewolves, knew the Beacon Hills alpha, she might not know how to deal with a werewolf who wasn't on their best behaviour. Anna had to stay calm, not let her anger at what had been done to her family overwhelm her.

Behind her, the station door opened and closed. "Excuse me," came an officious voice. "Mr. Argent is here to give his statement."

The name fell like glass, shattering to a million shards of pain in Anna's ears. Argent. The Hunters who had murdered her sister and stolen her niece away.

Anna turned around.

He didn't look like a monster, this fair, slightly scruffy man two steps behind an older man in a suit. But his eyes were light and catching, and they landed on Anna in an instant. She could see the recognition in those eyes.

He knew who she was.

Deep inside her chest, the wolf stirred.

"Mr. Argent?" said the lawyer, and that broke the stillness. Anna took a step forward, towards the man who had killed her sister, had stolen her niece, had ruined her _life_.

She was going to kill him.

Then Allison was between them, hands on Anna's arms holding her in place. "Stop," Allison said in a voice that froze everyone in the room. "Anna, it's okay."

All that she had lost pounded in Anna's head. "It's _not."_

"Chris didn't do any this," Allison said, and Anna could almost believe her. "Come on, we're leaving."

"Allison," said the man, taking a step toward them. Allison whipped her head around to glare at him.

"Not now, Chris."

"Who is this?" Chris Argent kept on.

"My mother's sister," Allison said, and took Anna's hand in hers. To others, it might look like the girl was seeking reassurance, but only Anna could feel the strength in her grip, and knew it was to hold Anna back.

"You can't—"

Allison cut him off. "We've talked about how you don't get to tell me what to do anymore," Allison said with a snap. "Anna, come on."

"Allison—"

"Oh, my god," Allison said. "Chris, stop while you're ahead, all right?"

"That's an excellent idea," Stilinski said from his office door. "Allison, head on out. I'm going to be a while with Chris here."

Allison yanked Anna out of the station, into the pine-scented air. "Okay, that was less than ideal."

Anna pulled her hand away from Allison. "What was that?" she demanded.

"That? Was Chris Argent," Allison said. "Is this your car?"

Anna didn't move. "What did you do?" Her whole body still tingled from the command Allison had let out. "What did they do to you?"

Allison looked up at the sky, then circled back over to Anna. "Chris didn't do anything to me," she said, her gaze suddenly very direct. "All I can tell you is that I'm human, and I'm not your enemy."

"Do you hunt werewolves?" Anna asked.

"I don't hunt anyone," Allison shot back. "I do what I have to, to protect my town and everyone in it. That includes you."

"But you don't know me," Anna said. "You don't know anything about me."

For some reason, Allison faltered. "I've heard a lot about you," she said, switching into Spanish. "I know you've kept things running in L.A. for years now, even after everything." She took a deep breath. "Just a few days ago, I found out my whole life was a lie, okay? I want to know the truth, about who my mother was, who you are."

Anna's heart melted. "Oh, child," she said. "Your mother was such an amazing person. She would have loved you so much."

Allison nodded, her jaw clenching. "Okay. That's a start." She pointed towards the car. "Do you want to go get something to eat before you have to leave for your flight? I wasn't kidding about the deer thing."

"Okay." Anna walked over to the car. "But…" She hesitated. "Your father."

Allison rubbed her eyes. "Which one?" she asked. "The field of play's getting a little crowded."

"Tony."

"What about him?"

"Does he know? About… you?"

A gleam of some strong emotion flashed in Allison's eyes. Anger, maybe, or regret. "He found out last night, while he was trying to save the government."

"He didn't know before?"

"As far as I know, Tony Stark hasn't paid me a single thought," Allison said. "He's a busy man. Do you want to go get a hamburger or something?"

"Okay," Anna said, because there was a note of fragility in Allison's voice that hadn't been there before. "I'd like that."

"Okay." Allison looked up at the sky, then seemed to pull herself together. "Let's go."

As she followed her niece to the car, Anna wondered what this girl had endured over the years, to make her sound so… old.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony Stark: *hesitates a little too long in donning his "Dad of the Year" hat*  
> Noah Stilinski: *Heelys in with a slurpee and sunglasses* Dad powers activated.
> 
> I wrote this entire goddamned chapter about Allison's low iron levels without even twigging to the metaphor. Bad writer, no cookie.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allison tries to figure out what to tell her aunt about her life, and how she can keep Chris Argent alive. Anna has to tell her parents that her sister’s daughter is alive... somehow. Meanwhile in New York, Tony gets a reality check courtesy of Rhodey. And then Allison tries to get her life back to normal, but that’s easier said than done when Nick Fury is in town.

* * *

Allison was practically vibrating out of her skin as she sat in the car beside her aunt Anna, driving back into town. Anna, here in Beacon Hills. She hadn't just gotten word from the police about Allison; Anna had been looking for her.

Someone in her family wanted her.

But now that Anna was here, Allison didn't know what to do. She wasn't supposed to know anything about the Vasquez family. And that was what was so hard, because Allison could scarcely remember a time when she didn't have a connection to her mother's family. After the Snap, her aunt Anna and her grandmother Inez had kept Allison centred, grounded, after they had all lost so many people.

Anna was supposed to be a stranger.

And she looked so _young_. Anna was only thirty-six, a decade younger than Allison, and like most werewolves, she wasn't aging as fast as humans. She looked so vulnerable and angry, and Allison didn't know how she was going to explain anything.

Anna took her eyes off the road for a moment. "What?"

Allison realized that she had been staring. "Sorry," she said, still in Spanish. "It's weird, how you look just like me."

Anna's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "You look exactly like your mother," she said, looking back at the road. "She was only a little bit older than you when…" Anna let out a shaking breath. "Did they tell you what happened? What those monsters did to her?"

Oh, fuck. Maybe Allison should have taken a few more minutes to talk Anna down before getting in the car, where any lies Allison told would be so much more perceptible.

What was Allison's _life?_

"Maybe you should pull over," Allison suggested. "We can talk about this."

Anna glared out at the pavement, then pulled the car over to the side of the road. "I should turn around and go back there," she said angrily.

"And do what?" Allison demanded. "Kill Chris in front of every cop in town?"

"He killed your mother!"

"No, he didn't," Allison shot back. "Chris was overseas when I was born. Victoria Argent was the one who went after Clara, not Chris."

"You can't _know_ that," Anna insisted.

Allison did, from the memory of the painful investigation into Chris Argent's role in her abduction. Again, one more thing she could never explain to anyone. "I have known Chris Argent all my life, and I can tell you that he would never have raised me if he did not believe that I was Victoria's child, all right?"

"You're defending him?"

Allison let out a breath. She was starting to get emotional whiplash, and she had to dial it back before she did something stupid like go full alpha in front of her aunt. With a growl, Allison opened the car door and got out, taking a few steps away from the car to breathe.

She had to breathe. She had to act like the grown-up adult she was.

She had to alpha up.

"Allison, wait," Anna called, getting out of the car. "I'm sorry. Please don't be afraid of me."

Allison turned around, confused. "Afraid of you?" she repeated. "Why would I be afraid of you?"

The anger on Anna's face was fading, and the grief was coming. Grief for Clara, Allison knew, and for what Allison might have been. "Because of who raised you, and of what you know I am." Anna stopped a few feet away, her hands out and empty. Not that that meant anything in a werewolf, but Allison had never been afraid of her aunt.

"It's all right," Allison said, closing the distance between them and catching Anna's hands in hers. "I'm not afraid of you." She squeezed Anna's hands. "I know this has to be impossible to you, but I promise that I will explain everything I can."

Anna inhaled deeply. "How can you be so sure that that man didn't know?"

"Because if Chris knew that I was a werewolf's child, he would have given me back."

Anna's face crumpled and she looked like she was about to start crying, and holy shit, Allison was in no way prepared for the most powerful werewolf in Los Angeles to fall apart on the side of a Beacon Hills road. "He would?"

"He would," Allison said, carefully putting her arm around Anna's back. "I mean, everyone else would have drowned me in a bucket, but Chris lives by the Code."

Anna let out a quiet curse, turning her head away from Allison.

"Sorry, I do that when I'm nervous." Allison projected as much alpha warmth and safety towards her aunt as she could without having her eyes glow. "Fatalistic sarcasm is my defense mechanism."

"Did they hurt you?" Anna asked, face still averted. Allison wondered how badly she had wolfed out, and what might happen if any members of the local constabulary came by at that exact instant. Then again, Anna's hands were claw-free. She was probably still in control.

"No," Allison said, knowing it would sound like a lie. "It's complicated."

"How badly?"

Allison looked at the sky. A few clouds, but blue all the way to the horizon. "Nothing I couldn't survive."

"What of it did Chris do?"

Allison looked back at her aunt. Anna had shaken off the grief, and was sliding right back towards anger. At least she was focused. "Very little, in the grand scheme of things."

"Was it the other one? Victoria?"

Even though her childhood was decades in her past, Allison couldn't stop a shiver at that question. For years, it had been drilled into Allison to never tell anyone what happened at home.

But that was over now. Victoria was dead. She couldn't hurt Allison any more.

"Mostly." Allison let Anna go, to step away and straighten up. "But she's dead now."

"How?"

Allison shrugged. "She tried to kill my boyfriend at the time, his alpha went to save him, Victoria accidentally got bitten, and she killed herself before the full moon. End of story."

Anna's eyes were slightly silvery, the result of a faint cast of electric blue over dark brown. "Your boyfriend's alpha?" she echoed.

"Well, not technically his alpha," Allison amended. "Scott and Derek are complicated."

"That's not what I meant," Anna said. "You were raised by Hunters and you dated a werewolf?"

"Oh, that. Yeah, I started dating Scott before I found out he was a werewolf," Allison said. "Had the whole realization that werewolves were real, he was one, and that the Argents were monster-hunters. That was a very weird half-hour." She waved the memory away. "There was a lot of mental math after that, but anyway, I stayed with Scott even when things went to hell. He's a good guy."

"So you were raised by Hunters," Anna said slowly. "You dated a werewolf, and now you are friends with the local alpha?"

"Yes," Allison said brightly.

"Why?"

Allison went over to the car to lean against it. She was feeling a little lightheaded from hunger. "Because what makes someone a monster isn't genetics or a trick of the supernatural. It's what they choose to do. Human, werewolf, it's all the same. People make choices."

Anna looked at Allison, the silver receding from her eyes. "Did an Argent teach you that?"

"That's a lesson I learned on my own."

Anna walked over to Allison, carefully reaching out to touch Allison's arm. "What have you been through?"

"Like I said." Allison tried to smile. "It's been hell."

Anna nodded. "It has been like that for me, as well. After Clara…" She swallowed. "It's been hard."

"Yeah." Allison pushed off the car. "And to answer your earlier question, yes, I know what happened to Clara, and to me."

"Did the police tell you?"

"No, I saw the homicide file." Allison sighed internally at how Anna's spine went straight at that. "I work at the station with Noah. I found the file and Clara's photo fell out."

"You saw it?" Anna repeated, crossing her arms over her chest. "How was the file here?"

This time, Allison sighed out loud. "Because when Tony Stark made himself into a superhero, a lot of people started looking very closely at his past."

"How did they find you?" Anna demanded. "It's been eighteen years, and there was never any trace that you hadn't… that you were alive."

"Facial recognition on my passport photo from when we went to France this summer."

Anna swore.

"I know." Allison's phone beeped. She pulled it out of the breast pocket of her flannel shirt to read the text from Lydia. _Finally home this is all so stupid my parents are fighting please come save me._

 _Tell Jackson and Isaac they have to come over after lacrosse_ , Allison wrote back. _Don't you and Isaac have to prepare for the student council thing tomorrow?_

"Is everything okay?"

Allison looked up from her phone. "My friend Lydia," she said. "We were, uh. Both kidnapped by rogue Hunters yesterday and she's still in the hospital."

Anna just looked at Allison. "What?"

"Long story, and one that I will explain once I get something to eat." Allison opened the car door. "Come on."

After a moment, Anna went around to get into the car. Allison joined her, and off they went.

"So what do you want to know about me?" Allison asked. "A biography, or more recent events?"

"I want to know what you meant by kidnapped by rogue Hunters," Anna said.

"Turn left up there. It's pretty simple to explain. Out-of-town assholes show up, spend a few weeks menacing me because they don't think I'm being properly deferential to the Hunter Code, corner me up on a deserted highway on Friday and kick the shit out of me, then yesterday they corner me and Lydia in a public park, throw us both in the back of their creepy kidnap van, and spend a while torturing me to see what supernatural creature I'd turn into."

Anna's knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

"Their boss is being transported to a Sacramento jail cell and the others I told to leave town, so that's all over," Allison hastened to add.

"Is that why you look so terrible?" Anna asked.

"Probably. Just a few more blocks. And what?"

"You look sick."

Oh, great. "It's been a rough few weeks, after Chris threw me out of the house."

"Does the Sheriff not feed you?"

"He does," Allison said, stung. "Noah has been so great, letting me stay with him."

"Then why do you look half-starved?"

"Because I'm regrowing a few pints of blood and half the skin on my back," Allison snapped. "Leave Noah out of this."

Anna flinched, and Allison realized what she had just said.

"I'm sorry," Allison said, touching Anna's arm in apology. "I've had a really terrible couple of days and I'm not thinking."

"You don't smell like you're injured," Anna said.

"Turn left at the corner, and it's just there. It's complicated."

Anna turned, parked in front of the restaurant, and turned off the car. She sat back and looked at Allison. "What do you know about girls like you?"

"You mean girls with a werewolf mother and human father?" Allison asked. Anna nodded. "I know that I was born human, and I can never be turned into a werewolf."

"You also can't be turned into any other supernatural creature."

Allison shrugged. It was too soon to say anything to Anna about being a human alpha, but she could probably layer in a few hints. "I heal fast."

Anna stared at her. "How fast?" she demanded.

"Fast enough. Come on, I need to eat before I pass out."

Allison got out of the car and pocketed her phone. She should have brought her backpack, or a jacket, or something, but she had been so intent on getting Anna away from the station that she hadn't been thinking. At least Noah would bring her backpack home with him.

"What did you mean at the station when you said you had had too much saline?" Anna asked as she joined Allison on the sidewalk.

"Blood transfusion this morning," Allison said. "It's not a big deal."

Anna looked at her for a long moment. "Is that more of your fatalistic sarcasm, or are you serious?"

"It's not a big deal," Allison said again.

Anna pressed her lips together. "I don't know how to do this," she said after another pause. "You…" She trailed off into uncertainty.

"I'm just Allison," Allison said. "A human disaster with a target on my back and a really terrible wardrobe."

"I see so much of Clara in you, but that's not really it," Anna said. "This, the way you are, you are so much like my father."

Allison blinked. She wasn't sure if Anna was picking up on some alpha vibes, or if it was something else. Victor Vasquez was a ruthless pragmatist who had been the alpha in Los Angeles since his twenties. What exactly did Anna see in her, to make that call?

"Is that good or bad?" Allison asked warily.

"I'm not sure," Anna said.

"Right." Allison turned and walked towards the restaurant. She was too fucking hungry to have this conversation on the sidewalk.

Anton's wasn't busy. The waitress gave Allison the once-over and said, "Shouldn't you be in school?"

"My aunt's in town," Allison said, gesturing over her shoulder to Anna.

The waitress transferred her eye to Anna. "You sure run to type, don't you?"

Anna narrowed her eyes at the waitress, but Allison smiled. "You should see my grandmother."

"Uh huh. Table for two?"

The waitress seated them by the far wall, away from the other diners, and abandoned them to their menus. Allison scoured the page quickly, wondering how much she could order from the twenty dollars she'd borrowed from Noah.

"Do you come here a lot?" Anna asked. She was looking around the restaurant a little askance.

"A few times," Allison said absently. She had reached the senior's portion of the menu, and she knew just what she was going to order. "Beacon Hills doesn't have that many restaurants."

"It's certainly not like L.A."

"Tell me about it." Allison put the menu down. "Actually, do tell me about it. Tell me about you, about your family."

"They're your family too," Anna said, as she reached into her purse.

The waitress rolled up with two glasses of water. "Ready?"

"I'll have the liver and onions," Allison said immediately. "Don't overcook the liver. And can you sauté a big pile of spinach to go with that?"

The waitress eyed her. "Are you okay?"

"Nope," Allison said cheerily. "Oh, and do you have any garlic bread?"

"Sure." The waitress turned to Anna. "How about you?"

Anna ordered a chicken burger and the waitress vanished. Allison took the opportunity to drink her entire glass of water in one go. "Okay," she said when she came up for air. "Family."

"Here's a picture of everyone last Christmas," Anna said, showing Allison a photograph pulled from her wallet. "That's my parents, Victor and Inez. And my brothers, Rafael and Matias, and Matias's family."

Allison examined the photograph. She knew everyone in it, all of her cousins and relatives. Her uncle Matias, who had been so badly hurt in the pack wars and never healed all the way, was sitting at an angle to the camera to hide the worst of the scarring. "Are those your kids with you?"

"Yes." Anna pointed them out. "That's Martin, he's fifteen. Veronica and Yolanda, they're twins, they're twelve. And Hannah."

Allison looked at her littlest cousin, only four years old. Hannah stood out in the family photograph, not only because Anna was holding her in an iron grip to prevent an escape. Inez had always called Hannah the family changeling, born ten months after Anna's divorce and looking more fae than some actual fairies Allison knew. "She looks like a handful."

"She is," Anna said, putting the picture on the table. "She woke me up at five by jumping on my bed."

Allison sat back. "Are you married?" she asked.

"Not anymore."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Anna said, waving the apology away. "I'm not."

"Oh."

"Not like that." She picked up the photograph again. "I got married too young, and we didn't really have anything in common."

"Then it's good, then," Allison said, meaning it this time. She had heard Anna talk about her ex-husband, knew that the marriage had been arranged at Victor's strong suggestion following the pack wars, and that Anna at nineteen had been too beaten down by the fall out of the carnage to object. It had taken her over ten years to be able to stand up to her father and divorce the man she barely cared about.

"I think so." Anna handed Allison the picture. "You can keep this."

"Thank you," Allison said, taking it. "Do you have any pictures of Clara? My mother?"

"Not with me," Anna said. "Mama has most of them. After Clara died…" Anna swallowed. "Mama had a hard time dealing with it, more than the rest of us, I think."

The waitress swung by, dropping a basket of garlic bread on the table in passing, and Allison had a piece of bread in her mouth before the basket hit the table.

"Mama would love to meet you," Anna said in a rush. "Can't you come home with me? Just for a few days. You can meet everyone, and they can meet you."

Allison nearly choked on the bread. It took her a few moments to swallow. "I don't think that's a good idea," she said. Anna's face fell. "Not yet."

"Is it because of school?" Anna asked. "You can come on a weekend. Just for a day."

"Anna." Allison looked directly at her aunt. "I know what happened after Clara died." Anna went very still. "And I know that if I just show up in L.A., alive, with everyone knowing I was raised by Argents, that things are going to get messy."

"Shit," Anna said. She put her hand over her mouth. Allison could practically see the calculations going on in Anna's head, of the political fallout and repercussions the pack would face after all that violence, all that bloodshed.

"If your mother wants to come to Beacon Hills, I can ask Derek if it's okay," Allison went on. "But I can't go to L.A., not right now."

"I will figure something out," Anna said. She pushed her hair back from her face, her hand catching her long black curls. "I promise."

"Okay." Allison picked up more garlic bread.

"Tell me more about you," Anna said. "You said you work at the sheriff's station?"

"Part time, after school," Allison said through a mouthful. "I'm in my junior year of high school."

Anna frowned. "Aren't you too old for that? Martin's in his junior year."

Allison knew that her cousin Martin, for all that he was nearly as tall as his father at fifteen and almost as burly, was shy and brilliant and had had the best tutors money could buy. How different they were, separated by a trick of fate. "We moved around a lot. And I was a stupid child."

Anna frowned harder. "What?"

"I was." Allison took another bite. "One might argue that I still am." Anna was still looking at her rather askance. "Anyway, I'm not good at much of anything. Gymnastics, maybe. Running. The principal wanted me to join the cross-country team as an extracurricular, but I don't have time with work."

Something crossed Anna's face. "Is the sheriff _making_ you work at the station?"

"What?" Allison nearly choked again. "No! I like working there. It's interesting. I'm helping, at least a little."

Anna was quiet as the waitress brought over their food, and Allison spent the next few minutes inhaling the nearly raw liver and spinach. If that didn't take the edge off her anemia, nothing would.

"Do you do anything else?" Anna asked once Allison was mopping her plate with a piece of bread. "Any other hobbies? Do you have a boyfriend? Or a girlfriend?"

Allison rolled her eyes. "No hobbies, not really. And I might be involved with someone. It's… complicated."

"How so?"

And oh, Allison really didn't want to get into the Peter Hale conversation with Anna. "Well, he just found out that I'm related to you, not Chris Argent, so he's thinking things over."

Anna narrowed her eyes. "Does he consider that a problem?" she asked sharply.

"No, just more complicated." Allison reached for Anna's water glass. "He's a Hale, so, you know. Politics."

"A Hale," Anna repeated.

"Yes."

"But not the alpha I talked to."

"No."

Anna was still staring at Allison. "We didn't hear much about the Hales, who survived the fire. Only that Talia Hale was one of the dead."

Allison finished the water. "Yes."

"You don't want to talk about this."

"I just don't see the point." She wiped her hands on her napkin. "That's the least interesting part of my life."

"Okay." Anna picked up her burger. "Do you do anything interesting when you're not at school or work?"

Allison shrugged. "There was a wendigo making its way down from Oregon, a couple of weeks ago. I took that down."

Anna froze mid-chew. "A what?"

Maybe she had never heard of a wendigo. "A cannibalistic monster," Allison said. "About twelve feet tall, super-big claws, very sharp teeth. They eat anything in their path, animal or human, so there was no reasoning with it. I had to deal with it before it hit a populated area."

Anna put her burger down. "Did you go with your alpha? How many of you were there?"

"What? No, Derek would be useless in a fight like that. It was just me." Allison didn't understand why Anna had gone so pale. "What?"

It took Anna a moment to respond. "What did they teach you, these Argents who raised you?"

"Enough to do what I have to, to protect people," Allison retorted.

"You could have been hurt!"

"Would you have stood back, knowing people would die if you didn't do anything?" Allison demanded. "I didn't ask to be raised like this, okay, but I will not stand by and let innocent people be hurt."

"Excuse me." The waitress appeared beside their table. "Do you want anything else?"

"Do you have any more of that cherry-apple pie?" Allison asked, never taking her eyes off Anna.

"Sure. Be right up." The waitress vanished.

Anna looked away first, casting her eyes after the waitress. "She doesn't make any sound when she walks."

"There's a lot of people in Beacon Hills who aren't exactly what they appear."

"And what do the Argents do to them?"

"Chris doesn't know about most of it," Allison said. "A lot of people have a lot of practice in hiding in plain sight."

Anna shook her head. "If he did know?"

"He wouldn't do anything about it," Allison said. "Like I said, Chris follows the Code. He and his men will only go after someone who's a threat to humans. And he's stopped being proactive about things."

"Will that change, now that he knows what you are?"

"Probably not," Allison said. At least not with her parentage. Allison wasn't sure how Chris was going to shake out on the whole human alpha thing yet. "And if it does? I'll handle it."

A flash of silver-blue ran through Anna's eyes. "I could make sure you don't have to."

Allison went still, the sudden threat making itself seen.

Of course Anna wanted to kill Chris Argent. She'd been practically ready to rip this throat out at the station, and that Allison could understand.

But this? If Anna went after Chris now, there would be no witnesses, and very likely no survivors.

"I have a formal request," Allison said, shifting so her feet were flat on the floor, her back straight. "That you and everyone under your command, wolf, human or otherwise, leave Christopher Argent alone."

Anna stared at Allison. "That is a very specific request," she said after a moment.

"Chris didn't harm Clara, and he didn't know I was stolen until twelve hours ago." Allison put her hands on the table. "Let human law deal with him."

"Human law is made for people like him to escape any consequences," Anna said with a hnt of a growl in her voice.

Allison raised her eyebrow. "Do you really think that _Tony Stark_ would let someone who killed his fiancée off the hook under human law?"

"And stole his child."

Something in Allison's stomach cramped. She must have eaten too fast. "I am asking that you let human law decide Chris's guilt or innocence."

"Me, or anyone under my command," Anna clarified.

"You're second in command in the L.A. pack, that covers mostly everyone."

Anna hesitated. Allison waited, wondering if Anna would bring up the two individuals who that would leave out.

In the end, Anna sat back. "I concede to your request," she said. "But I cannot tell my father what to do. Nor my mother."

"Then I'll ask them myself," Allison shot back, feeling a weight lift from her shoulders. For now. "This isn't about me, and it's not about Chris. If your pack went after a Hunter, who's not even in your territory, can you imagine what would happen?"

"Yes," Anna said, to Allison's surprise.

"And you'd do it anyway?"

Anna stared down at her burger. "I might," she said after a minute. "If I knew he had killed my sister and stolen you away."

Allison could understand. "Let human law find out," she said. "Then we can talk."

"Agreed."

"Thanks." Allison put her elbows on the table. "Are you going to eat all your fries?"

A weak smile came to Anna's face, and she turned her plate. "You're as bad as my children."

Allison reached for a fry. "Tell me about them?"

For the rest of the meal, Anna talked about her family, mostly her children, but also her mother and Matias and his family. Allison knew that Anna had a complicated relationship with Victor, so her silence in that direction was not a surprise, but she wondered at how Anna didn't speak about Rafael, the oldest of the Vasquez siblings.

Allison's pie arrived, then they had coffee. When the bill came, Allison tried to put down her borrowed twenty, but Anna wouldn't let her. "I invited you out," Allison protested.

Anna sighed in exasperation. "I am your aunt."

"What about social convention?"

Anna picked up the bill. "No."

Grumbling, Allison stuffed the twenty back into her pocket, and followed Anna to the cashier.

Once they were outside, Allison glanced at the clock on the bank down the street. "When do you have to leave?" she asked.

"My plane leaves at seven, and your alpha was pretty strong in his suggestion that I be on it."

Allison tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Do you want to sit over at the park for a while?"

Anna nodded. "You're looking better."

"Food," Allison said gravely. "Is my favourite thing in the whole world."

The park in question was across from City Hall, and was landscaped to within an inch of its life. Allison dropped down onto a bench overlooking the fountain, and groaned. God, what a day.

Anna perched on the bench at Allison's side, a marked contrast to Allison's hobo chic in her expensive pantsuit and silk blouse. "So now what do we do?"

"You can give me your number, we can text."

"Yes," Anna said. Allison hauled out her phone. "And maybe I can take a picture?"

"Proof of life?" Allison said distractedly. "What's your number?" Anna gave it to her. "Ok, hang on." Allison bunched over to her aunt and held up her phone for a picture. "Smile."

She took the picture, of her and her aunt Anna, on a sunny California afternoon. For now, everything was good, and nothing hurt. It would, later, when the wolf packs surrounding L.A. came demanding restitution, but only time would bring that to their door.

"Okay." She sent the picture to Anna's phone. "Now no one can say that they haven't seen us in the same room together."

Anna sat back. "I don't know how I'm going to tell my parents about you," she said, her eyes on Allison.

Allison pulled one leg up to her chest. "You don't want to wait for the cops to tell them tomorrow?"

Anna shuddered. "My father would not be pleased with me if he found out that I kept this from him."

Allison tapped her fingers against her knee. She had never been thrilled with how Anna kept referring up to Victor in such deferential ways, when she had been running the L.A. pack for years, practically on her own. But Allison also knew that she wasn't exactly free and clear in the daddy issues department. "If he gets mad at you, I'll fight him."

"Allison."

"What?" She raised her fists in a boxing stance. "These hands were made for punching."

"No, they aren't." Anna took Allison's hands and flattened them out. She turned them over, running her thumbs over Allison's palms. "You're a child, you shouldn't be fighting."

"You were a child, too," Allison said, dropping all playfulness. "I know what happened. I know what you had to do."

Anna kept looking at Allison's hands. "Did Hunters tell you of my sins?" she asked, voice straying towards bitterness.

"No." Allison squeezed Anna's hands. "It's not a sin to try to defend yourself."

"Is that what I did?" Anna pulled her hands away.

"Is it?"

Anna looked across the grass. She was quiet for a long time. "How can I answer your question, when anything I say is going to give proof to what Hunters told you about werewolves being monsters?"

Allison pulled her other leg up onto the bench. "I know that when you're young and you lose the most important person in your life, sometimes the grief burns everything away but the anger."

After a minute, Anna looked back at her. "What did you do?"

It had been so long since Allison had lashed out following Victoria's death, when she had been trying so hard to be the person, the _Argent_ , everyone wanted her to be. She had done so many terrible things to the wolves. It had been decades for her, but only a few months for them.

And somehow, through some miracle, everyone had forgiven her.

Well, mostly everyone. Allison still had no idea where Derek was on that whole process.

She cleared her throat. "I hurt people. I did things out of anger and grief that make me sick to think about."

"Did you kill anyone?"

"No." Allison looked at her hands. "I didn't. And somehow, we've managed to work through it."

"They've forgiven you?"

"Something like that."

Anna nodded, her jaw clenching. "The living can forgive."

And Allison could hear what Anna was not saying. _The dead cannot._

"We make our choices," Allison said. "And we have to live with them."

"That sounds really easy on paper."

"A lot of things are."

Anna put her head in her hands. "How am I going to tell my parents about you?"

"I don't know," Allison said. "I mean, I could tell them, but I can't leave town."

Anna sat up, her eyes sparking. "That's it."

"What is?" Allison demanded.

"I can make a video, and that way they can see you." She dug into her purse for her phone. "I don't think they'll believe me otherwise."

"Um, okay." Allison ran her hand over her head, trying to pull some order to the hair escaping her braid. "How do I look?"

"Amazing. And still terrible." Anna thumbed at her phone, and held it up. "Whenever you are ready."

Allison took a deep breath. She almost wished she'd had time to prepare, but how on earth could anything prepare her for this? She looked at the camera, and smiled. "Hi," she said with a little wave. "I'm Allison. Clara was my mother."

### Anna Vasquez

Anna parked her car in the garage, turned off the engine, and let out a sigh. It was past ten, and she had just gotten home.

And there was still so much to do before she could go to sleep.

Moving slowly, Anna picked up her purse and got out of the car. She wanted to go check in on the children, who should all be in bed by now, but probably weren't. After the afternoon with Allison, Anna wanted to hug all her children and tell them she loved them.

God, what Clara's daughter had survived.

"Ms. Vasquez."

"Yes?" Anna turned around. It was one of the security staff. "Salim?"

"Your father asked to see you when you got home."

Of course he had. And now Anna had to go see him, because otherwise there would be repercussions for the man made to deliver the message. "Thank you," Anna said. "I'll go right now."

Salim gave her a small smile, and went back to his post.

Squaring her shoulders, Anna strode towards her parents' part of the family compound. She greeted the various security guards as she went. She knew them all well, having taken on the role of vetting the house and security staff following a particularly nasty incident in the winter of 2009. These wolves knew their jobs, knew they were getting paid astronomically more than other security guards, and knew what would happen to them if they betrayed the pack.

Anna was not a woman to be careless with the safety of her children.

She let herself in her parents' door, as it was far too late for the housekeeper to be on duty, and kept walking, through the large house of her childhood. At this time of night, when Victor was expecting to hold court with Anna, he would probably be in the library. She could hear movement in that direction, and refused to let herself falter.

"Mija," called her mother as soon as Anna walked into the room. "There you are. Do you want a drink? You look cold."

"I'm fine, Mama," Anna said. She went over to kiss her mother's cheek, all the while being conscious of her father's silence. "How was dinner?"

"Fine, as always." Inez got up to pour another cup of tea. "And you?"

"I'm fine," Anna said automatically.

"Hmm," said Victor, and Anna wanted to scream. "Where did you go? You weren't at work."

"No, I wasn't," Anna said evenly. She took the cup and saucer from her mother and put them on the table. "Mama, can you sit down? I have something to tell you."

Inez looked up at her, a little confused, but went to sit back in her chair.

"Where have you been off to, Anna?" Victor continued. "No one knew where you went."

"No, because I didn't want to talk about it with anyone." Anna went over to the television screen on the far wall. She'd had all the televisions in the house wired to connect to the children's phones over the summer. It would at least make this easier with her parents.

"Where did you go?" Victor asked again, his eyes flaring red.

"Beacon Hills."

That seemed to confuse him more than anything. "Why? What is there in a town so small that would pull you away from your responsibilities here?"

Anna plugged in her phone and turned back to her parents. "I had to go look into something."

"What?" Viktor asked again.

Anna took a deep breath. "I found Clara's daughter."

Victor and Inez both went still, then Victor was on his feet and across the room, in Anna's face. "What lies are you falling for?" he snarled, shifting to the wolf.

Anna felt her own wolf rise, her anger and confused heartache rising as she faced off with her father. "It's not lies!" she shouted. "I saw her, I talked to her!"

"Tricks," Victor spat.

"The police tested her DNA," Anna retorted. "She's Clara's daughter. And unless you want me to think that the police in Beacon Hills and in Los Angeles are all somehow in on a conspiracy, that's what I believe."

"How?" Inez asked, drawing Victor's attention away from Anna. "How can this be? She died with my Clara, no one ever admitted to taking her."

"Hunters," Anna said heavily, and Inez let out a low keening note. Victor was at her side in an instant, holding her hand. "Hunters killed Clara and stole Allison away." She breathed out. "It was the Argents."

"Hunters," Victor echoed, and there was the weight of all the dead in his voice, on all sides. "We never thought…"

Inez, however, was looking at Anna with wide, bright eyes. "Allison? Her name is Allison?"

"Yes, Mama."

"Does she hate us?" Inez went on. "Was she raised to hate us?"

"Does she _hunt_ our kind?" Victor asked.

"No," Anna said quickly. "Mama, Papa, she's so amazing. She's been through so much but she's safe now, she's away from those people and she knows the Beacon Hills alpha, he sounded protective of her. And she looks so much like Clara."

Anna went over to her phone. She turned on the television, then pulled up the picture that Allison had taken of the two of them on the bench. She heard Inez gasp.

"What is wrong with her?" Victor asked, his voice still heavy. "Clara never looked sick like that."

"She was kidnapped by a rival band of Hunters yesterday, and they did things to her." Anna closed the picture and pulled up the video she'd taken. "But she got away and she's healing."

"Which Hunters?" Victor demanded, already moving onto the familiar track for vengeance.

"She didn't give me their names, but I could probably find out." Anna hit play. "Watch this."

On the screen, Allison appeared. " _Hi, I'm Allison. Clara was my mother_ ," said the girl in her perfect, slightly accented Spanish.

Across the room, Inez gasped again.

" _I have no idea how aunt Anna is going to explain all this to you,"_ Allison went on _. "I'm pretty sure I gave her a heart attack when she first saw me—"_

 _"It wasn't that bad_ ," Anna interrupted on the screen.

 _"You had literally just seen a ghost,"_ Allison said, smiling at Anna behind the camera _. "I know how much I look like Clara. I've seen her photos, and I know this…"_ she gestured to her face. " _It must be strange. I don't know anything about what's going on or where everything is in the world right now, but I do want to get to know you all._ " She kept her eyes on the camera, but it was obvious that it took an effort. " _If you want to know me. Anna will tell you that I was raised by Hunters and I know that a lot of people will be upset by that."_

"How does she know that?" Inez demanded. Anna paused the video. "What does she know?"

"Mostly everything," Anna said. "I don't know how. What the Hunters told her, but also maybe the local werewolves."

"Who are they? Victor asked absently. He was staring at Allison's frozen image on the screen.

"Hales," Anna said. "Not all of them died." Anna thought about telling her father that Allison was in a relationship with a Hale, but decided against it. It could wait. She pressed play again.

 _"And this is the hard part,"_ Allison continued _. "Because there is a lot in motion right now, most of which I'll ask Anna to tell you, but I have to formally request that you, Victor Vasquez, and Inez Vasquez, do not take any action, retaliatory or otherwise, against Christopher Argent until human law confirms whether he had any part in Clara's death."_

"What?" Victor demanded.

Anna paused the video again. "Allison thinks that it was the wife who took Allison. Not the husband. She said that Victoria Argent had just lost her own child and wanted another one."

"So she killed my daughter to make that happen?" Victor demanded. At his side, Inez was crying silently. "And my granddaughter now begs for the life of this man?"

"She's not begging," Anna snapped. "She asked the same thing of me, and believe me, in person, it was intense."

"Why should I listen to this child?" Victor asked. "What if I go up to Beacon Hills and cut this man's throat, for what he has done to my family?"

"Then we'll lose Allison just after we got her back," Anna said sharply. "She is not a child, Papa. She has been through more than I could ever have imagined. Do you know why she asked for us to hold out hand over Christopher Argent's death?"

"Stockholm syndrome, is that what it's called?"

"Wait." Anna unpaused the video.

 _"I know this may sound like an unfair request,"_ Allison said. _"But if werewolves kill the last standing Argent now, without proof of his guilt unassailable in the eyes of human law, I am very worried that a war might break out."_ Allison rubbed at her eyes. " _This is an incredibly unsettled time. Aliens in New York, that thing with the President last night in Washington that Tony helped stop."_

Allison let her hand drop, and her eyes were unsettling with their intensity.

_"Metahumans are next, and if the world finds out that the supernatural is real, a lot of people could be in a lot of danger. Werewolves cannot win in this war, because all the Hunters have to do is to tell the world that we're real, and the world will come after us."_

"She says we," Inez mused, wiping away her tears. "Is she telling the truth, Anna?"

"I think so," Anna said. "Everything she said smelled like the truth."

 _"Besides,"_ Allison said after a pause _. "I think we can all agree that Tony Stark will make damned sure he gets to the truth about what happened to Clara."_

"Why does she say it like that?" Inez wondered.

" _Anna can tell you everything about me. I'm not very interesting."_ Allison pulled one leg up to her chest _. "I'm in high school, I have a job at the sheriff's station. I have friends."_ She smiled at the camera _. "Anna has my number. If you want to come up to visit Beacon Hills, just let me know and I'll poke the alpha for permission. This is all going to be…. Awkward, probably, but we'll see how it goes_." She gave a small wave. _"So, hi, and maybe we'll talk soon."_

Anna turned off the video. The room was silent for a long time.

Then Inez spoke. "Is she safe?"

"I think so," Anna said. "She's staying with the sheriff. I saw them together, she seems very at ease with him, and he with her."

"Too at ease?" Inez asked.

"No," Anna said, understanding the inference. "Not like that. Allison says that the sheriff has a son her age, and they're friends."

"What happens next?" Victor asked, standing creakily. In only a few minutes, he had gone from looking youthful and energetic, to showing his years.

Anna had spent the entire plane ride planning her answer to this question. "We wait for the LAPD to arrive here tomorrow morning to tell us officially that Allison is Clara's daughter. Then we start reaching out, I think to San Diego first, then Santa Barbara and Las Vegas. San Jose will have to wait."

"Why would you do that?" Victor asked.

"Because the armistice is predicated on Clara and Allison both being dead," Anna replied. "And now Allison is alive. Unless you wish to deny her."

The words fell into the room like a stone; as close to a challenge as Anna had ever gotten with her father. For a long moment, Anna and Victor stared at each other.

Then Inez stood up. "No," she said. "We will not deny Allison as blood." She went over to Victor, and he put his arm around her shoulders. "We will wait for the police to tell us that she is Clara's daughter. And then we will deal with the consequences."

Victor kissed Inez's cheek. "The consequences might be high."

"I know." Inez looked at Anna. "But I will not deny my grandchild." She nodded at the television. "I want to see her again."

As Anna went to restart the video, she was already planning ahead, thinking of the calls she would have to make, the meetings to arrange, the conversations with the pack.

Anna was so very happy to have gotten her niece back, but she was only now starting to realize how incredibly complicated things were about to become.

### Tony Stark

"Tony."

Tony looked up from the myriad display screens around the penthouse of Avengers Tower. "Rhodey."

"Any news?"

"On what?" Tony rubbed his hand over his chin. It was after midnight, and he felt like shit. "Killian? No. Extremis? No."

Rhodey came over to Tony's side, collapsing on the couch. "The FBI's taken the Vice-President into custody."

"Good." Tony rubbed his chin again. It had been days since he had properly shaved, and he felt scruffy. "They have enough to hold him  on treason charges?"

"Yeah, especially after they cracked open the A.I.M. financial records." Rhodey absently tapped at a display, expanding a structural diagram of the White House's East Wing. "Looks like there might be a few more people in the administration who go down on this."

Tony looked out across the dark city. He had holed up in New York following the events in Washington the previous day, so he could get at his servers while still being close enough in case Iron Man was needed. Steve had stayed in Washington, and who knew where Barton had fucked off to.

Bruce Banner had been living in the tower for months now, working on various projects, and he had offered to help with Extremis, but even he had to admit that virology was not his strong suit.

No, apparently their virology expert was across the country in Beacon Hills, recovering from being kidnapped and tortured.

Allison.

Tony squeezed his eyes shut. He had to focus. "Has anyone found anything on Maya Hansen?"

"No," Rhodey said. "Jarvis, any updates?"

"I am afraid not, sir," said Jarvis apologetically. "There has been no credit card or banking activity since the first bombing took place. Her car has been stationary, and her cell phone inactive."

"She could be dead," Rhodey pointed out.

"She could be," Tony agreed. "I just really hope not, because that means we're relying on a seventeen-year-old high school junior with the world's worst academic record to find something that will keep a whole bunch of walking IEDs from popping their lids at the most inopportune time."

"Don't call them that," Rhodey said absently. "Rogers told me that Jarvis was working with Allison on Extremis."

Allison.

Damn it, Tony, _focus_. "Yep," Tony said, getting to his feet. He felt weird. Maybe he was dehydrated. He tended to forget about pedantic things like water while he was busy.

"Did you ask her about it?" Rhodey called after Tony.

"Nope."

The resulting silence felt heavy. Tony got a glass of water, drank it, then got another. He didn't want to turn around, didn't want to deal with whatever Rhodey was going to throw at him.

But the blow didn't fall. "Jarvis," Rhodey said, "Do you have Allison's school records?"

"I do."

"Can I see them?"

Tony drank a third glass of water and stared out at the city for little bit longer. He didn't need to see the school records again, he'd memorized them like everything else he'd found on Allison.

Especially her medical records.

"Who fails second grade?" Rhodey asked. "They really moved around a lot, didn't they?"

"Indeed," said Jarvis. "I ran an analysis on Allison's academic standing with her hospital records, and found a direct correlation between her injuries and poor academic showing."

"No kidding." Silence for about a minute, while Tony thought about broken bones, about torture, about Afghanistan. "Things got better last year for her."

"Yes, although following Victoria Argent's death, she practically failed all of her classes."

"How's she doing this year?"

"Beacon Hills does not have all of those records on their servers, but the ones that are show top marks. That includes two senior-level classes, mathematics and computer science."

"You know," Rhodey said. "I had a friend when I was a kid. Nice guy, but his dad used to kick the crap out of him on the regular." Footsteps, and Rhodey appeared at Tony's side, elbowing him out of the way to get a glass. "He was terrible in school."

"Your point?" Tony snapped.

Rhodey dug around in the fridge for some juice. "His dad died in a car wreck when he was twelve. After that, his grades got better." He poured himself a glass. "It's funny what happens when all your energy isn't focused on survival."

"This isn't some afterschool special," Tony said, putting his glass on the counter.

"No, it's not." Rhodey leveled a steady gaze at Tony. "You haven't talked to her yet, have you?"

Tony walked back over to the screens. One of them held a school photo of Allison when she was nine. Her hair was up in braids and her smile was hesitant, and Tony wanted to do nothing more than invent time travel to go back in time to prevent those monsters from taking his daughter away.

"How can I?" Tony asked, staring at the photo. "Do you know what she was doing this morning? She was at the hospital for a blood transfusion, because of everything that happened yesterday."

"You couldn't have stopped anything that happened to her yesterday," Rhodey said. "Even if Romanoff told you about it, which, we're going to deal with at some point. You know how long it takes you to fly across the country."

"It's not about yesterday," Tony said. He collapsed all of Allison's records and went back to staring at the Extremis diagrams. "It's about everything."

"What are you talking about?"

"It's been almost three weeks," Tony said, the words bubbling out of him. "Three weeks since I saw her, three weeks since I learned all about her." He pressed his hands against his eyes for a moment. "I kept telling myself that it had to be a trick, that it all had to be some sort of game, that if I just waited, I'd find out what she really wanted from me."

Rhodey was silent.

"All she asked was that I look into Extremis and Aldrich Killian," Tony went on. "Then she sends Steve over on some sort of Hydra hunt. She hasn't asked about me, or her mother. She hasn't asked for any help, not even from Jarvis after she got cornered by those thugs on Friday."

Tony picked up a stray screwdriver he'd left lying on the couch. He needed something to do with his hands before he started screaming.

"And I didn't do anything," he continued. "I didn't do anything to help her."

"You were helping with the aftermath of the bombing attacks," Rhodey reminded him.

"I could have done something," Tony pressed. "Sent someone to help, _something_."

His chest ached, the memory of that cave in Afghanistan pressing too close.

"Who knows what could have happened to her yesterday? They only had her for a few hours, but it could have been longer, they could have been planning on—on—"

Rhodey put his hand on the back of Tony's neck. "You need to breathe," he said, a solid, reassuring presence, pulling Tony down to earth. Rhodey was always pulling Tony back down to earth. "Yeah, they could have been planning to do anything to Allison. But she got away, remember? She got away."

Tony nodded, his voice trapped in his throat.

"Tony, you have got to call her. Better yet, leave all this bullshit to the feds and the secret service and go back to California."

"And say what?" Tony demanded. "Hi, sorry I didn't do anything to help you when you were being tortured, I had better things to do?"

"Tell her that Romanoff didn't tell you about it and you found out too late," Rhodey said. "Tell her that you're sorry it happened. Tell her anything."

Tony looked away.

"Because the longer you wait to talk to her, the more likely you are to lose her," Rhodey said. "She just found out that her entire life was a lie. She needs you."

"Does she?" Tony demanded. "From what I've seen over the last few weeks, she doesn't need anybody."

Rhodey's expression was incredulous. "She's _seventeen,"_ he said. "Jesus, Tony, you got something no one ever gets, and that's a second chance. You can't just let it fall through your fingers."

Tony looked at the floor. "I didn't need anyone back then."

"Tony, you fucking _idiot_." Rhodey wrapped his arm around Tony's shoulders, hauling him in for a hug. "You had me. And later you had Clara."

Tony closed his eyes. He'd been trying to avoid thinking about Clara in all of this.

"And if you do something soon, you'll have Allison in your life, too."

"Maybe she doesn't want to be in my life."

"Or maybe she doesn't want to ask because she doesn't want to be rejected. Does that sound like anyone you know?"

"Steve, a little," Tony said. "Maybe. I don't know him all that well—" He ducked away before Rhodey could put him in a headlock. "All right, I'll call her."

"Thank god."

"Tomorrow."

"Tony."

"Maybe I'll text her instead."

Rhodey let Tony go. "I swear to God, your stupid drama."

"Yeah." Tony pushed his hand through his hair. "Fuck."

"Yeah." Rhodey leaned back on the couch. "Hey, Tony?"

"Yes, dear?"

"What would have happened if Allison didn't twig us to Killian?"

"Huh?"

"I mean, three weeks ago, she dumps a pile of intel in your lap about what Killian was up to with Extremis, and we started digging." Rhodey tapped his thumb against his knee. "You saw what the feds dug out of that laboratory. You know Killian knew we were coming after him."

"Yeah, I saw all that yesterday, why?"

"What if we didn't know?" Rhodey was looking at him now. "What if no one knew about Killian's plans? What if the attacks on the President went down without anyone knowing the Vice-President was behind it all?"

"I don't know," Tony said. "That would have been one hell of a shit storm."

"Yeah." Rhodey stood up. "I'm crashing here tonight, I have a briefing at the Pentagon in the morning and I need sleep."

"Sleep tight."

Rhodey pushed Tony's shoulder. "You too." He left the room, shaking his head the entire time.

Tony got up and walked over to the window. It was in this spot that Loki had thrown him out the window, all those months before, and then aliens, and flying the nuke through the portal into the Chitauri dimension.

He shivered. He could have died so many times, and he never would have known Allison was alive.

"Sir," Jarvis said, drawing Tony's attention. "I have found something interesting."

"Sure." Tony turned around.

Time to go back to work.

Allison waited by the front door, waiting for Stiles to come downstairs so they could go to school. "We're going to be late!" she yelled.

"I can't find my history assignment!" Stiles yelled back, panicking.

"Oh my god," Allison muttered. Noah poked his head out of his office. "Is he always like this?"

"Yes, although there's usually less yelling." Noah wandered down the hall towards the kitchen. Allison followed him. "You sure you're up for school today?"

"There's nothing wrong with me."

"Okay." Noah poured himself more coffee. "I'm working the late shift. Can you two find something for dinner?"

"Probably." Overhead came a loud thump, then a louder thud.

"I'm okay!" Stiles called after a minute.

Noah slurped his coffee. "It's your birthday coming up," he said out of the blue.

"Next Monday." Allison shrugged. "Well, legally. Technically it was the twenty-third, but my birth certificate says the twenty-fourth, so."

"Do you want to do something on Sunday?" Noah asked. "Maybe a party? Have your friends over? We can make hamburgers."

Allison raised her eyebrows. "Do you really want a half-dozen teenage werewolves eating you out of house and home?"

"Yes," Noah said, so simply that Allison was thrown. She didn't know what to say.

"You, uh, don't have to."

"I know that." Noah took another sip of coffee. "But after the last few weeks you've had, you deserve a little fun."

A quick thump-thump-thump on the stairs, and Stiles appeared in the hallway. "What are you doing?" he demanded of Allison. "We're going to be late!"

"Think about it," Noah said as Stiles yanked Allison down the hall. "Let me know!"

"Bye!" Stiles practically flung Allison out the door towards the jeep. She went, wondering why her stomach felt so strange.

Noah didn't have to throw her a birthday party.

He didn't have to do anything for her.

But he had offered.

"What's wrong with you?" Stiles asked as he peeled out of the driveway.

Allison cleared her throat. "Your dad said we could have a party on Sunday."

"What for?"

Allison pressed her hands against the seat. "My birthday."

Stiles glanced over at her. "You don't sound all that happy about it."

Allison shrugged. "It would be nice to have everyone over, I guess. Noah said we could have hamburgers."

"We could." Stiles went back to watching the road. "You'll be eighteen. Oh, you can buy fireworks! We can set off fireworks!"

"And your dad will kill us both," Allison snapped, a little relieved at the change in direction. Thinking about her birthday was making her uneasy and she didn't know why.

"What else can you do?"

"Get married," Allison said.

Stiles shuddered. "Please, god, no."

"I can drop out of school and work full time."

"Dad won't let you do that." Stiles slowed at a light. "You can get a tattoo."

"No, I can't."

"Yeah, you can."

"No, I can't." Allison held out her arm. "The ink won't hold."

Stiles frowned. "Derek has that massive tattoo on his back."

"Werewolf tattoos are really fucking painful," Allison said. "Anyway. I don't want one."

"What about changing your name?"

Allison looked out the window. "I mean, I could," she said after a minute. The first time she'd turned eighteen, Allison had changed her last name to Stark as soon as she could, with the help of a lawyer Tony got her.

And paid for.

But things were different this time around. This time, Tony didn't seem to want to have anything to do with her.

"What would I change it to?" she asked the scenery.

"I don't know," Stiles said. "Vasquez? Stark?"

"I could just marry Peter and change it to Hale."

Stiles made a gagging sound. "Please stop joking about marrying Peter."

"Okay."

"You could change it to Stilinski," Stiles said.

"That's not funny."

"I'm not joking."

Allison glance over at him. Stiles looked serious. "That is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me," Allison said.

"It's out there," Stiles said. "If you want to ditch _Argent_."

Allison's phone pinged. She pulled it out of the pocket of the hoodie she had borrowed from Stiles. What she saw knocked the breath right out of her chest.

It was a text message from Tony Stark.

As soon as she saw the name, she doubted it. Why would Tony get in touch with her, after all this time, and by text? Angrily, she opened a message to Jarvis. _Someone sent me a text with a spoof of Tony's name on it. Can you find out who it was so I can go punch them?_

Jarvis's reply was instantaneous. _That was not a spoof message. That is from Mr. Stark._

Allison stared at the phone. A text message. Tony had sent her a text message.

A _text message?_

"Are you okay?" Stiles asked. "You're looking sort of homicidal."

"Can you pull over?" Allison asked. Her voice sounded hollow.

"Yeah, that's a good idea." Stiles veered over to the side of the road, pulling the jeep to a halt.

Allison dropped her phone into the cupholder and fumbled the door open. The air smelled too fresh and the sunshine was too bright.

_A fucking text message?_

"Are you going to punch something?" Stiles asked from inside the car.

"Maybe," Allison replied. She wanted to hit something, wanted to distract herself from the noise in her head with pain that she could control.

"Like a tree?"

Allison stared up at the sky. Her aunt Anna had come all the way from L.A. to find her, and her father had sent her a text message a day and a half after he found out she was his daughter.

"So, maybe you can get punching," Stiles said. "Because we are going to be late."

Allison took a deep breath, turned around, and got in the jeep. "Drive."

"Right-e-o." Stiles floored it. "So, what happened back there?"

"My life is a fucking telenovela." Allison went back to her phone.

"Great, I have no idea what that means."

"It doesn't matter. What are you doing today?"

Stiles launched into a rambling tirade about the evils of chemistry. It took Allison a minute to find the courage to open Tony's message.

_Hi It's Tony I guess you know that I'm your father. Let me know if you need anything. Good job on all the Extremis stuff Jarvis says that you guys are close to some answers. Maybe we can talk sometime. I should be back in California soon._

That was it.

Allison stared. That was it?

"And that's not even half of what we have in biology," Stiles grumbled, pulling Allison back with a jerk. "Come on, Erica said she wanted to see you before class."

"Sure," Allison said, putting her phone in her backpack. She couldn't deal with anything right now.

"Are you going to be okay with this?" Stiles asked.

"With what?"

"Going back to school with everything that happened."

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Stiles shrugged. "People are kind of assholes."

Allison slumped down in the seat. "Whatever. I can drop out of school on Monday."

With that, Stiles drove into the parking lot.

Erica met them at the school doors, practically flinging herself at Allison. Allison endured the hug, wincing a little at Erica's werewolf strength. "Are you okay?" Erica asked after a minute.

"I will be." Allison squeezed Erica back. "How about you?"

"Not really." Erica let herself be hauled along on the walk to their lockers, never taking her arm from around Allison's waist. "Stiles told us all yesterday what happened to you. Are the Hunters really gone?"

"Yes." Allison kissed Erica's hair as they walked. "I promise."

"What if they come back?"

"Then I guess we'll see how long I spend in jail for four counts of homicide."

"Please don't," Stiles said over his shoulder. "It's an election year."

Allison growled at him, and Erica let out a relieved little giggle.

Lydia was standing by their lockers, looking terrible but alive. She was wearing concealer on her face, but Allison could still see the bruises through the thick makeup. Jackson and Isaac were standing on either side of her like bouncers. "You're going to be late," Lydia snapped, shoving her math text into her locker.

"So?" Allison gave Erica another squeeze, then went over to hug Lydia. "It's just school. It doesn't matter."

"It does." Lydia put her unbruised cheek against Allison's shoulder. "My parents are driving me crazy, this is the only thing I have left."

"We have the student council candidates meeting after school and she's driving me crazy," Isaac said. Jackson elbowed him in the ribs. "But it's okay."

Allison gave Lydia another squeeze, making the girl squeak, and let her go. "I have to go get into a fight with Peter after school, so have fun."

"Why are you going to get into a fight with Peter?" Erica asked.

"Because my life doesn't have enough drama." Allison looked around at her friends. "Hey, you guys want to come to my birthday party on Sunday?"

"Party?" Lydia said, perking up.

"Will there be food?" Isaac demanded.

"I've never been to anyone's birthday party before," Erica said quietly.

"Oh my god," Jackson said to the ceiling.

"Good," Allison said, smiling for the first time in what felt like weeks. "Noah said we can have hamburgers. I'll tell Boyd in math class."

"We should invite Cora," Stiles said, yanking a notebook from his locker and nearly falling over. "She's new in town."

"Luckily Derek comes as a matched set," Allison muttered under her breath. The bell rang. "Okay, everyone, go to class."

They scattered.

Allison, Stiles and Jackson all tried to squeeze through the door to their history classroom as the same time, which ended up with Jackson elbowing Stiles, who fell against Allison, who practically carried him into the room… only to find that they were lacking a teacher.

"What's going on?" Allison asked, going to sit behind Danny. "How's the ribs?"

The boy smiled at her. "Mr. Barton quit as gym teacher, so Ms. Collins is going to be teaching gym now."

"Why?" Allison asked, scanning the room. Stiles was trying to talk to Scott, who was looking at the floor. Oh, crap.

"I don't know."

"Okay." Allison settled in to wait. She pulled out her phone and sent a message to Noah. _The gang said yes to birthday hamburgers on Sunday. Can I ask Derek and Cora too?_

Then Allison went back to stare at the message from Tony. Seriously, what was that message? Hi, I'm your father, nice job saving the world?

She knew that Tony was only thirty-eight, but _come on_.

And it wasn't like she really needed him or anything. She'd been without a father for sixteen years. Just because she'd been shoved into the past didn't mean anything.

She wasn't going to ask anything of Tony he didn't want to give her. Sure, money would have been nice. Maybe some health insurance, given her recent track record at Beacon Hills Memorial.

But if Tony didn't want to get to know her, if he thought that she was still trying to trick him, or that she was a bad guy…

She wasn't going to push.

Taking a deep breath, Allison wrote a reply to Tony's message _. Hi thank you for your message. I saw you on tv over the weekend, thanks for saving the president and everyone. Terrorist-enforced regime change is so 1980s. If you find anything new re Extremis please let me know, I can duck out of class if needed._ She hesitated, then added, _Given politics I can't come to LA for the foreseeable future so I will be in Beacon Hills should any development arise._

There.

"Attention!" came a shout from the door, and everyone jumped. Danny winced and rubbed his side. The principal strode into the room. "Class, please welcome Mrs. Martin. She's going to be your substitute teacher for history for the next little while."

"Oh god," Jackson muttered as Lydia's mother followed Mr. Andrews into the room.

Allison, who remembered Mrs. Martin as substituting in chemistry class, gave a mental shrug and settled down to an hour of boredom.

She liked boredom. It meant no one was trying to kill her.

"Hello, everyone," said Mrs. Martin, smiling. She smelled nervous, and Allison wondered idly what had gotten her back into teaching. "So, what are you working on?"

With a groan, Jackson raised his hand, and class began.

* * *

The day was long. Biology was a pain, as Erica snagged the seat beside Allison and Lydia glared at them the entire class. Then math, and at least Mr. Lazarov welcomed her back with sincerity. Boyd seemed happy at the invitation to her birthday party, and they went to lunch on good terms.

Allison used the twenty she'd borrowed from Noah the previous day to buy a double helping of chili and a salad, listened to Lydia and Isaac bicker about student council for a while, then they all went off to gym class. Allison joined Lydia and Danny on the bench by the wall, and they watched Ms. Collins teach the other juniors about proper stretching techniques for an agonizing hour.

Then computer science, and Allison finally managed to get back onto her laptop. Jarvis had sent her a few notes about the RNA experiment, but nothing about Tony, and Tony hadn't texted her back.

Allison firmly told herself that she wasn't going to care.

Finally, the bell rang, and Allison went to her locker to get her stuff. There, she found Erica and Boyd trying to psych up Lydia for the student council candidates meeting.

"Just be you," Boyd was saying, to which Erica and Lydia both gave him a look. "What? That's what my mom says."

"Because your mom is nice," Erica said. "But Lydia?"

Lydia turned her glare on Erica.

Allison interjected before bloodshed could occur. "Lydia, why's your mom teaching history?"

Lydia's irritation was deflected off Erica. "Because she's trying to ruin my life," Lydia snapped. "She thinks I need more supervision."

"So why's she teaching a class you're not in?" Isaac asked, sauntering up. He had combed his hair, which made it look worse.

"I don't know." Lydia gave Isaac the once-over. "Well, you'll do."

"Good luck, you two." Allison retrieved her bag. She had an hour or so to kill before she went to find Peter for whatever he wanted to talk about. "Erica, Boyd, what are you doing?"

"Homework," Boyd said. "I have to cover the rink for the late skate, so we're going to go to the library before that." Erica smiled up at him, and Allison could take the hint.

"All right, you all have fun." Allison kissed the air over Lydia's cheek, did the same thing for Erica, then headed down the hall in the rush of students.

Stiles caught her on the stairs. "Where are you going?" he asked.

"I don't know, maybe catch the bus down to the bookstore. What about you?"

Stiles squared his shoulders. "I think I'm going to try to talk to Scott."

"Good." Allison touched his arm. "I'll text you about dinner, okay?"

"Sure."

"Good luck," Allison said, and headed out of the building.

The sun was shining and as far as Allison knew, no one was trying to kill her.

Life was pretty good.

She got on the bus to head downtown, getting off at the shopping plaza that held her bank and one of the theoretical entrances to MacLeod's books. Maybe she could find something interesting that Peter would like to borrow.

Then she made a face at herself. She wasn't going to try to bribe Peter to stay in her life with books. That was too pathetic, even for her.

Allison headed east, past the bank, and swung a quick left to the bookstore entrance. The sign read _Back in five minutes_ , which hadn't moved in years, and Allison pulled the door open and went inside.

The man behind the register, who might have been named MacLeod for all Allison knew, gave her a brief glance, then went back to his book. Allison walked through the muffled shop, taking in the scents of old paper and worn leather. Books stood stacked on wooden shelves, on the radiators, on the floor, and Allison loved it.

Idly, she walked the stacks. She was sure Peter would have already torn through the section on the supernatural, so she kept going, past history, past astrology and cooking (shelved together), and paused by the astronomy section.

Maybe she could find something about Dead Man's moon, to show to Derek. For a werewolf, he didn't know much about moon cycles.

Allison set her backpack down and started burrowing.

Half an hour later, she presented herself at the register, holding three narrow books. The man looked at her. "What?"

Allison held out her treasures. "Please."

The man looked at the books, then at Allison. "Not for sale."

Allison set the books on the counter. "Please."

"You cannot afford my prices."

Allison set her hands on the counter. "Please."

The man sighed, then straightened his glasses. "Twelve dollars."

"Thank you." Allison handed over her money, let the cashier wrap the books in old newspaper and tie them up with butchers' twine, then sailed out of the shop in triumph.

Only twenty-five minutes had elapsed outside of the shop, Allison noted as she checked the time on her phone. Another hour before she would head up to Peter's house. It would only take twenty minutes to walk there, so maybe she could grab some coffee before she left.

Or, Allison thought as she approached the café, she could pick up the thread dangling so neatly in front of her.

Nick Fury and Natasha Romanoff were sitting at the café, artlessly drinking coffee.

Very convincing.

Allison shifted her books to her left arm, leaving her right hand free, and walked over. Both Natasha and Fury looked up at Allison's approach. "Deputy Rushman," Allison said. "May I join you?"

"If you want," Natasha said, as Fury stood up. Allison had almost forgotten how tall the man was. "Do I need to introduce you two?"

"Convention suggests so." Allison held out her hand. "Allison. Last name in limbo."

Fury took her hand and shook it with a military firmness. "Nick Fury."

"Well," Allison said brightly, sinking into the table's spare chair. "How's everyone's week been?"

Fury sat down. "You've been causing me trouble, you know that?"

"No, I haven't," Allison said, placing the books on the table. She'd missed the acerbic repartee she'd had with Fury in the years before he finally retired. "You sent Natasha to town to find me."

"And how do you know that?" Fury asked. "Did the Winter Soldier tell you that?"

Allison smiled. Natasha shifted in her chair. "Have you been able to locate his file? The old Red Room archives should have something in there. You might find some very interesting information."

"Who are you working for?" Fury asked.

"No one," Allison said. "As that would imply that I am getting paid. I'm also not volunteering my services for anything besides the complete and immediate destruction of Aldrich Killian and his megalomaniacal mind games."

"Barton said you're working with Jarvis to find something to stop Extremis," Natasha said.

"On a volunteer basis," Allison clarified. "If there's a paying position out there that would require the same amount of background and experience, please let me know."

"You're not going to try to worm your way into SHIELD?" Fury asked skeptically.

Allison looked at him, letting any shred of amusement drop. "Do you know how SHIELD started?"

Fury raised his eyebrow. "Do _you?"_

"Howard Stark and Margaret Carter took what was left of the SSR and turned it into SHIELD," Allison said. "Basic math. But they didn't do it alone."

"Do you believe everything you're told?" Fury responded, leaning his elbows on the table.

"No," Allison said. "Not anymore." She met Fury's gaze directly. "Have you heard of Operation Paperclip?"

He had, Allison knew, from the slight increase in his heartrate. His expression didn't change. "What was that?"

"After the war," Allison said. "SHIELD recruited Nazi scientists. At the time, the CIA and SHIELD thought it better that the Americans got them instead of the Soviets." She tapped the table. "I think that with the power of hindsight, it is a little easier to say that was wishful thinking."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Fury asked.

Allison drew a line on the table. "How many of those scientists were Hydra? What sort of impact would it have on a growing intelligence agency to have Hydra's rot woven through its roots?"

Fury turned in his seat. "This whole conversation sounds like you've been reading too many spy thrillers."

"Possibly," Allison conceded. She sat back. "Why isn't SHIELD helping track down Aldrich Killian?"

"The President has engaged the FBI and the Secret Service on that matter," Natasha said.

Allison cocked her head to the side. "After the success that SHIELD had in New York with the Avengers?"

"Interjurisdictional squabbles are a pain in the ass," Fury said.

"They are." Allison let the moment hang, then went on. "I have nothing to give you, Director Fury, no evidence, no clues, nothing but a feeling."

"That something's rotten in SHIELD?" Fury demanded.

"SHIELD, the FBI, the Senate, Congress. The military, less so, surprisingly, but that might change."

"Now, see," Fury said, "All of this sounds like you've been fed a line by enemy agents."

"To what purpose?" Allison asked. "I'm seventeen, I have no money, no power, and no one listens to me."

"Not even your father?" Fury asked.

Allison smiled again, feeling the sharpness of the edges catch at her. "Tony Stark is making it pretty clear that he has no interest in me whatsoever," she said. "Do you really think anything I say is going to persuade that man of anything?"

"You've been working with Jarvis on Extremis," Natasha said.

"Ideas only, which Jarvis is able to test and validate." Allison leaned back in her chair.

"And what are you asking me to validate?" Fury asked.

"It's a simple question. What is SHIELD's purpose?"

"Maintaining national and global security."

Allison let her smile twist. "It was about protection," she corrected. "To protect people. Not tyrants."

"Life isn't that simple."

"Maybe not," Allison agreed. She picked up her books. "But trust is. Who do you trust, Director Fury?"

Fury didn't reply for a moment. "Who do you trust?" he finally asked.

"A few people," she said. "Captain America. Iron Man. War Machine. My friends."

"Not the Winter Soldier?"

Allison refused to let the stab at Bucky hurt her. "I'll tell you what he told me," she said. "He said, that if I ever saw him again, I needed to run away as fast as I could, because only dead men see ghosts like him."

"And will you?" Fury asked. "If he comes after you?"

"Probably not." Allison stood. "Then again, I've always been told that I am a very stupid child." She glanced at Natasha. "Sorry to interrupt your coffee. A pleasure to meet you, Director."

"Likewise," he said, and stood. "You're not what I expected."

"I get that a lot." Allison hefted the strap of her backpack. "Deputy Rushman, see you at work."

Then, conscious of Fury's eyes on her back, Allison walked away.

That had been fun, she thought as she headed down the sidewalk, but now she had more important things to think about. Peter, for starters. And what she was going to do about her mother's family.

And she really needed to figure out where Aldrich Killian was. Tony wouldn't be safe until the man was caught and behind bars, if not dead.

Work, work, Allison thought. An alpha's work was never done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Allison and her priorities, everyone. 
> 
> Yeah it took Tony like three hours to write that message. And yes, Allison, that is totally how teenagers text their parents. 
> 
> Nick Fury: I am Nick Fury. I have met Carol Danvers and Natasha Romanoff. Nothing can surprise me now.  
> Nick Fury: *meets Allison Argent*  
> Nick Fury: Are you fucking kidding me.
> 
>  
> 
> [Operation Paperclip: A real thing!](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Operation_Paperclip)


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allison and Peter have a little tete-a-tete about the state of their affairs. Stiles' conversation with Scott sends some serious ripples out into the world. Allison finds the path to recovery more than a little rocky. Allison’s early birthday present from Noah comes with a side-dish of supernatural mystery. Meanwhile in Washington, Maya Hansen turns herself in, but how will Tony get the information he needs to help save those infected by Extremis without putting Allison in danger’s path?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A general note that our protagonist is going through the aftermath of some serious trauma and she is not coping all that well, mentally.

* * *

The walk to Peter's house took half an hour, during which time Allison mentally wrote her history assignment before turning her attention to the ripple effect of the changing timeline around Extremis.

More specifically, the Harley Keener problem.

In the original timeline, Trevor Slattery wasn't ready to masquerade as the Mandarin until December, which had been when the first official Extremis bombings had occurred. Tony had been pulled into that mess, ending up in Rose Hill, Tennessee, on the trail of Chad Davis, and ran smack into a troublemaking twelve-year-old Harley. Tony had been impressed by the kid's tenacity, and had kept in contact with him. When Harley had graduated high school, Tony had arranged for a scholarship to Georgia Tech.

But now, Tony had no reason to go to Rose Hill at all.

So, what was Allison to do? Tell Tony that he had to get in touch with some random twelve-year-old? That would be weird. Maybe she could see if Jarvis had any ideas.

That was one thing. She didn't even know how she was going to deal with the Peter Parker mess.

These musings took her right up to Peter's front door. She knocked, and waited.

It took a minute for the door to open, and when it did, Allison could only stare. Peter was wearing a slightly rumpled dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and those jeans that hugged his thighs just a little, and he looked so goddamned good that Allison couldn't speak over the sudden rush of _want mine want_ echoing in her head.

"Are you okay?" Peter asked, frowning at her.

Allison swallowed hard. "I'm fine," she said. She managed to make eye contact with Peter without bursting into lust-induced flames. "Can I come in?"

"Can you?" Peter asked. He didn't move.

Allison slipped her backpack off her shoulders and walked into the apartment, her body brushing against Peter's as she did so. "Your hospitality leaves something to be desired," Allison said as she set down her bag.

"Does it?" Peter closed and locked the door. Then he turned around and backed Allison up against the wall. She gasped at the sudden onslaught of sensation; Peter's hips pressed against hers, his hands around her waist, his lips brushing her cheek.

Maybe she was going to burst into flames after all.

"Because you," he said as he peppered kisses along her jaw, "Don't seem to be lacking in the desire department."

"What do you expect?" Allison asked as she turned her head. Peter obligingly kissed her throat. "When you walk around looking like that?"

Peter pulled back. "Like what?"

Allison ran her hands down his forearms. "Like you were at a photoshoot for sexy college professors or something."

Peter's lips curled up into a satisfied smirk. "Do you have a thing for authority figures?"

Allison put one hand on the back of Peter's neck, pulling him in. "I have a thing for you," she whispered, and kissed him.

They had only been apart for a day and a half, since that stolen kiss at dawn in the hallway of the Stilinski house, but it felt like it had been an eternity. Peter pressed Allison against the wall, his hands travelling down while she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, never breaking the kiss.

Then Peter lifted her up, pressing her against the wall. Allison wrapped her legs around his waist, wondering if she could get him to fuck her right here. She had never been so overwhelmed by want in her life, not with anyone.

Was this what werewolf bonding was like? Jesus, how did anyone get any work done?

Too soon, Peter broke away from Allison's lips, trailing kisses down her throat. "What are you doing to me?" he murmured, teeth brushing over the place where he had bitten her the previous week. Allison felt a zing of electricity flash through her.

"I was going to ask you the same question," Allison gasped. The physical sensation of Peter's body, his hands, his mouth on her skin and the overwhelming scent of him surrounding her, was everything.

And then it was too much.

"Put me down," Allison whispered, trying to keep from crawling out of her skin at the sensory overload. Peter obliged, and as soon as Allison's feet touched the floor she stepped away, one hand on Peter's arm as an anchor.

"Are you going to shift?" Peter asked, not moving.

"No." Allison took a few deep breaths. "What?"

"You looked like you were losing control," Peter said. Carefully, he put his hand over her wrist. "I've never seen you like that before."

"I'm not losing control." Allison ran her fingers over Peter's arm, feeling the warmth of his body, the strength of muscles under soft skin. The sensation helped her focus. "It was just too much."

"New wolves can have that happen," Peter said. "Old wolves, too."

"Is it a side effect of werewolf bonding?" Allison asked. She felt in control enough to slide her hand around Peter's arm.

"One of many," Peter said.

Allison looked at him. "What are the others?" she asked warily.

Peter had the grace to look a little sheepish. Well, more like a wolf in sheepish clothing. "Your scent changes a bit."

"Yeah, we already ticked that box. What else?"

"You want to be..." He looked a little uncomfortable. "Protective."

Allison kept looking at him. "Okay, but Derek said that you have to be in love already for this whole thing to work."

Peter made a face. "What does Derek know?"

"Is he wrong?"

It took Peter a moment to say, "No."

And oh, _okay_. Allison was going to unpack that later. "So wouldn't you already be protective?"

"Do you want to hear the rest of this or not?" Peter asked, slightly annoyed.

Allison kissed his cheek, then stepped away to pick up her backpack. "Do I?"

"It's not bad." Peter trailed after her over to the apartment's kitchen. "From what I hear, the sex is pretty great."

"The sex was already pretty great." Allison put her backpack on a chair. "Anything else? Anything weird?"

Peter leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. "Weirder than a werewolf chewing on you in the middle of sex?"

Allison raised her eyebrows. "Is that not normal?"

Peter's eyes grew wide. "Wait, did _Scott_ —"

"What? No." Allison reached into the cupboard for a glass. "What do I know about werewolf sex? For all I know, the biting thing is pretty vanilla."

"Not really."

Allison went over to the sink. "So you never bit anyone during sex before?"

"No."

Allison filled the glass with water, then walked over to stand in front of Peter. "So you're telling me that I'm your first."

Peter glanced down at her lips for a moment. "I guess I am."

Allison drank the water, then set the glass on the counter behind Peter. She put her hands on his waist and leaned in to whisper in his ear, "Good."

Peter breathed out a huff against her throat. "You're terrible."

"I've had a difficult week." Allison flicked out her tongue to lick his earlobe, and he yelped. "No, seriously, are there any more side effects?" she asked as she headed back over to her bag.

"I don't think so." Peter shook himself. "Then again, I didn't really feel like asking my sister for details about her sex life."

"Noted." Allison unzipped her bag. "So, are we going to talk about why I came over?"

"It wasn't to accost me in my entry hall?"

Allison pulled out the paper-wrapped bundle of books and put them on the table. "No."

"Or to take advantage of my hospitality by leaving glassware all over the place?"

Allison unearthed her phone. Among the handful of new messages was one from Stiles, saying he had put a frozen lasagne into the oven and was going to play video games. The timestamp was half an hour previously. The conversation with Scott must not have lasted long. She put the phone down. "Are you in or out?"

"In or out," Peter repeated. He pushed off the counter. "In or out of what?"

Allison put her hands on the back of the chair. "Whatever you like. Me, if you want to be crass about it. Or this relationship."

"Do you actually define this as a relationship?" Peter idly picked up the book parcel. "We've had sex four times and you occasionally threaten my life."

"You've got that mixed up." Allison watched Peter as he untied the parcel, his fingers moving sure and steadily on the knot. Goddamn, those hands. All the things Peter had done to her, with those hands. "You were the one threatening my life."

Peter slipped the last loop of twine free. "And you were the one saving mine." He pulled back the paper and picked up the top book to flip through its pages.

"You mean that thing with Cora?" Allison said. "I doubt she would have actually killed you. Maybe just tenderized you a little bit."

"Your faith in my niece is commendable." Peter picked up the second book. "Like I said, I'm not sure how much of what we do could be called a relationship, even with whatever supernatural bonding we have… going…" His voice trailed off as his attention focused on the page.

Allison raised her eyebrows. "Peter?"

Peter flipped a page. "Give me a minute," he said, and walked across the apartment to the wall of books.

"Okay," Allison said to his retreating back. That was a little strange, but Allison had seen Peter like this before. Something would catch his attention, trigger a memory, usually from before the fire, and he would drop everything to chase it down.

Allison sighed. So much for her afternoon seduction plans.

By the bookshelves, Peter had already pulled down a couple of volumes. "Can I help?" Allison asked.

"No," Peter said, not looking up from the books.

At least he wasn't frantic or worried, so there probably wasn't any impending threat of danger lurking in the pages.

Allison went to make tea.

By the time the water boiled and the tea steeped to Peter's preferred strength, Peter had retrieved four more books and was sitting cross-legged on the floor. Allison carried a mug over to Peter and crouched down to put it beside him. "Do you want me to leave?" she asked.

"No, I'll just be a minute," Peter said absently, consulting the little book Allison had bought that afternoon, hardly more than a printed pamphlet about moon phases from the century before.

"Okay." Allison kissed the top of his head and went back to the kitchen. She could wait for a little while, to see if Peter unraveled his mystery before she needed to head home for dinner. She pulled her laptop out of her bag, checked the chat stream to see if Jarvis had any updates for her on Extremis, which he did not, and started her history assignment. Mrs. Martin had asked the class to write one page on any historical topic of their interest. Since Allison was a troublemaker at heart, she'd picked a topic on which Bucky had often expounded.

 _The first racially integrated unit in American military history_  
_Or: You'll never believe what Congress's man-boner for Captain America let him get away with._

She was probably going to get yelled at, but that was half the fun in school these days.

The apartment settled into a quiet ease, with Peter's page-turning offsetting Allison's rapid typing. It only took her half an hour to finish the assignment, then pepper in a few source documents that Mrs. Martin probably wasn't going to read.

Then Allison closed the laptop and reluctantly went on to her math homework.

A while later, Peter drifted over to the table and sat down. His hair was in disarray, like he'd been running his hands through it in frustration. He didn't say anything, however, so Allison just reached out to touch his arm before going back to her homework.

It took a few minutes for Peter to clear his throat. "You know, before I opened that door to you, I had convinced myself that I was going to end this."

Allison put down her pencil. "Oh?"

"Yeah." Peter put his elbows on the table. "A Hale and a Vasquez, it's too complicated."

Allison and walked around the table to Peter's side. She smoothed his hair back. "You and me, we're not complicated."

Peter pulled Allison down onto his lap. "Beautiful, we're nothing but complicated."

Allison pretended to think. "Maybe we're so complicated that we've come out the other side."

"That doesn't make any sense," Peter complained as he slid his hand over her thigh. She leaned against him, her arm around his shoulders. " _We_ don't make any sense."

"Nope." Allison rested her forehead against the side of Peter's head. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

Peter closed his eyes. "I don't know if I'm ready to talk about it yet."

That was interesting. "Are we all in danger from whatever you're figuring out?" she had to ask.

"No."

"Okay." Allison cupped his cheek in her free hand, running her thumb over the soft prickles of his five o'clock shadow. "What are you going to do, Peter?"

Peter exhaled. Then he opened his eyes, and Allison knew that spark there. She braced herself. "When we first started this, do you know why I was doing it?"

Allison let her hand drop from Peter's face. "Why?"

"Partly as a way to stick it to the Argents," Peter said. His eyes were on hers, almost a challenge. "The other part was that you were so incredibly good in bed."

"And now?" Allison asked. This was classic Peter; hiding the real details of what he was trying to say with uncomfortable truths. "I'm not an Argent, so that's off the table."

"It is," Peter agreed. "Although I'm sure it's still going to drive Chris insane."

"Peter."

"So," he said, hand sliding down her thigh to her knee, holding her steady. "I told myself that there was no reason for me to stay with you, because sex is just sex, right?"

Oh, and that tasted like a lie. Allison curled in against Peter. "I don't think so," she said honestly. "If I just wanted sex, I'm sure I could find half a dozen men in any direction willing to take me home."

Peter's hand tightened on her knee. His eyes gleamed a little blue. "And do you want that?"

Allison put her finger under his chin and turned his head around so he was looking at her straight on. "I don't want anyone but you to touch me," she said, letting the alpha rise. Peter bit back a breath. "Only you. Just you."

Then she kissed him, a soft brush of lips. When she pulled back this time, Peter's eyes were still gleaming electric blue. "Why?" he asked. "Why only me?"

Allison let her fingers slide down his neck to the hollow of his throat. "I suppose there's the obvious answer," she said, undoing the top button on his shirt. "Because you're good in bed."

"Um, that's incredible in bed, thank you very much," Peter said, and Allison smiled for a moment before she let herself be serious again.

"On Monday, up at the house, I was facing down five men who wanted me dead and a handful of Chris's men who were probably on the fence about it," she said. "I was covered in blood and my clothes were ripped all the hell, and I still had two of those fucking metal barbs under my skin."

"I remember," Peter said quietly.

"And you. You gave me your jacket."

"Of course I did," Peter said, frowning a little.

"Why?"

Peter touched Allison's cheek. "Like you said. You were one bloodied and half-naked little girl, surrounded by a bunch of very large, very angry men. I might be a werewolf, but I'm not that much of a monster."

Allison let out her breath. He got it. He understood. "Then at the station, when they were pulling the barb out of my back." She had to stop for a moment to fight down the memory. "You were the only one who gave me what I needed."

"What was that?"

"A focus." Allison fiddled with the empty buttonhole on Peter's shirt. "You told me a silly story and you held my hand and you weren't…" She tried to figure out what she wanted to say. "You didn't make it about you."

"One could argue that I did," Peter said. "Derek has, specifically, at length."

"You embarrassed the big bad alpha in front of his sister," Allison said. "It's safe for Derek to get annoyed at you."

"Thanks."

"No, but you get it." Allison kissed his cheek. "You get what it's like to be in pain, and not being able to make it stop. You just have to keep going, even if you're just so fucking tired all the time."

"Allison." Peter took her hand and kissed her knuckles. "Are you okay?"

"No," Allison said. "Are you?"

"No," Peter said, and kissed her hand again.

"So you get it," Allison said again. "And I can come here and just be like this with you. I don't have to manage anyone's expectations, or deal with their drama, or do all the emotional labour."

"Some men would want a woman who does their emotional laundry."

"I'm not looking to get into a relationship with someone who wants a housekeeper. Or a mother."

"Then what are you looking for?"

"The truth. Just the truth."

"One could argue that the truth is subjective," Peter shot back.

"One could also argue that the truth is a weapon," Allison returned the volley. "And that's the thing about us, Peter. We both use the truth as a weapon."

Peter looked to the ceiling. "This has got to be the worst idea I've ever had."

"Not true," Allison said. "You bit Scott, after all."

Peter sighed, then hooked his hand under Allison's knees and stood with her in his arms. She squeaked at the change in altitude. "I cannot believe I'm doing this."

"Wait, what are you doing?" Allison asked as Peter carried her across the apartment.

"Committing a felony." Peter laid her down in the middle of the bed. "If that's all right with you."

"I don't know," Allison said as she quickly hauled her shirt over her head. "I do work in law enforcement. I might have to examine the scene, take witness statements." She threw her bra across the room. "Collect evidence."

"Okay." Peter pulled his shirt off. "This is starting to creep me out a bit."

"You're the one contributing to the delinquency of a minor," Allison pointed out, reaching for the button on his jeans.

"From what I've seen, you don't need any help." Peter practically fell onto the bed as he pushed his pants off. "When's your birthday, again?"

"Technically, Sunday, but legally on Monday." Allison wriggled out of her running pants. "Speaking of which, what are you doing on Monday?"

"I don't have any plans," Peter said, letting Allison push him onto his back. "Why?"

"Because you owe me dinner," Allison said, straddling Peter's waist, pinning him to the bed. "If you will recall, I said no licking the blood out of my mouth until after you bought me dinner first."

"You've got a long memory," Peter said, his hands on her thighs.

"Only when it's about getting what I want," Allison said, and kissed him. He felt so good underneath her, alive and warm and strong.

Peter's hands slid up her back to her shoulders. When Allison finally pulled back to catch her breath, he said, "On one condition."

Allison sat all the way back, her hands on his chest. "What condition?"

"I'll make you dinner, but you have to wear something that doesn't look like you found it underneath the bed of a teenage boy."

"Hmm." Allison shifted down the bed, so she could wrap her hand around Peter's dick. "All right. What will it get me if I wear fancy underwear?"

"A birthday cake?"

Allison dipped her head, taking the tip of Peter's dick into her mouth. He groaned. "Just a cake?" Allison said when she pulled back.

"Sorry, what I meant was, absolutely anything you want," Peter got out.

"Good." Allison stroked him, squeezing just a little bit at his base. He swore. "What about today?"

"What do you want today?" Peter asked. He reached down to touch Allison's cheek.

She smiled. "Just this." She ran her tongue around the head of his dick, keeping her eyes on his. "What do you want?"

His eyes flashed blue. "For you to stop hiding the alpha."

Allison let her tongue play along the underside of his dick, considering. Peter had a reason for everything he did. But Allison couldn't see the harm in it. After all, it probably wasn't possible to get more emotionally entangled then they already were. "All right."

She let the alpha rise, filling her with power, with warmth, and at that moment, a whole lot of lust for the man underneath her. "There you are," Peter said, and Allison took that moment to take as much of him in her mouth as she could.

Whatever Peter's uncertain intentions, Allison was going to suck his brains out through his dick and then see how articulate he was.

And, since he was so competitive, she had no doubt that he would return the favour.

She couldn't wait.

* * *

"Is anyone home?" Allison called into the dark house. Stiles' jeep was in the driveway and the house smelled of lasagne, but there was no sound of movement. Noah should still be at work, but where was Stiles? "Hello?"

Upstairs, she heard the computer chair move slightly in Stiles' room. Oh god, she hoped she wasn't interrupting any special alone time.

"I should have texted, sorry." She closed the front door with a loud thump, then noisily took off her boots to block any awkward sounds. "Peter gave me a ride home and we started arguing about property taxes."

"I'm up here," Stiles called out. Allison frowned. That didn't sound like the voice of a teenage boy who had been interrupted mid-tug. It sounded like he'd been…. Crying?

Allison carried her backpack into the kitchen, turning on lights as she went. The oven was on and the lasagne inside baking, but the empty packaging was strewn over the counter, not put away neatly like Stiles always insisted. No garbage on the kitchen counter, that was Stiles' rule.

"I'm going to make a salad," Allison said, because what else could she do? Stiles had been going to have a talk with Scott after school. Had something happened? Maybe Stiles had been waylaid by someone?

But who on earth could make Stiles cry?

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Stiles shuffled into the kitchen. His eyes were red and puffy. He looked at Allison, almost daring her to say something. "Did you say you and Peter were arguing about property taxes?"

If that was what Stiles wanted. "Yup." She went to the fridge.

"Is that some kind of weird foreplay?"

"No." She dug into the vegetable bin. "Peter's salty that he had to pay property taxes on his land holdings around town while he was in a coma."

"What did you say?" Stiles asked, moving over to clean off the counter.

"That civic infrastructure is important." Allison emerged from the fridge with an armful. "That man would pick a fight with God on the way up to heaven. What about you?"

"I don't know," Stiles said with a shrug. "Depends on what God was up to."

"I meant what's up with you?"

"Nothing." Stiles heaved himself up onto the counter on the other side of the sink, letting Allison set up shop by the drying rack. "I can't write that stupid history thing."

"You know a lot of weird facts about history."

Stiles picked at the seam in his jeans. "I can't remember anything."

Allison watched him for a moment. "Do you want to work on it together after dinner?"

"Okay."

Allison washed her hands before turning to the salad. "How's Derek?"

Stiles made a face. "So dumb. He tried to pull off the _I'm too cool of an alpha to go to a birthday party_ line, but I managed to convince him."

"Good." Allison eviscerated a bell pepper. "He needs to socialize more with the pack."

"Do alphas do that?" Stiles asked. His voice was getting more solid. "Socialize?"

"Not all of them," Allison said, thinking about her grandfather. "Older packs, like my mom's, they tend to be more formal about stuff. More hierarchical." She dumped the pepper into a bowl. "But the Hales have always been different. They've always been a family-based pack, with the alpha one of the parents. Makes for a different vibe. Do you want cucumber?"

"Sure. How do you know all this stuff?"

It was easier to lie to Stiles than the wolves. "It's the vibe I got off my Aunt Anna yesterday. And knowing what the Hales were like." Allison julienned a carrot. "Anyway, Derek didn't start off being an alpha with a strict power structure, and I doubt he can go back to it now, not with this pack. So, he's going to start having to play pack dad, whether he wants to or not."

Stiles got off the counter and reached for the lettuce. "Does that make you pack mom?"

The question bit at Allison unexpectedly. "No," she said after a moment. "Like Derek says, I'm not part of the pack."

Stiles made a squawk of indignation. "Just because he says that doesn't mean he means it."

"That's not what I mean." Allison put her knife down. "I know we've made a joke about it, but I'm really not part of Derek's pack. Neither is Lydia. Or Cora."

"And me," Stiles said.

"Well." Allison turned to Stiles. "Technically, you could be if you wanted to."

Stiles looked up from the sink. "What?"

"An alpha werewolf can include a human in their pack, part of their power structure."

Stiles turned off the tap. "How?"

Allison thought to her future, to how Stiles and Derek finally became Stiles-and-Derek after years of run-arounds, at how vital Stiles had been in Derek's pack.

Which just made it that much worse for everyone when Derek died.

She took a deep breath. "It's complicated. But if the human has a real connection with the alpha and the pack, that can make it work."

Stiles fidgeted with the wet lettuce in the sink. "What kind of connection?" he asked.

Allison wondered if she should have kept her mouth shut. "Emotional."

"Like, best friends?"

"Something like that."

Stiles gave a firm nod. "Good to know." He turned the water back on. "Come on, I'm starving."

Allison took the hint, and went back to the salad.

They sat down to dinner a little while later. Stiles asked her some not-so-subtle questions about what she wanted for her birthday, and Allison managed to deflect that back around to asking Stiles what he wanted when he turned eighteen. By then, she figured that the money situation would have sorted itself out with at least one side of her family, and she'd be able to buy Stiles the new gaming computer he had hinted about a few times.

Allison was finishing her third slice of lasagne when Stiles finally snapped. "Okay," he said, letting his fork clatter onto his empty plate. "I don't like Peter."

Allison stopped chewing. "So what?" she said with a full mouth.

"I have a whole host of reasons for not liking Peter," Stiles went on. Allison swallowed and braced herself for a fight. "So do a lot of people." He pushed his plate away. "And you know all those reasons and you still decided that hey, riding that train is what you want to do, right?"

"What's your point?" Allison bit out.

"That it's your choice." Stiles put his knife on the plate beside his fork. "I can't tell you who to date or not, you get to do that."

Allison stared at Stiles. She had no idea where he was going with this.

"And I might think Jackson is a pretentious dick, but I don't tell Lydia to dump him, right?"

"Would you get to the point?" Allison demanded, her eyes flaring a little red.

"So why doesn't Scott get that?" Stiles asked, finally looking at her. "You get to choose what you do with your life, and you two broke up months ago."

Allison pushed her chair back from the table. "What the hell happened this afternoon?"

"I don't know." Stiles scrubbed his hands over his head. "I was talking to Scott and he said that I had to make you break up with Peter."

_"What?"_

"And if I didn't and you got hurt, then it would be my fault."

Allison stood up, anger curling in her gut. " _Scott_ said that to you?"

Stiles looked down at his hands. "I know Peter's all kinds of bad news, but I can't make you do anything."

Allison went around the table, pulling her chair over to Stiles' side. She plunked herself down. "Look at me," she ordered. Stiles turned around to face her. "Nothing that happens to me is your fault, all right?" She didn't bother trying to hide the alpha in her voice. "The only thing that would be your fault is if you picked up a knife and used it on me."

Stiles just stared at her.

"If Peter hurts me, that's his fault. Not yours," Allison went on. "If something were to happen to Derek, that is not your fault." She didn't understand what emotion was lurking in Stiles' eyes, but anxiety and guilt were pouring off of him. She put her hand on his arm. "Stiles."

"My mom…" he said, then looked down at his hands again. "She died when I was nine."

The house was silent around them, almost as if it was listening to Stiles' pain.

"She had frontotemporal dementia," Stiles continued. "It's really terrible."

This, Allison knew, having learned all about the illness that killed Claudia Stilinski when they thought Stiles had the same thing. It had turned out that he had been possessed by the Nogitsune, which at least had been reversable.

"And she didn't know what she was saying a lot of the time, like, she didn't understand what was real and what wasn't." Stiles was crying now, those terrible tears that just fell because the pain was too much on the inside. "And she kept saying I was trying to kill her, that I'd made her sick."

Allison moved her chair so she could wrap her arm around Stiles' shoulders. He held stiff for a moment before leaning against her.

"And I know it wasn't true, I know it wasn't real, but then she died and my dad wasn't there, it was just me and her, and she stopped being alive and I thought it was my fault." He wiped his tears away on his sleeve. "And I know it wasn't but it still feels like it was."

"Oh, Stiles," Allison said softly. "It wasn't."

"I know." He wrapped his hand around hers, holding on tight. "I know that. But then today Scott said that if Peter hurt you, it'd be my fault, and it was like I was back in Mom's hospital room and I couldn't do anything to stop her being dead."

Allison kissed Stiles' forehead. "I need you to listen to me," she said with alpha power in her voice. "I need you to understand that nothing that happened to your mother was your fault."

"I know."

"And nothing that happens to me is your fault." She rubbed his arm. "It's good to want to protect the people you care about. But if something bad happens, in spite of your best efforts, that is not your fault."

Stiles nodded.

"For example." Allison sat back. "If I go over to Scott's house and punch him in the face for being a fucking asshole, then that's my fault."

"I think he was just trying to help," Stiles protested, wiping his eyes again. At least his tears had stopped. Watching Stiles cry was a whole sea of nightmares for Allison.

"How?" Allison stood up, taking Stiles' plate over to the sink. "In what entire universe was Scott helping?"

"He's worried about you."

"You're worried about me, and I don't see you traumatizing Erica about anything."

"Hey, I'm not traumatized!" Stiles hauled himself to his feet to start clearing the table. "Maybe just a little emotionally scarred."

"I don't understand what's wrong with him," Allison said. First, Scott had come over to the Stilinskis' and chased her around the living room, then he'd been eavesdropping on her and Peter at the station, and then turning everything around on Stiles?

What the hell?

Outside, Allison could hear a car door slam. "I think your dad's home."

"Fuck," Stiles muttered. He wet a paper towel at the sink and pressed it over his eyes. "Don't tell him anything, okay?"

"Okay." Allison gently moved Stiles out of the way to start on the dishes.

The front door opened, then closed. "I'm home!" Noah called.

Stiles threw the paper towel in the trash. "We're in the kitchen," he replied, elbowing Allison out of the way. "I'll do this," he said more quietly.

Of course, because that would put his back to the room when his father came in. "Okay," Allison said. She went to get Noah a plate.

The man stormed into the kitchen a few moments later. "That smells really good," he said, looking tired but generally unbothered, which was a rare sight. Crime must be down, Allison decided. "How was everyone's day?"

"Great," Allison said truthfully. "I found a few new books at that bookstore after school. And I ran into Natasha and a friend of hers at the café."

"How did that go?" Noah asked, his eyes on Stiles' back.

"It's always nice to get to know more about my co-workers' personal lives," Allison said. Noah transferred his gaze to her, a question on his lips. She shook her head. "Oh, did you hear that Lydia's mother is teaching at the school now?"

"No, I hadn't heard that." With another look at Stiles' back, Noah sat down. "Why?"

"Ostensibly, because Mr. Barton noped out of town so our history teacher is now teaching gym and Mrs. Martin is the history sub." Allison pulled her backpack over to the table and sat down. "But Lydia says it's because her mom thinks she needs more supervision, which is dumb."

Noah raised his eyebrows in her direction. "Her daughter got kidnapped and threatened at gunpoint two days ago," he pointed out. "I'd say that Natalie's concerns are well-grounded."

Allison leaned her hands on the table. "Natalie?"

Noah's gaze turned exasperated. "What, you're the only one in town who gets to call everyone by their first name?"

"Actually, yes, there was a vote in city council about it." Allison reached down for her bag. "I was going to help Stiles with his history assignment down here if that's okay."

Stiles turned around enough to glare at Allison. She glared back. "My computer's upstairs," he said.

"It's a laptop," Allison reminded him. "It goes a-top the lap."

"I'm doing dishes," he muttered, then went back to the sink.

Noah cut a slice of lasagne from the pan on the table. "Voluntarily?"

"Anyway," Stiles said loudly. "How was work?"

Noah reached for the salad. "It wasn't a bad day. A few smash-and-grabs down at the Central mall parking lot. I'm thinking about putting more speed traps up on the highway south of town."

"Need to get departmental revenue up?" Allison asked.

"If I can get more closed incidents in front of city council, I might be able to make an ask for three more deputies before Christmas."

Allison considered. This had been about the time when Jordan Parrish had arrived in Beacon Hills. She sighed. Just what her town needed; a Hellhound.

"Do you have a problem with that?" Noah asked.

"No," Allison said, shaking it off. "Can I sit in on the hiring committee?"

"Absolutely not," Noah said.

"What committee?" Stiles said. He dried off his hands as he came back to the table. He looked his father square in the face, his eyes still red. "It's not like Beacon Hills has a lot to attract underpaid public servants to the valley. We take what we can get."

Noah and Stiles looked at each other for a very long moment. Then Noah leaned back. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Do I ever?" Stiles retorted.

Noah sighed. "No, you don't."

Quietly, Allison retrieved her laptop.

"But you could," Noah went on. "If you want to."

Allison knew Stiles would not, because there was no earthly way that Stiles would ever talk about his mother's death with his father. Sure enough, Stiles shrugged. "Hey, what are we going to get Allison for her birthday?"

"Besides a party?" Noah asked. "I don't know. What does she want?"

"World peace," Allison said, logging in. "No more Nazis." There was a stream of messages from Jarvis in the chat window. "A father who doesn't hate me."

"Why do you think he hates you?" Noah asked.

"Do you have an explanation for it?" Allison asked. "No, you know what? Never mind."

"Has he tried to get in touch with you at all?"

A curl of remembered anger and hurt pinched at her stomach. Allison got her phone out of her bag to pull up Tony's text from that morning. "Hi, it's Tony," she read. "I guess you know that I'm your father. Let me know if you need anything. Good job on all the Extremis stuff." Allison gave the room a sarcastic thumb's up. "Jarvis says that you guys are close to some answers. Maybe we can talk sometime. I should be back in California soon." She slapped the phone down. "He hates me."

Noah chewed for a minute. "I don't know if I'd say that," he said slowly. "I mean, it's not great."

"It doesn't matter." Allison opened up the chat window. "Anyway, I have work to do."

"What about my history assignment?" Stiles asked.

"Where's your laptop?"

"Ugh." Stiles hauled himself out of the room and up the stairs.

"What did you say back to Tony?" Noah asked her. "Did you reply?"

"I said thank you very much for not letting terrorists kill the president," she said. Jarvis had a string of queries about Extremis for her, but no mention of Tony. Allison bit her lip at the sudden sting of tears in her eyes. "And that I'd help with Extremis in anyway that I can. I don't…."

She closed the laptop, suddenly unable to deal with anything Stark. All the hurt was churning up in her chest, making it hard to breathe.

"What am I doing wrong?" she asked, angrily rubbing at her eyes.

"You're not doing anything wrong," Noah said quietly.

"It's not like I have an Iron Man suit and can just fly anywhere." Allison put her hands on the table, trying to calm down. "What am I supposed to do, walk to L.A.?"

"Allison, this isn't on you," Noah said. "Okay? The best thing you can do is stay put, in Beacon Hills. Keep going to school. Working at the station. You can stay here as long as you want to. Your father can come here, just like your aunt did."

Allison pulled her legs up to her chest. She hated feeling like this. For fuck's sake, she was forty-six years old. Freaking out in front of the sheriff because her daddy didn't love her enough was just _humiliating_.

"Why don't you email your aunt?" Noah said, sounding a little desperate. "See how things are going?"

Allison pressed her chin against her knee, feeling a little bit of the ache in her chest recede. "I could do that."

"I'm sure she'd like that, too," Noah said. Stiles clattered back into the room, laptop in his hand. He stared at them. "She seemed like she really wanted to get to know you."

"Was that before or after she was about to rip Chris's heart out in the station?" Allison asked. "Stiles, sit."

"What did I miss?" Stiles asked, oozing into his chair.

"Nothing," Allison said before Noah could speak. "Nothing at all."

"I might not be a werewolf, but that sounded like a false witness statement," Stiles said. He opened his laptop. "Okay, write my history assignment for me."

"Stiles," Noah said, annoyed.

"She said she would," Stiles said, ducking a half-hearted scuff to the shoulder.

"I said I would _help_ you." Allison sat up. "What do you want to write it on?"

"I had an idea." Stiles looked around the room expectantly. "The history of the Thin Mint."

"The cookie?" Noah asked. "Why?"

"Mrs. Martin said it could be about anything. I like Thin Mints." He turned to Allison. "Were you a Girl Scout?"

Allison opened up her laptop. "No, the only paramilitary organization the Argents endorsed was their own."

"Yes, not at all creepy!" Stiles announced.

"Were you in Scouts?" Allison asked.

Noah coughed. "For fifteen minutes."

"Dad, it was more like half an hour," Stiles protested. "One of the leaders was being mean to Scott so I told him to stop."

"You called him a fascist loser and I had to leave work to come pick you up," Noah said. He took some more lasagne.

"At least Scott also quit in protest." Stiles' eyes dipped to his laptop screen, for just a moment. Allison put her hand on his shoulder.

"Which Melissa was thrilled with, seeing as how she'd been hoping for an hour of alone time once a week." Noah looked between Allison and Stiles. "Enough about that. How about homework?"

"Fine," Stiles grumbled, and started typing.

Allison went to her chat window. _Is it possible for me to synch my texts onto the computer? Easier to reply to._

 _Of course._ A new window appeared on the screen, with Allison's phone text history.

 _Thanks._ Allison quickly skimmed through her new messages. The topic of the group chat was currently on the name for the cat they wanted Derek to get. Erica wanted to know if Allison liked chocolate, which was probably birthday related. And Lydia had sent a message with four exclamation marks to let Allison know that the student council candidates meeting had been a success and Isaac hadn't embarrassed her at all.

Allison replied to that one. _Hey do you want to go shopping on Friday after school? I need to buy an outfit for my birthday._

Then she went to the messages with Anna, which currently consisted of the picture Allison had taken of them in the park, and a note from Anna the previous day to let Allison know her plane had landed in L.A. Hoping she wasn't about to make a fool of herself, Allison wrote, _Hi aunt Anna I hope everything's ok. Did the cops come over to make the official notification? Did the video go ok? Are your parents ok?_

Allison paused, considered that that was a lot of questions for a text message, then ducked out to make a new Gmail account. Satisfied, she went back to her message. _You can email me at nightvvitch558@gmail.com if it's easier. Talk soon :)_

Allison hit send, then had to turn her attention to Stiles, to keep him focused on his history paper. Noah finished eating and tidied up the kitchen, going to grab a stack of files from his office to work on at the kitchen table. It was quiet and safe and for a moment, in spite of everything, Allison was so happy that her heart hurt.

Whatever happened, she wasn't going to let anything happen to Noah or Stiles. Especially Stiles.

A text from Lydia came in, nearly screaming in joy about the shopping trip. Stiles moved on to his chemistry homework, bemoaning the general existence of Mr. Harris.

This left Allison free to turn to Extremis. There was something in the nature of the way the virus acted that made Allison wonder if they were missing something. Frustrated, she went in search of more information on viruses. Normally, a virus just made someone sick. It didn't change their genetic make-up or behaviour.

Except… Allison tapped her fingers against the edge of the laptop. Except that sometimes it did. She ran a quick search to confirm her idea. And sure enough, there were a number of viruses that could alter behaviour. Rabies was the best example that altered behaviour in all of its host animals, including humans.

Rabies was also fatal.

Allison wanted to smack herself. Of course. They had only been looking at the live Extremis hosts. Most of the data pulled from Killian's lab showed that those who had died during the initial process had burned up, but after the attack at the White House, two of the attackers had been killed before they could self-immolate.

Allison went back to her chat window. _Has the autopsy been done on either of the two from the White House? Maybe there's something we can find in them to aid in research._

 _I will contact the District of Columbia's medical examiner,_ Jarvis replied. _What do you hope to find?_

Allison cracked into the medical journals database, looking for something on rabies. _Maybe some changes in brain structure?_

_How will that help?_

_It probably won't._ Allison had a moment to be exhausted, of Extremis, of Tony, of her entire life. Then she pulled herself back together. _But the story isn't over until the universe ends, so we keep on._

_Wise words._

_Whistling in the dark._ Allison put her hand over her mouth. She wished she could do something, do _anything_. But her superpowers had always been physical, both in how much violence she could endure, and also dispense. She and Bucky were the brawn of the organization, with Morgan and Shuri as the brains.

But Shuri was twelve and Morgan was never going to be, and all the world had was Allison.

Allison wrapped her hands around her arms, trying to breathe around the grief and frustration and futility of it all. Morgan was gone, and all the world had was Allison.

"Hey," Stiles said off to starboard. He was at her side, his arms going around her shoulders, pulling her in for a hug, and Allison clung to him, trying to breathe. "What's wrong?"

"I can't save everyone," Allison whispered against Stiles' shoulder. "People are going to die and I can't stop it."

"But that's not your fault," Stiles said. "Remember what you told me?"

But it was her fault. She had come back in time, and she had changed so much. People were dying who hadn't before, all because of what she had set off.

Allison pulled back from Stiles and put her hands over her face, guilt and remorse crushing her until she couldn't breathe.

She had set all this in motion, and she couldn't do anything to fix it.

"Come on," came a voice distant in her ear. "That's enough homework for one night. Up you get. Stiles, help me."

Hands tugged at her until Allison was on her feet, then Stiles ducked under Allison's arm and practically hauled her into the living room. He put her on the softest part of the couch, collapsing in at her side. "Is this better?"

Allison pulled her legs up to her chest. Her ribs hurt, her lungs hurt, everything hurt. "Okay."

"That wasn't exactly the answer." Stiles looked up as Noah came into the room. "Dad, what do I do?"

"You don't do anything." Noah sat down on the armchair by the couch. "Allison, how often do you have panic attacks?"

"I don't." It was a struggle to breathe.

"Great, congratulations," Stiles said. "Your first panic attack!"

"Stiles."

"What?" Stiles bounced up and made a beeline for the kitchen. "You always remember your first time! Mine was in sixth grade in math class!"

Allison clutched at the couch cushions. She had to calm down. She had to focus. She needed an anchor.

Only her anchor was gone. For years, Bucky had been her anchor, the solid, unwavering core she could hold on to. He was her focus.

And now, he was stuck in a Hydra cryo-tube, and when he awoke, it would be to violence and torment and there was nothing Allison could do to save him.

The world was going grey.

"Here," came Stiles voice from very far away. "You should drink some water, it might help."

"Stiles, wait." Something moved in Allison's field of vision, and she jerked back. "It's me. It's Noah."

Allison blinked, focusing on Noah as he sat on the couch beside her.

"You're having a panic attack," he said. His hands were out in front of him, open. "You need to focus on breathing."

"You don't understand," Allison said. There was something wrong with her chest. "It's my _fault."_

"What is?" Noah asked. "And before you answer, can you take one deep breath?"

It was still a struggle to get any air in her lungs.

Carefully, Noah took her hand. "Breathe like this." He lifted her hand up. "In." Then he lowered her hand. "Out."

Allison focused on her hand, trying to regulate her breathing. It took far too long for the grey to recede from her vision, for her chest to stop feeling like someone was standing on it. The rest of the world came back slowly – Noah, holding her hand; the glass of water on the coffee table; Stiles, on the armchair, practically chewing his thumb bloody.

It was that last that pulled Allison back all the way. She took a deep breath for the first time in what felt like years, and pulled her hand away from Noah. "Stiles, come here."

The boy sprang up, nearly tripped over his own feet, and collapsed next to her. "Are you feeling better?"

Allison took his hand in hers, turning it so his thumb was up to the light. "You need to stop doing this," she said.

"It's not like I can go around chewing on someone else's thumb." Stiles squeezed her hand. "Are you feeling better?"

"Other than being completely humiliated? Sure."

"Why humiliated?" Noah asked.

Allison could barely look over at Noah. "Because I don't get to do this," she said. "I don't have _time_ to be doing this."

"What are you supposed to be doing instead?"

"I don't know, figuring out Extremis in time to save the rest of Killian's test subjects so there are no more bombings." She wiped her cheeks. Her skin felt gritty, like too many tears had dried there.

"Why you?"

"Because I have to do something," Allison said. "This is my fault, what's happening."

"How?" Noah asked. "Did you create this Extremis thing?"

"No—"

"Did you make any of those bombers blow up?"

Frustration was stirring in Allison's chest, and with it the alpha rose, sluggish and cross. "I told Jarvis that Tony should look into A.I.M. and Killian, okay? If I hadn't done that, Tony never would have tried to untangle that thread, and none of this would have happened."

"Wait," Noah said, obviously confused. "How did you know about A.I.M.?"

"I—" Allison cut herself off with an effort. She had to focus. She had to keep to her cover story. "The Winter Soldier told me that Killian was working on something dangerous, and that someone should stop him. So I told Jarvis to tell Tony, and then all this happened. So everything? Really is my fault."

Noah stood up and strode over to the window. Allison looked down at her hands, wondering why they were shaking.

"So," Stiles said, a warm presence at Allison's side. "One creepy bad guy told you about another creepy bad guy, and you asked Iron Man to help, and that makes what all the bad guys do somehow your fault?"

"You don't _understand."_

"I sure don't," Stiles said. "Because from where I'm sitting? You can't tell me that it's not my fault that my mom died, and then turn around and blame yourself for _terrorists._ "

Allison pulled away from Stiles and stood up. The ground felt shaky under her feet, but she made it across the room, to the opposite wall from where Noah stood. Her hands were still shaking.

"Dad? Back me up here."

"What have you two been talking about?" Noah asked wearily. "All right. Allison, when did you tell Jarvis about Extremis?"

Allison crossed her arms over her chest. "The night Dupont's crew followed me and Erica out of the bookstore."

"So about three weeks ago?"

"Three and a half."

"And how long before that did the Winter…." Noah sighed. "I can't call him that. It's too pretentious."

"Yasha."

"Huh?"

Allison cleared her throat. "He said Yasha was as much of a name as he could remember."

"That's almost worse. Okay. So how long before that Saturday did Yasha tell you about Extremis?"

Allison shrugged. All the lies she was telling kept swirling around her. She was going to trip up one day, she knew it. "Like a week or so? I knew I needed to get back to the States to figure things out."

"So you got away from the world's most dangerous assassin, came home to a very dangerous few days, and the first chance you got, you told someone who could actually do something about the problem?"

When Noah said it like that, it sounded like Allison had actually done something smart. "You don't understand," she said again.

"No, I don't."

Allison shook her head. "It doesn't matter. I have to go take a shower."

She did not miss how Noah and Stiles exchanged a look. "All right," Noah said. "Then how about you come down and we can all watch a movie or something?"

"It's almost eight," Allison said. "And it's a school night."

"We can pause it if it gets too late."

Allison shrugged. "Fine." She turned and walked out of the living room. The stairs were a bit more solid, and she made it to her bedroom without falling over. Mechanically, she gathered up the sweatpants and t-shirt she'd borrowed from Stiles as pajamas, and headed to the bathroom. Downstairs, she could hear Stiles and Noah talking in tones too quiet for her to hear.

God, she was so mortified. She was a grown adult, a superhero. Superheroes didn't break down in front of civilians. Allison should have been able to control herself enough to collapse superhero style: get to a quiet place, curl up into a ball, and scream into her folded-up body armour until her voice gave out. Not have a fucking panic attack in front of Stiles and Noah.

She couldn't be weak like that. She didn't have the time.

In the bathroom, Allison locked the door, stripped, and looked at herself in the mirror for a long time. She didn't understand. Peter had called her beautiful, and while she'd been with him that afternoon, she'd believed it. But now, looking at her reflection…

"Stupid," Allison said to herself, and got in the shower.

Someone had made popcorn by the time Allison made it back downstairs. She shuffled into the living room and over to the couch, where Stiles had set up camp. Noah had changed out of his uniform and was in civilian clothes. He had a beer in his hand, which Stiles was very carefully not glaring at.

"What are we watching?" Allison asked, sitting beside Stiles and taking custody of the popcorn bowl.

"I have something that you are going to love," Stiles said, and pushed a button on the remote. " _Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter_."

Allison couldn't help herself. She smiled. "I haven't seen that in years."

Stiles looked at her. "Uh, it came out this summer."

Allison crammed a handful of popcorn into her mouth. "I must have it mixed with something else," she garbled.

Noah sighed. "This movie is going to suck, isn't it?"

"It's going to suck donkey balls," Stiles said gleefully. "Dad, it's _Abraham Lincoln_. And he hunts _vampires."_

"Are they trying to say this is, what, historical?"

"Vampires aren't real," Allison said, scooping more popcorn into her mouth.

Noah looked at Stiles. He shrugged. "That's what Derek says."

"One small mercy," Noah muttered. "All right, bring on the train wreck."

Stiles hit play, and tried to get the popcorn back from Allison. She refused to let go of the bowl, so Stiles scooted closer to her. "It's okay," he said quietly.

"No, it isn't."

"You were ambushed on Friday, shot and tortured on Monday, met your long-lost aunt yesterday, and then today you had the worst experience of them all."

"What's that?"

"School."

Allison let out a little snuffling laugh. "School's okay. You're all there."

"Small mercies." Stiles put his arm around Allison's shoulders. "It's going to be okay."

"You don't believe that."

"I have to hold on to something."

Allison took another handful of popcorn. "Thank you for being my friend."

"Always."

Allison transferred her gaze over to Noah in his armchair. He was watching the two of them with an undecipherable expression on his face. She tried to smile at him, and was relieved beyond measure when he smiled back.

Whatever disaster was unfolding with Tony and with Hydra, at least Allison knew that she had Stiles and Noah in her corner.

And maybe that was something she could use to anchor her.

Feeling a warm glow in her chest, Allison snuggled back into the couch to watch a truly terrible movie with Stiles' commentary non-stop on her ear.

* * *

Allison woke at five on Thursday morning to what felt like a hangover. She staggered downstairs to make coffee, drink a pint of water, then collapse at the table in front of her laptop.

She was starting to hate this thing.

But she hauled it open. Jarvis's chat window had a stream of message alerts that made her head hurt worse than it had before.

Still, a superhero's work was never done. She'd get to them as soon as she had her coffee.

She quickly skimmed her other messages. The pack group chat had narrowed in on three names for Derek's hypothetical cat. Just to be contrary, Allison contributed her own suggestion of Scylla, then she kept scrolling.

There was a new text from Anna. _Hello Allison thank you for your message. I will email you with an update._

That sounded ominous. Allison quickly opened her new inbox to find Anna's email. She opened it to find a wall of text, sent not two hours previously. Allison read the message hungrily, drinking in Anna's words.

Anna explained that the LAPD had done the notification that morning, that Victor had arranged for a lawyer to figure out the legal ramifications. She also said that she was trying to figure out what to do with the neighbours, which was super vague, and was probably an allusion to the neighbouring wolves who had been in the pack wars.

Then Anna talked a bit about how her parents were excited to meet Allison, and how her mother Inez had many stories to tell Allison about Clara. The rest of the letter focused solely on Inez, and Allison wasn't sure if the absence of Victor's name was intentional.

Allison really hoped that Victor wasn't going to make things complicated.

At this point, the letter started to ramble, as if Anna was letting out the words without much of a filter. She told Allison stories about Clara growing up, most of which Allison already knew, and the tiniest hint of what life had been like without her. Twice, Allison had to stop reading, as Anna's pain was bleeding out on the page.

The letter ended with Anna asking Allison to keep in touch, in any way she wanted, as often as she wanted. Anna regretted that business and family obligations would keep her in Los Angeles for the next little while, but if there was anything Allison needed, she only had to ask and Anna would make it happen.

And that was it.

Allison sat back, feeling drained. God, Anna must be going through hell. Allison wished she could do something to make this situation easier for Anna, for everyone, but there was nothing that would alleviate their pain but time.

Allison opened up a reply to Anna's email. _Hi Anna, thanks so much for your message. I don't need anything. I'm safe at the Stilinskis' place. Thank you for the stories about my mom, I would love to hear more, from you and anyone else. Maybe we can video chat? It might be easier than email and we're in the same time-zone. That way I could "meet" everyone even if I can't come to L.A._

Allison added a few more pleasantries, hit send, then got up to get coffee. She had work to do.

Noah walked into the kitchen at around six-thirty, to find an empty coffee pot and Allison staring glumly at her computer. "Good morning," he said, heading to the coffee maker. "How long have you been up?"

"Long enough to feel like the stupidest person on the planet." She blinked, but the numbers on the screen didn't change. "The D.C. medical examiner hasn't completed the autopsies yet and so I can't do any brain structure analysis. The FBI hasn't finished the toxicology report so I can't figure out anything to do with how these guys were using the repressors to keep from blowing up." She sat back. "I can't do anything."

Noah took the coffee pot to the sink. "Who told you that you had to?"

Allison hunched in on herself. She was so cold. And hungry. And tired. "No one."

"Did Jarvis?" Noah returned to the coffee machine.

"No, of course not."

"Did your father?"

Allison's guts ached, like the memory of being punched. She must be more hungry than she'd thought. "I only have the one message from him, so, no."

"Right." Noah pushed the button on the coffee maker, then came over to the table to sit down. "That message."

Allison looked at him. "What about it?" she demanded.

Noah took a deep breath. "You know, you shouldn't have to solve this in order to get your father to come talk to you."

That stung. "That's not what I'm doing," Allison protested. "I'm trying to _save lives."_

"Are you the only one?"

"What?"

"Are you the only one working on this?"

"No." Allison tried to remember what Jarvis had told her. "Half of the FBI and the CDC are working on trying to figure out Extremis. The other half of the FBI is trying to find Killian."

"That's a lot of people," Noah said. His voice was mild and Allison hated it, hated waiting for the shoe to drop. "A lot of people who have a lot of training."

Allison looked down at the table. "A lot of people who are a lot smarter than me."

"That's not what I meant."

"You're right." Allison stood up. "They are."

"Allison, I don't know if I've ever met a kid as smart as you."

Allison waivered, then sat down again.

"I mean that," Noah went on. "You pick things up so fast, and you can see things no one else can."

Allison shrugged. "It's just pattern recognition," she said. "It's not that hard."

"And you're doing so great at school this year." Noah smiled at her. "You're in two senior classes."

Allison shrugged again. "That stuff isn't hard, that's all."

"It's not just that." Noah shifted in his chair. "Last night, watching you and Stiles do homework, you know what I saw?"

"Just tell me," Allison said, exhausted.

"There were times when he asked you things about chemistry, a class you're not even in this semester, and you were able to help him figure out the answers on his own."

"If I told him the answers, he'd never learn."

"But to do that, you'd need to know the subject matter."

"So? I read Lydia's textbook before the lacrosse game last week, it's not that big of a deal."

"Allison, please stop talking yourself down." Noah scrubbed his hand over his face. "You're a smart kid, and you're kind, even after you've been through so much bullshit. I don't know how you do it."

Allison stared at the floor. She didn't know what to say, and she wasn't sure she'd be able to speak around the lump in her throat.

"You're an amazing person, and you don't have to prove anything to anyone."

"Oh, I wish that was true," Allison said. Something in her stomach twisted unpleasantly. "Because I do."

"Allison—"

"Look, I know what you're trying to do, and you will never understand how much that means to me." Allison stood up. "But my life isn't like that." She went over to the fridge. "I have to prove to Clara's family that I wasn't raised to be a monster." She grabbed the eggs and other ingredients. "I have to prove to Chris and the Hunters in this town that I wasn't born a monster." She went over to the counter. "And I have to prove to Natasha and her spy friends that I wasn't turned into a monster this summer. And that's not even starting in on what I have to prove to Tony."

"Which is what?" Noah asked.

Allison stared down at the egg carton. "That I'm not a bad guy."

Noah said something under his breath.

"Natasha said that he thinks I was trying to trick him into something," Allison went on. "I wasn't. I was just trying to find someone who could do something to stop Killian."

"Allison, how could anyone think you were a bad guy in any of this?"

With a shake of the head, Allison retrieved a mixing bowl. "I'm sure that made more sense than me being his long-dead daughter." She started cracking eggs into the bowl.

"He knows different now."

Allison shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does."

"No, it doesn't." Allison yanked a whisk out of the utensil drawer. "I'm eighteen in five days. Maybe that's been too long."

But it hadn't been, last time Allison lived through this month, and that was what hurt the most.

Because once upon a time, Tony had wanted to be Allison's father, and she had gone and fucked that up all on her own.

"It doesn't matter," Allison said again.

She heard Noah stand up. "How can I help?"

"You can't." Allison took the whisk to the eggs. "I don't think anyone can."

"I meant with breakfast."

"Oh. Toast, I guess."

"Coming right up."

By the time Stiles stumbled downstairs, breakfast was ready and Allison was hiding her face behind another cup of coffee. She wasn't sure how much more she could take, embarrassing herself in front of Noah.

"How come Allison gets half the eggs?" Stiles demanded in way of greeting.

"She's in recovery," Noah said. "Sit. Eat."

Stiles nearly faceplanted into his eggs.

"So, lacrosse practice after school?" Noah said.

"Yeah." Stiles inhaled a piece of toast. "Can we go out for dinner after?"

"Sure," Noah said. "I'm working until six. But we can go after that. Allison, what are you doing after school?"

Allison put her mug down. "I don't know. Homework, I guess. I might be on Lydia duty, depending on how things go today with her mom at school."

"Would you be able to come to the station after school?"

Allison looked at Noah. "Is this to make up the hours I missed on Monday?"

Stiles nearly choked.

"No, this is not to make up the hours you missed while being kidnapped," Noah replied. "I want to go over some stuff in Lydia's statement."

"But Dupont's gone," Allison pointed out. "Did the D.A. even file charges against him?"

"It's procedure," Noah said. "Can I pick you up after school?"

Allison leaned forward. "Can I drive the cruiser?"

"No."

"Can I at least run the siren?"

That got Noah to smile. "You know what? Sure."

Stiles sat bolt upright. "Dad! That's so not fair! You never let me run the siren!"

Allison grinned to herself as Stiles and Noah bickered about inappropriate use of police property. It was so normal, and Allison would do anything to keep these two safe.

Maybe this was what her life was going to be, this time around. Maybe her family was going to be who she chose.

* * *

Sure enough, Noah was waiting outside the school in his cruiser when classes let out. Allison waved goodbye to everyone and trotted down the steps to meet him.

"How did everything go today?" Noah asked as he pulled out of the parking lot.

"So stupid," Allison groaned. "Mrs. Martin marked me down for using crass language in my history assignment. And then she said she was going to give me detention when I very reasonably pointed out that in World War II, soldiers swore like it was going out of style. If anything, I should have gotten a higher mark for historical accuracy."

Noah looked at her sideways as he turned a corner. "And did you do any of that on purpose?"

Allison sat back with a fake gasp. "Sheriff Stilinski, are you asking me if I am trolling the entire Beacon Hills High teaching staff?"

Noah laughed.

"Not all the staff," Allison admitted. "Just half of them. This isn't the way to the station."

"No, we need to make a stop first," Noah said, heading west. "I need you to identify some evidence from the case on Friday."

"What evidence?" Allison asked, puzzled.

"You want me to possibly taint a witness statement?" Noah asked.

"Fine," Allison said, slumping back in her seat. "Be cryptic."

"The forensic team figured out what was on that bullet Dupont's team shot you with," Noah said. Allison stared at him. "Do you know what carfentanil is?"

"Elephant tranquilizers?" Allison asked, appalled. " _That's_ what they got me with? Jesus Christ, if they'd hit Lydia she'd be dead in a minute."

"So you know what it is?"

"Yeah. Wait, isn't that a controlled substance?"

"Schedule two. But some veterinarians can get access to it."

Why was it always veterinarians? "So can you track it? Where they might have gotten the drug?"

"The DEA office in San Francisco is looking into it," Noah said. "That might help us find the others. Some of their fingerprints were found at the underground room, that might also help."

"Carfentanil." Allison shook her head. "So they really had no problem with killing me, did they?"

"Doesn't seem like it." Noah looked over at her. "How does that make you feel?"

"Not great, but not surprised." Allison bit her lip. "Wow. _Assholes_." The cruiser turned south, onto Belladonna Road. "Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise."

"I don't like surprises."

Noah sighed. "We're going to the autobody shop."

"What—" Allison stopped. This was probably about the remains of her motorcycle. "Great."

"Just hang on, we're almost there."

Allison watched the street go past outside. Now that she was looking for it, she could see hints of the supernatural, in the wording on a shop window, in the designs sketched onto a sandwich board. Shew wondered how much of Beacon Hills' supernatural community had been lost during the Snap, and what had driven them away from the town after.

She was a little uneasy about how much she had missed, the first time around.

Noah pulled up in front of Lachesis's Autobody. "In we go."

"Sheriff Stilinski, are you planning something?" Allison demanded as she got out of the car.

"Me?" He tried to look innocent, and failed.

"Hrm." Allison tossed her hair over her shoulder and went into the shop.

The dark-haired woman in the coveralls was sitting behind the counter, in the same place Allison had first seen her. "Took you long enough," she said.

"It's been a strange week," Allison agreed.

Noah walked up to the counter. "Is it ready?"

The woman looked from Allison to Noah. "Sure, it's out back." She got up. "This way."

"What's going on?" Allison asked Noah as they followed the woman out into the work yard.

He shrugged. "Excellent question."

"All this in a election year," Allison grumbled.

They headed past the old dusty cars, past the rusting plane. A tabby cat trotted along beside Allison's ankles for a few moments, before ducking off under an old jalopy.

The woman stopped. "There it is."

Allison turned, about to ask what was going on, when she saw it. Her bike, in one piece, with almost all the dents hammered out of it. "Wait, how?" she demanded, unable to stop herself from rushing over. The bike was solid under her hands, real and whole.

"My sister has a knack for fixing things up, the way they're supposed to be," the woman said.

Allison swallowed. She never thought she would see this motorcycle again, and she was surprised by how very _glad_ she was. "Thank you," she said. "How much do I owe you? It might take me a bit to get the money together—"

"It's taken care of," the woman said, cutting Allison off. She nodded at Noah.

"Happy birthday," Noah said.

Allison looked down at her bike. "Noah, I can't… I'll pay you back, I—"

"Allison," Noah interrupted her fumbling words. "I mean it. Happy birthday."

"It's too much," Allison said. "You're already throwing me a party and letting me stay with you—"

"Can you give us a minute?" Noah asked the woman. She shrugged and walked off. "Do you remember what I said when you brought the bike home?"

"Not really."

"I said that when I got my first car when I was sixteen, it damned well saved my life. Being able to go your own way, on your own terms, I know how much that can mean." He put his hand on Allison's shoulder. "I want you to have that freedom, to go your own way, to make your own choices."

Allison bit her lip. "Thank you," she said, trying not to cry. Then she stepped in to hug Noah.

"You're a good kid," Noah said, patting her back awkwardly. "You've had a lot of crap thrown at you, and you're a good kid." Allison pulled back, wiping her eyes. "Just… if you're going to head down to L.A., just let me know first. Okay?"

"Okay." Allison sniffled. "But I'm not going anywhere. Not yet."

"Good." Noah squeezed her arm.

The blond woman had drifted over, followed by the other two. The redhead was watching Allison with amusement. "You did quite the number on that thing," the redhead said. "Word on the street is that you nailed the guy who did it."

"To a tree," Allison said in agreement.

"Do you know what you've done?" the blonde asked unexpectedly. Allison looked at her. "Do you know what you've changed?"

Allison's breath caught. These three, she had known were strange, maybe even a little supernatural, but now she was wondering if it was deeper than that. "What?"

"The future was supposed to be on a different path," the blonde went on. "But you changed that."

Allison's heart was hammering in her chest. That had been what she wanted, what she had come back for. But had it happened so soon? And could she be sure? "How?"

The blonde held out her hand. "Everything depends on all that came before it. Even the smallest change can have a big impact down the road."

"For better or for worse?"

"Fate doesn't make that distinction." The blonde smiled.

"Which reminds me," said the redhead. She brushed her hands on her coverall, then picked something dark and soft off her workbench. "Brodie told us that it's your birthday on Sunday."

"Monday," Noah said.

"Sunday." The redhead held out her hands to Allison. "For you."

The object looked like a black silk scarf. Allison took it, mouth opening to say an automatic thanks, when her fingers sank into the fabric, and she looked closer.

Allison closed her mouth, stunned. The fabric flowed like water over her hands. It wasn't one layer of thick black silk; it was an innumerable number of layers folded over and over. Allison pinched one fold between her fingers, drawing out the fabric that was thinner than air.

This was shadow silk.

She had seen shadow silk once, on a distant world, wrapped around the body of a long-dead god. All the stories said that shadow silk kept you warm in the ice, cool under the sweltering sun, and was more impenetrable to weapons than vibranium. Someone could wrap themselves in shadow silk and move unseen and unheard through the darkness.

It was beyond value. It was _impossible_.

And Allison didn't want to know what it meant, that these three strange women were giving it to her.

"I don't know what to say."

The dark-haired woman eyed Allison with a little too much intensity. "Say you accept it."

Allison raised her eyebrows. "As an obligation?"

The woman sighed. "As a gift, freely given."

That changed things. Allison nodded. "I accept," she said, and wrapped her hands up in the gift.

The redhead smiled. "Good." She turned back to her work bench. "You should get that bike back on the road, where it belongs."

"How about we head up to the station, and you can give the motorcycle skills course a try?" Noah suggested.

"Okay." Allison folded the length of silk over and over until it fit into her jacket pocket, which was probably contrary to the laws of physics, and went over to her bike. It moved easily as she rolled it towards the gate in the fence held open for her by the blonde, while Noah and the dark-haired woman went into the shop.

"You know what that fabric is," the blonde said. It was not a question.

Allison paused. "I do."

"How?"

Allison met the woman's gaze. Her eyes were heavy, like wine-dark seas. "You said it yourself. Everything's changed."

"Yes." The woman held Allison's eyes for a moment longer, then moved out of the way. "Take care, little one."

Noah stepped out of the shop. "Allison!" he called. "I've got your helmet in the trunk."

With one last nod to the blonde, Allison pushed her bike towards the street.

Something had fundamentally shifted in Beacon Hills. And that these three women had given her a gift worth more than the value of the planet, was unsettling.

But Allison shook her head. It was unlikely that the world would end if she got on her newly repaired motorcycle and drove behind Noah to the station, to do a bit of trick-riding on a sunny Thursday afternoon.

That was the trick about surviving as a superhero, after all. You had to take the good times when they came, and hold those memories when things got bad.

Because things would always get bad.

### Tony Stark

Tony didn't actually believe it until the door to the FBI interrogation room opened, and he saw the woman inside.

Maya Hansen had turned herself in.

She looked at him, exhausted, rumpled… finished. "Tony."

"Maya." He hadn't seen her in almost twelve years, but she'd hardly changed. Just a little older, like him. Probably not much wiser. "Care for some company?"

Maya looked around the room, at the three FBI agents stationed in the corners. "At least you might be more interesting."

"I get that a lot." Tony strode into the room, letting the feds lock it behind him. He wasn't worried; they'd told him that Maya wasn't infected with Extremis, and she'd been thoroughly searched. The only thing dangerous now about Maya Hansen was her mind. "Water?"

"No."

Tony picked up one of the bottles on the table, and settled down across from Maya. "Take a tip from an old pro at captivity." He popped the lid. "Drink when you can."

"From what I remember, that's an adage you've subscribed to for a long time." Maya rubbed at her eyes.

Tony paused, bottle halfway to his mouth. "True." He drank. "Where's Killian?"

"I don't know."

"Fair. So what the hell happened?"

Maya looked at the ceiling. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

"I know the feeling." Tony put the bottle down, and reached into his pocket for his portable holographic projector. "But since I don't want to spend any time at your treason trial explaining how I got you to confess without a lawyer present, let's talk about why I'm really here." He tapped the centre of the oval, and the Extremis virus rose shimmering into the air.

"Extremis," Maya said. She looked through the hologram at Tony. "Part of this is your fault, you know."

Tony sat back. "How exactly is that?" he demanded. "How is it _my fault_ that over a hundred people are dead, half the White House is gone, and the country very nearly falling into a panic unseen since Pearl Harbour?"

Maya frowned, then slowly, her whole body sagged. "You really don't remember."

"Remember what?" Tony demanded.

"Bern, New Year's, 1999."

Tony stared at her. It was the exact point in time that Allison had thrown at him when this whole mess started.

"We went to my hotel room?" Maya pressed.

"That I remember. There was champagne. Something blew up."

Maya kept staring at him. "You don't remember looking at my formula and tinkering with it?"

"I looked at something," Tony said. "I don't remember, there was a lot of champagne that night."

Maya put her face into her hands. "You fixed the stability problem," she said, muffled. "You fixed the stability problem with the mutation, and that's what led me to getting funding from A.I.M."

"Okay, stop," Tony ordered. "No no no. You don't get to blame your evil scientist tendencies on a one-night-stand from twelve years ago."

"Don't flatter yourself," Maya snapped. She sat back. "I can't help you. We never got to the stage where we could fully stabilize the virus. We had to rely on the regulators."

"We're synthesizing those now," Tony said, and spun the hologram. "But we've got over a dozen of your little medical experiments who would like to live to see Christmas. Helping us will help you."

"You can't make that promise," Maya pointed out.

"Sorry, I didn't mean help you out of here. I meant that you'll help twelve people stay alive. Isn't that worth something?"

Maya's face crumpled. "I can't help you," she insisted. "We had a think tank of scientists working non-stop for years."

"Just look at what we've got," Tony said, and blew up the hologram. "See, if you do this," and he tapped a button, simulating the mutation that Allison had suggested. "You might be able to customize a fit."

Maya stared, and stared some more. "Show me again."

A little unnerved by her tone, Tony replayed the mutation.

"Fifteen years," Maya said after a very long, very silent minute. "I've been working on this for fifteen years and you find the answer in a few days?"

"It wasn't me," Tony said, his heart racing. "It was my, uh." Wait, he probably shouldn't tell a villain and a room full of feds about Allison before he had even spoken to her. That was probably against the rules. "I found someone who's good at pattern recognition."

"Pattern recognition," Maya repeated. "Who is it?"

"Maya, help me out here."

"Get out," Maya said. "Bring me the person who figured this out and I'll talk to them, but not to you."

"Maya—"

"Get out!"

Tony shrugged. "That works for me," he said, standing with the projector in his hand. With a tap, the image of Extremis vanished. "Not with these guys." He nodded at the agents around the room. "See you around."

Maya's expression had changed to one of defeat. "I'm never getting out of here."

Tony really had nothing to say to that, so he left.

FBI Director Ted Straker was waiting in the hallway. "That was next to useless," he said when Tony appeared.

"Did you really expect anything else?" Tony pocketed the projector.

The man's glare was cold. "Not really. Who's this genius scientist who cracked Extremis? Someone at SHIELD?"

"Not really."

"Someone who's been secretly working with Killian and you're just projecting them?"

Tony flung up his hands. "Why would I do that? And that's not possible, not unless A.I.M. was recruiting from junior high."

Straker just glared at him some more.

"I have a briefing with the Joint Chiefs," Tony went on, just to watch the vein in the man's temple pulse. "See you around. Good luck with everything."

Tony slapped the man's arm and left before he was arrested. As he walked through the J. Edgar Hoover building with his burly escort, he wondered what he should do. Would it be worth it to ask Allison to talk to Maya Hansen, in case the woman could give up her secrets in time to save the lives of the Extremis victims? How much danger would Allison be in, if she did so?

Entering the elevator, Tony took a deep breath, watching the numbers count down. For all that Allison was making a grown-up impact on the world, she wasn't even eighteen yet. How could Tony ask her to put her neck on the line, on the very thin chance she might be able to help?

Could Tony run that risk, with Aldrich Killian still on the run?

He thought back to that weird text message Allison had sent the day before. She had asked to be sent any information on Extremis.

But then she said she couldn't come to L.A.

So did she want to hear from him or not?

His head hurting, Tony left the building, walking out into the fading D.C. sun. He didn't know what to do, about Extremis, about Allison, about any of it.

Should he keep Allison away from all this mess, to protect his daughter from so much danger?

Or should he try to save as many lives as possible?

Could he do both?

What if he couldn't?

Tony looked up at the sky. He didn't know what to do.

Maybe… No. He would keep Allison away from this whole mess. Maya knew now that there was a possible way to fix Extremis. Let her ego and common sense push her to take what Allison had created, and fix her own problems.

They didn't need to involve Allison in this.

Tony had to keep Allison safe.

He had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The stream of events on Wednesday night, according to Noah’s point of view:
> 
> Allison: My father sent me a message implying that his attention and affection is contingent on fixing Extremis, a problem no one in the world has been able to solve.  
> Allison: I cannot solve this problem and it’s my fault that terrorists are blowing up half the country.  
> Allison: You know what? This seems like a great time for a panic attack compounded by my well-deserved and ever-encroaching mental breakdown.  
> Noah: ...  
> Noah: I am going to punch one (1) man.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An afterschool shopping trip with Erica, Lydia and Isaac turns into a group therapy session. Allison has a surprise video chat with her aunt Anna and her grandmother Inez, and still isn't sure what Inez is looking for. Is this another panic attack for Allison, or a sign that something more serious is going on? Who has time to tell, with another visit from the ghost of Talia Hale? Oh yeah, and the birthday shenanigans begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has brief references to past child abuse.

* * *

The Friday morning motorcycle ride to school cleared the cobwebs out of Allison's head. Unfortunately, that was also the high point of her day.

Allison had math first thing, which was tolerable, but then it was gym class and another round of boredom with Ms. Collins. Allison let the hour wash over her as everyone ran through an obstacle course that Allison could have mastered in her sleep. Then she and Danny had computer science. The teacher gave them their fall semester final project topics, which Allison figured she could finish coding if she had five straight hours of time. Maybe after the Extremis problem was solved.

Lunch was drama-free, although Stiles was very clearly missing Scott, who had been AWOL since gym. Lydia alternated between gloating over the shopping trip that afternoon, and planning out her school council election speech. Isaac chimed in every so often, with such on-point suggestions on audience manipulation that by the end of the lunch period, Lydia and even Stiles were impressed.

Allison left the cafeteria a little early, to get something from her locker before history. She wasn't really looking where she was going, and was halfway down the hall before she realized that Scott was sitting on the steps, staring at a textbook.

Allison stopped. She hadn't forgotten the expression on Stiles' face on Wednesday when he told her what Scott had said, about getting Stiles to break up Peter and Allison. She didn't care about that; it was how Stiles had reacted on being told anything that happened to Allison would be his fault.

Because goddamnit, Scott had to know how much Stiles felt responsible for everything. Right?

Allison hesitated, torn between walking away and going back to set Scott straight. If he was going to be a jerk about things, did Allison even have to engage with him? Maybe she should give him space to get over whatever was going on in his head.

She waited too long. Scott looked up, saw Allison, and something hardened in his eyes. He smacked his book shut and got to his feet. "Why are you standing around like a weirdo?"

"I'm not," Allison said, frowning. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing's wrong with me." Scott held the book in his left hand, dangling by his side. It was an odd note. "You're the one who's acting all weird."

Allison turned slightly, planting her feet subconsciously for a fight. "What the hell are you talking about? And what the hell were you thinking, saying all that stuff to Stiles on Wednesday after school?"

Scott stared at her. "What are _you_ talking about? I didn't talk to Stiles on Wednesday after school."

Allison narrowed her eyes. "Yes, you did, he told me all about it."

"Then he's lying," Scott snapped. "I didn't talk to him. He's being even weirder than you are."

A sudden, cold fear stabbed through Allison. In the original timeline, in just a few months, Stiles had been acting weird around his friends when he had first been possessed by the Nogitsune, a fox spirit that fed on chaos and strife, fear and despair.

But Allison hadn't seen anything in Stiles in this timeline that was anything like those terrible days.

And it was far too _soon_. She should have had months to prepare for the Nogitsune. She wasn't ready.

"I have to go," Allison said, taking a step back.

"Of course you do," Scott muttered. "That's all you do these days. Run away."

But Allison had had enough of Scott's drama. "Hey, you know what?" Allison snapped. "Sometimes there are more important things at stake than your feelings."

She spun around and almost ran to history class.

Stiles was in the chairs behind Danny and Jackson, pestering the boys about something. Danny at least looked amused; Jackson looked like he was at the end of his tether.

Allison collapsed into the chair beside Stiles, making him jump. "Jesus, what?" he exclaimed.

"Are you okay?" Allison asked. She took hold of his hand as she looked at his eyes, trying to remember how Stiles' physical appearance had changed after his possession by the Nogitsune. "How are you? Are you—"

She broke off. If she asked him if he was having any memory lapses, or losing track of time, so close to when he had told her what happened to his mother, he might not take it well.

She needed to calm down, Allison told herself. She needed to calm down, and think. They had beaten the Nogitsune last time and gotten Stiles back. They could do it again.

Instead, she said. "Is anything weird going on?"

"Yeah," Stiles said, leaning away from her. "This, right now, with you."

"Why is everything always weird with you?" Jackson asked Stiles wearily.

Stiles gaped at him. "I'm not the one doing this!" He made grabby hands in Allison's direction.

The bell rang. "Settle!" called Mrs. Martin as she entered the classroom. Stiles glared, and Allison glared back at him. Was his skin a little pale? Were his eyes a little dark?

Was she out of her goddamned mind?

"I want you to find a partner," Mrs. Martin said. "Pick a question from the exercises at the back of chapter three, and come up with four examples. You can hand in your work at the end of class."

"I want to work with Danny," Stiles announced.

"Pfht," Jackson let out. "Get your own best friend, Danny's mine." Danny looked a little smug about this.

"Does anyone know where Scott McCall is?" Mrs. Martin asked, drawing Allison's attention. Allison looked around. The desk at the back of the room was empty.

Allison frowned. Scott missing class was usually a sign of supernatural danger, but Allison hadn't heard anything on the group chat.

"Mr. Stilinski?" Mrs. Martin pressed. Stiles attempted an innocent expression, which only succeeded in making him look more guilty than ever. "Where's Scott?"

"Scott who?"

Mrs. Martin appeared unsatisfied, but she went back to her desk. Stiles turned on Allison. "What do you know about the Stamp Act?"

"Nothing, I wasn't there."

Stiles slumped. "Come on, help me out."

Allison grabbed his textbook. "Are we supposed to know what happened, or are we supposed to know what this says?"

"The book."

"Then let me read."

"Okay." Stiles started fidgeting at Allison's side. "Where's Scott? He was in gym."

"I saw him before class," Allison said in an undertone, as the danger zone of Mrs. Martin passed by their desks. Succinctly, Allison told Stiles what had transpired.

Stiles stared at her, honestly baffled. "That doesn't make any sense."

"I know."

"Like, I was standing right there. Out in the parking lot. Erica was with us."

Allison's fingers stilled on the page. Erica. She could check with Erica on what had happened between the boys, and then she could follow up with whatever that revealed. "Good."

Stiles sat back. "Seriously, what is going on?"

Jackson turned around in his chair. "Would you," he said with a deadpan glare. "Shut. Up?"

Stiles snarled at him, and Jackson turned back around.

"Come on," Allison said, touching Stiles' arm. "Class."

"Why's he telling me to shut up?" Stiles muttered. "You're doing all the talking."

"Because." Allison smiled at Stiles. "I'm prettier than you are."

"That's debatable." Stiles pulled his textbook over. "I am so over history."

"We'll go see Hamilton when you graduate high school," Allison said.

"What's Hamilton?"

Allison closed her eyes. She was still getting caught up in her own history, talking about things that might never be. She and Pepper had gone to see Hamilton in its first year on Broadway, while Allison was on break from college. It had taken Allison a few years to start to warm up to Pepper, leery as she was about maternal figures in her life, but they had bonded so much in the years after the Snap, after Morgan was born.

And then, after Tony died…

A hand closed around Allison's wrist. She stared at it, then looked up at Jackson. His eyes were steady on hers. "Don't freak out," he told her, and squeezed.

Allison put her free hand over his. The touch of a werewolf, one of _her_ pack, was grounding. "I'm not."

"Good." Jackson kept looking at her. "Because Lydia _really_ wants to go on that shopping trip after school."

Allison took in a deep breath, then let it out. The panic and despair she'd felt at the thought of Morgan settled into her bones, aching and hard and real. It was a part of her; it would always be a part of her.

But that was the thing about living. No matter how much it sucked, life went on.

Allison nodded. "And I want to go shopping too," she said. "I want to spend time with Lydia."

"And Erica," Stiles piped in. "Please don't forget Erica because she will literally eat my face."

"And Erica," Allison said. "I'm not forgetting about Erica."

A throat cleared. Everyone looked up to see Mrs. Martin, who was looking back at them with a frown on her face. "This doesn't look like school work," she said.

Allison glared at the woman. "I'm in recovery," Allison said. "Jackson has a very comforting presence."

"Jackson _Whittemore?"_ Stiles said in a disbelieving undertone.

"Focus on your work," said Mrs. Martin, before heading off to where the drama kids were starting an argument.

Allison patted Jackson's hand. "Thank you."

"Yeah, well." Jackson turned back around. "You're upsetting Stiles."

"Can I kick him?" Stiles demanded of Allison.

"No." She budged her chair over to Stiles' desk. "Work."

Somehow, they got through the class, avoiding both bloodshed and detention. As the bell rang and everyone got up to go, Mrs. Martin said, "Allison, can I talk to you?"

"Fuck," Allison muttered. She heaved her backpack over her shoulders. "Someone save me a seat in biology, okay?"

"Good luck," Stiles said in commiseration. "If you die, can I have your bike?"

"Sure, if you can convince Noah to let you ride it," Allison said over her shoulder. She made her way to the front of the class by Mrs. Martin's desk. "Yes?"

Mrs. Martin fiddled with a pen. Why did she always act so nervous when Allison was around? "Lydia tells me that you girls are going shopping after school."

"Yeah, I need new clothes. Dupont's knives wrecked my last pair of jeans."

Mrs. Martin flinched slightly. "I don't think that you girls should be out there on your own."

Allison shifted her textbook to her other arm. "We're not going to be alone, we're going to be surrounded by everyone else at the mall."

Mrs. Martin swallowed. "I think it would be best if one of the boys went along with you."

Allison stared. "The boys," she repeated.

"Yes." Mrs. Martin fumbled the pen and it rolled across the desk.

"I don't see what good that would do, other than make the bra-shopping part of the afternoon super awkward," Allison said.

Mrs. Martin cleared her throat. "One of the boys is going to go with you, or Lydia is coming home after school with me." She stood up. "You need to get to your next class."

Allison kept staring. "Why are you telling me this and not Lydia?"

"Off to class," Mrs. Martin said again, and walked over to erase the chalkboard.

Confused and a little offended, Allison headed off to biology. What good would it do to have one of the boys go along with them shopping? For protection? Please. There wasn't a threat on the West Coast that Allison and Lydia couldn't deal with on their own.

Mothers were so annoying.

Allison stomped into biology and collapsed into the empty seat beside Stiles. Behind them, Erica and Lydia had their heads together over a piece of paper. Allison looked around. No Scott, and no teacher. "Where is everyone?"

Stiles shrugged. "Fridayitis?"

Allison groaned. "Can we all leave?"

"Doubtful."

Lydia poked Allison's arm. "Jackson said my mom held you after class. Why?"

Allison sighed. "She wanted to tell me that she's not going to let you go shopping with me, unless we're accompanied by one of 'the boys'." She accompanied the last two words with sarcastic finger quotes.

Lydia stared at Allison, aghast. "But we're going _bra shopping_."

In front of them, Isaac spun around, nearly knocking Greenberg off his chair. "I volunteer as tribute," he announced.

"Jackson," Lydia hissed across the aisle. "You're coming with us."

"I've got this thing with Danny," Jackson returned. "I am _not_ going shopping with you."

Lydia looked wildly around the room. "Why is my mother trying to ruin my life?"

Stiles coughed. "I, er."

"No," Lydia and Allison said at the same time.

"But—"

"Stiles," Allison cut him off. "I want you to know that I love you like a brother."

"Okay," Stiles said slowly.

"So you will understand when I say that you are literally the last man in town that I would go underwear shopping with, all right?"

Stiles frowned, then his face morphed into a horrified expression that Allison didn't feel was warranted in the situation. "Okay, but like, my _dad_ lives in this town."

"Oh my _god_ ," Jackson said. Erica buried her face in her hands. Lydia looked like she was about to burst into flames from second-hand embarrassment. "Why are you such a freak?"

"She said—"

"Stiles." Allison leaned closer to the boy. "I am begging you. Stop talking." Stiles crumpled. Allison turned back to Lydia and Erica. "Given all the options, it looks like Isaac or nothing."

Lydia let out a huge groan. "Fine."

"Good." Allison turned back around to give Isaac the thumbs up.

"But what am I going to get out of this?" Isaac asked.

"Besides being able to go into Victoria's Secret without being arrested?" Stiles suggested.

"I'll buy you anything you want at the food court," Allison said.

Isaac considered. "And help me with my math homework," he counter-offered.

"Deal."

"Why is my mother trying to ruin my life?" Lydia whispered again, as the principal walked into the room.

"Quiet, everyone," Mr. Andrews said. "Mr. Arthurs had a family emergency and had to leave. I'll be covering your class today."

"Can we watch a video?" Greenberg asked.

"No." Mr. Andrews looked around. "Your teacher's notes say that you're supposed to be discussing…" He looked at a piece of paper. "Trophic cascade."

The room was silent.

The man cleared his throat. "Does anyone have anything they want to say on this topic?"

Allison sat up straight. "Allison, no," Stiles hissed.

"Allison _, yes."_ She raised her hand.

"Yes, Miss Argent?"

She stood. "Can I just run through the unit on trophic cascade? The textbook's information is horrible."

"Be my guest," said the principal. Sounds of reluctant mutiny rose as Allison made her way to the front of the class.

"I'll be quick." Allison picked up the chalk. The idea had been running in the back of her brain since she'd read her way through the biology textbook the previous week, and at least they could avoid being bored while waiting for school to end. "Trophic cascade, or as some evolutionary biologists call it _, Put that thing back where you found it, so help me god_."

"Language," Mr. Andrews muttered.

"Trophic cascade," Allison said as she wrote the words on the board. "Trophic, pertaining to the feeding relationship of different organisms in a food web, and cascade, things that have a fall-down impact, step by step."

"Like Buster Keaton," said someone from the back of the room.

"That's more of a societal example of trophic cascade," Allison said. She drew a cartoon wolf on the board. "Does anyone know what a keystone species is?"

Silence.

She drew an arch below the wolf. "If you take a keystone species out of an ecosystem, the food web collapses." She erased the top of the arch. "The classic terrestrial example is what happened when wolves were reintroduced in Yellowstone National Park in the nineties."

Over on their side of the room, Erica and Isaac were sinking in their chairs.

"This will only take five minutes," Allison promised, then quickly sped through the knock-on effects of bringing back a primary predator to the environment. Of all the examples she'd found, she enjoyed the Yellowstone one the best, as it was almost a play-by-play echo of what happened in Beacon Hills when werewolves came back to town, the year before.

Stabilize the ground, make it safe for others, and life got better.

After five minutes, the board covered in diagrams, Allison tossed the chalk back onto the blackboard ledge and went to sit down. Mr. Andrews eyed her. "I didn't know you were interested in evolutionary biology," he said.

Allison crossed one knee over the other. "I'm not."

The principal kept his eyes on her for another moment, then turned back to the class. "Does anyone have anything else?"

One of the band kids put up his hand. "What's the difference between bacteria and a virus?"

Mr. Andrews hesitated. "I'm sure that there's something on that in the textbook…" He trailed off when Allison raised her hand. "Yes?"

"Is there any possible way that you'll let us out of class early?" she asked.

"No."

She stood up. "Then do you want me to field this one?"

Mr. Andrews sighed. "Go ahead."

Allison went back to the board. "Bacteria and viruses, both microscopic, like my patience for our textbook."

"Miss Argent, stick to the subject please."

Allison drew two circles. "Bacteria is a cell. A virus infects a cell." She sketched some more.

At the back of the room, Allison heard someone say, "We're going to be here forever."

"Much like bacteria and viruses, which are the oldest forms of life on earth," Allison said without turning around. "Technically, every one of us is thirty-per-cent more bacteria by weight, so you're in good company."

Mr. Andrews was looking at Allison with a frown that she didn't feel she earned, but she kept going. At least it was more interesting than being forced to sit in silence while Arthurs read the textbook at them.

After she got finished with viruses and bacteria, someone asked about how vaccines worked, so Allison talked about vaccination and the eradication of smallpox. Then the conversation morphed into a question about how infectious Ebola was, and Allison sketched out the contagion factor of Ebola and mumps and measles for a while. She was on steadier ground here, as the global measles outbreak that had swept the world after the UnSnap was still painfully fresh in her mind, sixteen years later.

By the time the bell finally rang, Allison was ready for a nap. She went to get her bag as everyone filed out of the classroom, but Mr. Andrews stopped her. "Miss Argent, a word?"

Allison was getting heartily sick of being accosted by the Beacon Hills High teaching staff. "What?"

"You seem to know a lot about biology."

"I read a lot."

"Have you thought about what you're going to do after high school?"

Allison shrugged. "That's in two years. A lot can happen in two years."

"Have you thought about what colleges you want to go to?"

Something in the pit of her stomach ached. She pushed that away. "I told you in gym class, I don't have time to think about college. I have to work."

"With a mind like yours, you could get scholarships," Mr. Andrews said. "A lot of scholarships."

God, what a laugh that would be. Her father was the richest man in North America, and Allison might have to depend on the kindness of strangers to get through college. That was, if she survived the next two years. "There are probably a lot of other people who could use that money more than me." She sidestepped, and was out of the classroom before Mr. Andrews could reply.

"Where are you going to go to college?" Isaac asked, from the huddle where Lydia, Erica and Stiles were waiting.

"Do I look like someone who's going to make it through the next two years in one piece?" Allison hefted her bag. "Why don't you three head over to the mall, I need to grab my helmet and I can meet you there."

"You have to go to college," Lydia said, not moving.

Allison's stomach was still hurting. Maybe she was hungry again. "We'll see how it goes. Come on, Erica only has a couple of hours before she has to go to work."

"Fine," Lydia huffed. "See you there." She herded Erica and Isaac down the hall, leaving Stiles and Allison behind.

Stiles scratched his nose. "She's right," he said. "You do have to go to college."

"Why?" Allison headed toward her locker, Stiles in pursuit.

"Because otherwise Dad's going to be sad."

"Nice try."

"No, I'm serious. He thinks you're real smart."

"He just says that because he's being nice."

Allison was not expecting Stiles' hand on her arm, and it pulled her up short. Stiles fixed her with a very piercing gaze. For a moment, they just stood there. Then Stiles said, "You really believe that."

"Stiles, what's the point of this conversation?"

"You literally just taught us more about biology in an hour than Arthurs has all year."

Allison shook Stiles' hand off her arm. "Look, can you do me a favor?"

"What is it?"

"You're not going to like it."

Stiles gave her a thumbs-up. "Great sell!" he said brightly.

"Can you find out where Scott went?"

Stiles let his hand drop. "I mean, I guess so."

"Thanks. I know he was a dickwad to you but he's acting weird and I don't want to be caught unaware by some supernatural monster."

"Have I ever told you how much I hate Beacon Hills?" Stiles asked.

"Hush," Allison said. "Don't let anyone hear you say that in an election year."

"Ugh. Fine." Stiles pulled out his phone. "I'll call Scott if you promise to apply to at least five colleges with me."

Allison pulled away from Stiles. "I have to go meet Lydia and Erica."

"You're smart," Stiles called after her.

Allison gave him the middle finger as she walked away.

She didn't understand why everyone was so fixated on what she knew. All she'd done was read a bunch of stuff over the years and regurgitate it on demand. Even when she had gone to college the first time, churning out a poli-sci major with a minor in global studies at Stanford, it was just pattern recognition.

She wasn't smart. _Smart_ was for people like Tony, or Bruce Banner, or Shuri, who could invent things no one had thought about before.

If Allison had been truly smart, she would have been able to pick apart the underpinnings of Extremis, or have been able to stop Killian before he'd engineered the murder of so many people.

But she wasn't. And she hadn't.

That was something she had to live with.

* * *

The ride to the mall helped lift Allison's spirits a little. She met up with the others, stashed her helmet and backpack in Lydia's trunk, then the four of them headed inside. Lydia was talking a mile a minute while Erica hung on Allison's arm, while Isaac followed the girls.

"Clothes first," Lydia said, barely stopping for breath. "Then the rest."

"What are you going to buy?" Erica asked Allison.

"Jeans," Allison said, running through her mental list. "Shirts. Maybe another pair of running pants, something I can fight in."

"What about dresses?" Lydia asked as they headed into Macy's.

"Something you can wear to the Homecoming dance," Erica added.

"I'm not going to the dance." Allison ran her eyes over the store directory. "What about you? Has Boyd asked you yet?"

Erica blushed. "Maybe."

"He did, and you said yes," Isaac put in. "It was before school. It was all very romantic."

"Good." Allison hugged Erica. "I bet it will be fun."

"Are you going?" Lydia asked Isaac.

Isaac shrugged. "It's a lot of money for a ticket when I don't know anyone."

"You should go," Allison said, hauling everyone up to the second floor. "You can wear a tie." The corner of her mouth twitched. "Work hard at polling your constituents."

Isaac grinned, and Erica laughed. "I am committed to the best representation of the electorate," Isaac said smoothly.

Lydia sighed. "I'm going to get this all year, aren't I?"

"Probably," Isaac said. "Hey, why are we in the men's section?"

"Men's jeans have thicker denim," Allison said, zeroing in on the stacks of Levi's. "And the fashion industry's gender differentiation in clothing is nothing more than an outdated tactic to further reinforce rigid gender roles."

"Right," Isaac said. "What?"

Allison looked over her shoulder. "Hey," she said to Lydia and Erica. "Why don't you two go help Isaac find a tie for the dance?"

"Oh, yes," Erica said with relish. "Come on, Lydia." She grabbed Isaac in a werewolf's grip, and hauled him over to the formal section.

Lydia eyed Allison. "Are you trying to get rid of us?" she demanded.

"No, I am trying to get through the boring part of this process as fast as possible." Allison turned Lydia around and pushed her after the others. "And really, Isaac needs fashion help."

"You've got that right." Lydia stalked after Erica and Isaac.

Thus unencumbered, Allison sorted through the stacks of jeans, thanking the person at Levi's who had decided to keep their sizing charts the same for years. She yanked out three pairs of jeans that would fit her, contemplated trying on a jean jacket before figuring that her leather one was good enough, even with the ripped zipper, and went to find the others.

Erica and Lydia were playing dress-up with Isaac, having stuffed him into a charcoal suit jacket and making him model ties. "That's not the right color either," Erica said, taking back a green-striped tie.

"His eyes are the problem," Lydia mused, pursing her lips. "They're too light."

Isaac looked at Allison in desperation. "Help me."

"You're going to have to chew through your own leg to get out of this trap," Allison told him. "Try for burgundy, Lydia, or something teal."

Isaac endured the manhandling for another five minutes before Lydia declared herself satisfied with a dark lilac tie. "This one," she said, handing it to Isaac.

He looked at it for a long moment, then carefully folded it up and put it back on the display. "Thanks anyway," he said.

Lydia opened her mouth, then stopped as Erica took her arm.

Allison stepped closer to Isaac. "What happened to all your dad's stuff?" she asked quietly. Still, Isaac flinched. "The house, his money. What happened to it?"

Isaac rubbed a hand through his hair. "I don't know. My social worker said he didn't have a will or anything."

"Okay." Allison stayed where she was. Isaac wasn't big into touching and he would likely not welcome an alpha's comfort. Especially if that alpha was Allison. "Well, then, as the oldest person in the room, that means I'm in charge—"

"It does?" Erica wondered.

"And I decide that I am going to buy this tie." She picked it up. "We can share custody of it."

Isaac looked at her sideways as he shucked out of the blazer. "You don't have to."

"I know." Allison put the tie on top of the armful of denim. "Come on. If you can survive the torment of us trying on dresses, you can survive anything."

"Yeah," Erica said, taking Lydia's arm. "Dresses." She hauled the girl away with her.

"Can I ask you something?" Isaac asked as they trailed after the girls. "Boyd said… he said, at the lacrosse game last week, you said you used to fall down stairs a lot."

"I did," Allison said evenly.

"Was…" Isaac stopped. Allison could feel the pain wafting off him. "Was it when your dad was around?"

"No." Allison looked straight ahead. "It wasn't Chris. It was Victoria."

"Oh." They kept walking. "My dad… before my mom died. He wasn't…"

"Yeah." Up ahead, Erica stopped with Lydia to look at a sweater. "Victoria wasn't like that when Chris was around."

"Was he not around a lot?"

Allison looked down at the tie. "Not when I was little."

"What changed?"

Allison breathed, trying to calm her panic at the decades-old memory. It was over. It was in the past. "I don't really remember. I was in the hospital for a few weeks with broken bones. The doctors thought I'd fallen out of a window or something."

The noise around them, of the air conditioning and the overhead music and so many voices blending into wordless chatter, was a little like a cocoon, where nothing could touch them. "Did you?" Isaac asked.

Allison shook her head. "I don't remember what I did, but, um. Victoria got angry at me."

"Oh."

Allison exhaled. "Chris started spending a lot more time at home after that."

Slowly, Isaac put his hand on her arm. "I'm sorry."

Allison blinked hard. "And I'm sorry that no one helped you," she said, looking up at Isaac.

Something ran through his eyes, something sharp and painful. "It doesn't matter."

Allison slipped her hand around Isaac's arm. "Yes, it does." She squeezed his arm gently. "Come on, let's see if we can get Erica to try on sun dresses."

"Why?" Isaac asked, letting himself be guided along. "Are you into girls?"

"No, I am into watching my friends be happy," Allison said. "And cute dresses make Erica happy."

"They do," Erica agreed as the others joined them. "But I only have an hour until my mom picks me up. Move faster."

Isaac saluted.

They went up to women's dress-wear, and Erica and Lydia hauled Isaac away to serve as a human garment rack while they browsed. Allison wandered around, occasionally picking out a dress to carry over to her friends.

It was all so… strange. Was this what normal people did? Wander around after school and look at clothes they weren't going to buy? Talk about colleges? Make plans for the future?

Maybe they did, and maybe Allison was the odd one out. She couldn't remember the last time she'd gone shopping like this. Her body armor was all custom made, and the few nice pieces of clothing she'd had were hand-tailored. The pajamas in which she'd spent her scarce moments of down-time were usually bulk ordered online, or stolen from Bucky's closet.

Allison trailed her fingers down over a silk scarf. She couldn't think about Bucky. She couldn't think about the future, her past, because it was gone and over.

All she had was right now.

She moved on, and that was when she saw it.

A black dress, and oh, it was perfect. She plucked it off the rack and held it up to her front. Pure black, sleeveless, long enough to just brush her knees, and with a nicely tucked waistline.

"Are you going to try that on?" Erica asked over the racks.

"Yes," Allison said, trying to find the price tag. The dress was almost two hundred dollars, but the fabric was thick and the cut ageless. She could probably get a few years out of this.

"Okay." Erica grabbed Allison's armful of jeans, and Lydia shoved her towards the change rooms. Isaac gave her a considering look.

In the change room, Allison slipped out of her clothing and pulled the dress over her head. In the fluorescent lights and white cubicle, she looked terrible, but the dress almost fit. With a push-up bra, some makeup, and Peter's lowered expectations, she might be able to pull this off for her birthday dinner.

"Come show us," Lydia called. With a sigh, Allison went where she was bid.

"What do you think?" Allison asked, turning around in front of the big mirrors to see the back of the dress. "Is it too short?"

"It looks good," Isaac said. The girls looked at him. "What?"

"It needs something," Lydia said. "It's too boring."

"Like a necklace?" Erica suggested. "That blue one you have?"

"Peter doesn't like that," Allison said, spinning to flare the skirt. It was wide enough that she could fight in the dress, if the situation deteriorated. "It reminds him that I have additional outside interests."

"Because that's not worrying at all," Isaac said.

"Wait," Lydia objected. "You're going to wear this for a date with Peter?"

Allison came to a halt. "Yes."

"But…"

Allison waited. When Lydia didn't appear that she was going to go on, Allison said, "We're having dinner on my birthday. The day after the party."

Lydia kept staring at the dress. "He's not going to be at the party?"

"No."

Erica and Isaac looked at each other while Lydia fidgeted. "Okay," Lydia said after a few moments. "So, you're going to wear that and the blue necklace that he hates?"

"I sure am."

"Good." Lydia waved her hand. "Go change, we're going bra shopping."

With a groan, Allison went back into the change rooms.

Teenagers.

"Are you actually going to try on bras?" Isaac asked, loud enough that Allison could hear him with her alpha hearing. "How does that work?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Erica said.

"I've never been bra shopping before, how would I know anything?"

"We look at bras, we go into a small room, we try them on, and then we take them off," Lydia said. "How do boys buy underwear?"

"I don't know, look at the waist size on the package?"

Erica let out a pained sound. "How do boys even survive?"

"They benefit from mismatched social expectations by gender presentation," Allison said. Outside, Erica snorted out a laugh.

"What?" Lydia demanded, and Erica relayed the joke as Allison stuffed herself back into her running pants and Stiles' worn Atari shirt. "You know, it's not fair saying things I can't hear," Lydia complained when Allison reappeared.

"That's why I said it around two werewolves who could fill you in." Allison hefted her armful. "Let's go."

The total for the clothes squeaked in at just under four hundred dollars, leaving Allison with a bit of wiggle room on Jarvis's gift card for some additional shopping when her shirt situation became dire. Isaac distracted Lydia with some talk about the student council election, and the four of them headed off into the mall.

Erica hung back with Allison, watching Isaac and Lydia argue across ten inches of height difference. "What's it like?" Erica asked quietly.

"What's what like?"

"Sex."

Allison nearly tripped over her own feet. "Uh, it's good."

"Really?"

"Yes. Well, it should be." Allison looked sideways at the blonde girl. "Have you ever…"

"No." Erica bit her lip. "With, you know, the seizures. And now… I guess I'm worried."

"Don't be worried." Allison nudged her elbow against Erica's arm. "If it's not the right time, then wait until it is."

"How do you know when that is?" Erica asked. "How did you know with Scott?"

Jesus, like Allison could remember that far back. "It just felt like the right time," Allison said, pretty sure that was true. "For both of us."

Erica nodded. "Did he ever, um." Allison waited. "Wolf out during sex?"

"No." Again, Allison couldn't exactly remember, but she assumed that if he had, it would have made some sort of impression in her memory. "If you're worried about that, just go slow. Your control is really good now."

Erica took a deep breath. "Cora gave me some really neat exercises that her pack uses on new wolves," she said. "They make a lot of sense. The boys think they're dumb, but boys are dumb, so."

"You're hanging out with Cora?" Allison asked, a little surprised.

"Yeah, Derek introduced us yesterday, after the lacrosse practice."

"Oh." Allison swallowed down what she was going to assume was perfectly reasonable jealousy, at another wolf, even Cora, hanging around with her pack when she wasn't there. "How's Derek holding up?"

"He's okay. Kind of freaked out."

"He's still getting used to the idea of having his sister alive."

"How's Peter dealing with it?"

Allison thought back. "I don't think he is," she said slowly. "There are some things we don't talk about."

"Do you like him?"

Allison wanted to sigh. "That's a loaded question."

"Not really."

"Yes, Erica, I like Peter."

"Are you in love with him?"

Allison transferred her bags to one hand and slipped the other around Erica's arm. "Let's have this conversation after I turn eighteen and it's no longer conspiracy to a felony, okay?"

Erica made a face. "You guys are so weird," she complained.

"Tell me about it."

Up ahead loomed Victoria's Secret. Lydia and Isaac had stopped in front of the store. "Are we really going to go in there with him?" Lydia demanded.

"Not only are we going in there, we're going to take a mid-shopping-spree selfie for your mother," Allison said, digging out her phone.

"You're evil," Isaac said.

"No, just spiteful." Allison held up her phone. "Everyone, budge in."

Everyone budged in, and after Allison made sure that the edge of the underwear store was visible in the shot, took the picture.

"Now," Allison said with relish, "If that doesn't get me a week's detention with your mother, Lydia, I don't know what will."

"Send it to the group chat," Erica suggested.

"Now _that_ ," Isaac said admiringly, "Is evil."

Allison tapped at her phone, then shoved it into her pocket. "Come on, I need to go find something overpriced and uncomfortable to wear under my dress," she said.

"Why is that the goal?" Isaac asked.

"Because there are some things that a girl does solely for the dick," Allison said, and sailed into the store.

"Ugh," Allison heard Lydia say behind her. "She's right, but she shouldn't say it like that."

"No, she can keep talking," Isaac said. "How am I going to learn anything about girls otherwise?"

Erica sighed. "Learning about girls from watching Allison is sort of like learning about housecats by watching a feral bobcat."

Allison turned around. "I can still hear you."

Erica raised one perfect eyebrow. "It would be a waste of a good line if you couldn't."

"Why do I even bother?" Lydia wondered. "Fine, if you're actually going through with this disaster." She marched over to a display with lacy push-up bras. "Isaac, what do you think?"

"That purple one," he said immediately.

"Right." Lydia handed a bra to Allison. "Merlot. Go."

Not really willing to ask Lydia how she knew Allison's bra size, Allison dumped her bags into Isaac's arms and went towards the change room.

This afternoon was turning out to be stranger than she'd expected, and that was saying something.

* * *

Allison closed the front door and nearly fell over under her pile of bags. "Ugh."

"Are you alive?" Stiles called down the hall.

"No." Allison staggered towards the living room. Stiles had spread his stuff over every available surface, laptop and homework and a couple of books that looked older than Noah. "What are you doing?"

"Riding an Adderall high," Stiles said, barely looking up. "If I get all this done tonight then I can sleep all weekend."

"Okay." Allison dropped her stuff on the floor. "Did you eat?"

"I'll grab leftovers."

"Uh huh." Allison walked over to see what Stiles was working on. "Chemistry?"

"The bane of my existence."

"Sure." Allison glanced around at the mess. "Did you get hold of Scott?"

Stiles bit the end of his pen. "He told me he just wanted to ditch."

"Yeah, but because he hates me or because we're all in danger?"

Stiles' avoidance of her gaze was becoming more obvious. "We're not in danger."

"Great." Allison rubbed her eyes. "I'm going to make dinner."

She went upstairs, taking her new things with her. The jeans, she could run through the wash that night, and have them ready for work on Saturday. And if she washed the dress and underwear on Saturday before work, then let them drip-dry in the basement, she might not scandalize any Stilinski eyes.

Allison took a moment to feel smug. Peter wasn't going to know what hit him.

She grabbed her laptop out of her backpack and hauled it downstairs. With Stiles in the living room, Allison could multitask between chatting with Jarvis and making dinner. She'd eaten a little at the mall, but after having bought the underwear, and dinner for Isaac at the food court to eat while they went over his math homework, Allison was getting pretty close to her last pennies.

She probably had enough to tide her over until her next paycheck, the following Friday, but she might have to start packing lunches to school if she wanted to have enough money for gas that week.

Very carefully not thinking about Tony Stark's billions stagnating in banks around the world, Allison set the table. "Stiles, dinner."

"I'm busy."

"Okay." Allison dished up her own plate and sat down. As she read the details of Jarvis's most recent experiment, and its subsequent failure, an email came into her inbox. It was from Anna, basically jumping for the chance at a video call. _Any time_ , Anna said.

Before Allison could lose her nerve, she replied, _How about right now?_

As soon as she hit send, Allison had second thoughts. She was sure she looked terrible, and the lighting in the kitchen was a disaster. And worst of all, she was only halfway through dinner, and she was still starving.

Anna's immediate reply of _yes please_ nailed it. Allison shoved as much of her dinner in her mouth as she could as she set up the secure video chat and emailed Anna the information. She barely had time to swallow before the screen changed, and Allison's heart sank into her shoes.

Anna wasn't alone. Inez Vasquez, Allison's grandmother, was beside her, and oh god, how many times had Allison wished to see her grandmother one more time, since Inez died a few years before.

And now here she was.

"Hi," Allison said with a full mouth. "Sorry." She tried to swallow, nearly choked, and grabbed her water glass before she died on the spot. Then again, maybe that wasn't a bad idea.

"No, child, we are sorry to interrupt your dinner," Inez said. "I could not pass up an opportunity to meet you."

Allison took another swallow of water. It seemed like everything was going to stay down, so she put the glass to the side and wiped her mouth. "I'm really sorry," she said again. "It's been a long day. Or week."

"Are you safe?" Anna asked. She looked tired, the deep weariness Allison had seen in her so often when werewolf business was going wrong. "Are you well?"

"I'm fine." Allison moved the laptop to see the screen better. "Are you? Is everything okay?"

Anna waved her hand. "Don't worry about anything," she said, in a way that wasn't all that reassuring. "Everything is under control."

Allison tucked her hair behind her ears. "As in everything's under control, or I need to stay the hell away from San Jose so I don't get gutted?"

Inez's eyes grew wide. "Not that," Anna said hastily. "San Jose is fine."

Allison narrowed her eyes. "All right, which pack's territory do I need to avoid?"

"I—" Anna frowned at her. "What have you heard? Has the Beacon Hills alpha told you anything?"

"Please." Allison slumped back in her chair. "The day Derek tells me anything unprompted is the day I start praying, because we are all in danger." She looked between her aunt and her grandmother. "Please, just tell me. I can't make plans if I'm missing information."

Inez and Anna shared a glance. "Tell her," Inez said.

Anna let out a breath. "The San Diego alpha is… he is not happy."

Allison groaned. She had heard a few things about the old San Diego alpha. Aaron Weber was by all accounts an asshole who held a grudge. He was also one of the ones who had been behind several of the werewolf attacks in L.A. before Clara's death, as a play for the Vasquez territory. "Right. I'll keep my distance. And I should also talk with Derek in case there's anything happening behind the scenes."

Anna frowned. "You seem to be taking this fairly well."

Allison shook her head. "Alphas out for my blood isn't as rare an occurrence as I would like, unfortunately."

Inez turned her head slightly. "Is this part of the life you were raised to?" she asked delicately.

"No, it's life in Beacon Hills," Allison said. "This place is a magnet for strange stuff." Then, the meaning of Inez's question hit her. "I didn't really know about werewolves until last year."

"Yet you were raised by Hunters."

"They never told me about any of what they did," Allison said, wondering a little at the questions, but not seeing any harm in it. Anything she could do to keep Chris alive. "I thought we moved around a lot because of Chris's job."

"When did you find out about…" Inez made a gesture. "Your mother's kind?"

"Last year," Allison said. Anna was being very quiet in this conversation, which made Allison wonder some more. "I'm friends with the local pack, if that's a concern."

"It's not," Inez said. "But…" She trailed off. "I do not know how to ask this question."

Allison put her elbows on the table, feeling suddenly very old. "Look, I know I'm not what anyone wanted, all right? Anna was really great about everything on Tuesday, but I know I'm not…" She looked straight at the camera. "I know I'm a problem. To Tony, to you, and if you don't want—If you need to keep me at arm's length for political reasons or to protect your pack, I get it, all right? Just tell me what you need me to do."

She didn't understand the expression on Inez's face, or why Anna had turned away. "Oh, child," Inez said. "You are not a problem."

"No," Anna said sharply. "She is."

"Anna!" Inez chided.

"No, Mama, Allison is right. She needs information." Anna looked at the screen. "Allison being alive is a problem, and it's a problem that I am going to solve, all right? I will deal with the other packs, I will handle this, and I will get you safe passage across the territories I can, and let you know which ones to avoid."

Something in Allison's chest burned hot at the expression on Anna's face – something bright, something like hope. "Is there anything I can do to help?" she asked.

"Stay in touch, let me know if anyone new shows up in your town," Anna said. "I don't think that anyone will come after you on your own territory, but it never hurts to be vigilant."

"I can do that." Allison pulled her legs up onto the chair. "What about you?"

Anna's eyes flashed blue. "I can take care of my pack," she said, a hint of a growl in her words.

"Anna," Inez said, putting a hand on her daughter's wrist. "Allison, you do not have to worry about us."

"Too late," Allison said. "I don't want anything to happen to my family."

A slow smile curved up Inez's lips. "You have not yet even met us, child."

"You're still family," Allison said. Oh, how she had missed Inez. "If the world had taken a different course, I'd be with you right now." She took a deep breath. "But that didn't happen, and we live with what we have."

A flash of white caught Allison's attention on the screen, but neither woman seemed to notice it. It had looked like a little face, darting across the background.

"I understand," Inez said. "And as we speak of what we have, you have asked us for something in regards to Christopher Argent that I am not sure that I—"

The flash of white appeared again, a small face peeking out from behind Inez's chair. A small face Allison recognized. "Hi Hannah," Allison said loudly, interrupting Inez. Both Anna and Inez started, as little Hannah Vasquez jumped up onto Anna's lap.

"You look like my mama," Hannah announced, putting her face close to the screen. As an adult, Hannah had come more to resemble her mother, but this young, only four years old, her fae features were more pronounced. Allison knew that her ability to walk unseen and unheard around a family of werewolves caused no end of headaches for her mother.

"Your mama and I look like your grandmother," Allison said. "I'm Allison."

Hannah poked the screen, then protested as Anna hauled her back into an iron grip. "Mama, I want to see the lady."

"You can see the lady from here," Anna said. "Hannah, this is your cousin."

Hannah wriggled to try to escape. "She's _old."_

Allison hesitated. She had always wondered a little at Hannah's supernatural powers. The unusual mix of werewolf and fae had given the girl abilities that no one was quite able to pinpoint, and because of the weird prejudices on either side, no one ever really talked about it. By the time Hannah hit puberty, she'd been showing signs of precognition, but now Allison wondered if those abilities had been simmering in the girl so early.

Or, far more likely, the four-year-old was just stating facts.

"I'm eighteen years old," Allison said. "That's a lot older than you."

Hannah grinned with too-sharp baby teeth. "So old!" she cackled.

"Okay, that's enough for you." Anna stood up, still holding Hannah tight. "I'll be back."

Inez waited until a door closed somewhere in the room, then she looked back at the screen. "You interrupted me," she said mildly.

Allison cocked her head. "I didn't think this conversation was one that needed to happen with a child in the room."

Inez nodded. "I take your point."

"About Chris," Allison said. "I've asked everyone to wait until human law proves his innocence or guilt, because the last thing I need is trying to deal with a Hunter war."

"You think the Hunters would go to war over this?"

Allison leaned back in her chair, putting her feet on the floor. "Let's play it out from their side. You have the last man in the most respected Hunter family in the Western hemisphere who finds out that he's been cuckolded into raising a werewolf's child. He magnanimously lets this child live, and his generosity is returned with retribution from the Vasquez pack, which already has a bit of a reputation for violence."

Inez's brown eyes gleamed amber. "Are these the stories that have been put in your head by this man?"

"Actually, no, this is all externally sourced." Allison met her grandmother's gaze. "I told you in that video. All Hunters have to do is to tell the world that we're real, and they won't be the ones dying."

Inez looked away. "May I ask you one question?"

"Sure."

"Did Christopher Argent ask you to do this?"

"What? No, he doesn't have any idea."

"How did he raise you?"

It was an odd question, but Allison supposed it was valid. "There were a lot of lessons about protecting people, about taking responsibility for those who wouldn't protect themselves," Allison said. "At the time it seemed more theoretical. Chris is essentially an arms' dealer, I always figured it was Second Amendment related."

"And after you found out about our kind?"

Allison tried to think back to those hazy months. "It was around the time he found out that his sister murdered the Hale family, so there was a lot of _by the Code_ talk."

"Did he ever hurt you?"

"No," Allison said, and it wasn't a lie. Getting tied up in the Hale house as her Hunter initiation, the odd smack here and there over the years, didn't even register on Allison's barometer of pain.

"What about…. The other one."

Allison took a moment to breathe. The conversation earlier that day with Isaac had stirred up the ghosts from Allison's childhood, of pain, of shame, and never knowing why she wasn't good enough. "I'd rather not talk about Victoria, if that's okay."

Inez looked at her for a long moment. "As you wish."

"Thank you." Allison smoothed her hand over her knee. "Can I ask a question?"

"Of course."

"We have been talking for a while now, and no one has mentioned my grandfather."

"Ah." Inez tucked a curl of hair behind her ear with perfectly manicured fingernails. "Anna suggested that she and I speak with you first, as you might feel more comfortable with us."

An interesting evasion, but then, Allison knew her grandfather, and what his opinion of her had been in the future none of them would live. It didn't really matter. "I see."

"You mentioned your father earlier," Inez countered. "Has he been to see you?"

"Nope," Allison said, and met Inez's gaze. "Next question?"

"I see," Inez said, echoing Allison's words back to her

A thump and a clatter, and Anna reappeared, looking all out of sorts. "That child, I swear," she muttered. "What did I miss?"

"We had the Chris Argent conversation," Allison said. "As well as the Victor deflection and the Tony Stark diversion. What else is there?"

Anna frowned, but she said, "You should tell Mama about yourself."

"Yes," Inez said. "Please do. Anna could only tell me so much."

"Sure." There was movement deeper in the house, and Stiles' footsteps. "I'm not very interesting."

"You kill wendigos," Anna said.

Allison raised her eyebrows. "I protect my town," she countered. Stiles came into the kitchen. "Like I said, Beacon Hills attracts a lot of strange stuff."

"That's for sure," Stiles muttered. "Who are you talking to?"

Allison beckoned him over. "Stiles, this is my Aunt Anna and my grandmother."

Stiles gawped as he sat beside Allison on the chair, nearly pushing her to the ground. She shoved back. "Hi," he said. "Wow, you all look, like, really alike."

"Just like my mother," Allison said.

Stiles took hold of her hand. "You okay?" he asked.

"Of course," Allison said.

Stiles could probably tell that she was lying, but then, he had always been too perceptive. "What are we talking about?" he asked brightly.

"Inez wanted to know all about me," Allison said.

"Oh, Allison's great," Stiles said, turning to the laptop. "Like, she's really smart."

"Stiles, stop it."

"No, she is," Stiles went on. "She practically taught our biology class today because the teacher bailed. And she's in two senior classes because she's awesome."

"Seriously, stop it."

"And she's solving crime with my dad," Stiles said. He was grinning at Allison and if he kept this up, she was going to put him in a headlock. "Like, full-on Nancy Drew."

"Oh my god, _shut up."_

Inez smiled at Stiles. "Tell me, Stiles, what else does Allison do?"

"She took down the Hunters who grabbed her and Lydia on Monday," Stiles said, and suddenly Inez wasn't smiling any more.

Allison squeezed Stiles' hand. "I can take care of myself," she told Inez and Anna.

"I can see that," Inez said. "Although I would rather that you not be placed in such a position."

"Better than I can defend myself than not," Allison said. "At least this way I can see the danger coming and do something about it."

Inez nodded. "In this, you are very much like your mother. She often said that if she was not meant to help people, why was she born with claws?"

This time, it was Stiles who squeezed Allison's hand. "She sounds neat."

"She was very much so," Inez said quietly. Anna looked miserable. "I would like to tell you about your mother, Allison, when you are able to come to Los Angeles."

Allison took a deep breath. "I'd like that, too."

"Good." Inez nodded. "Now, Allison, tell us more about yourself. I want to know everything."

"I don't know…" Allison said, but Stiles just beamed.

"So this one time, in gym class?" he said. "It was so awesome. The teacher said he didn't want to teach, so he made Allison do it, and she knocked it out of the park."

"Oh my god," Allison muttered, but she didn't stop Stiles. Sitting there, half pushed off her chair by Stiles' ass, with him holding her hand tight, she felt safe, even with the specter of Victoria Argent lurking in the back of her head.

Maybe, Allison thought as Stiles gleefully told Anna and Inez stories about Allison, maybe things were going to be okay after all.

Maybe.

* * *

The reprieve was brief. Allison woke screaming with nightmares at four in the morning, dragging everyone else in the house to an early wakefulness. After she clawed her way back to reality, apologized ten times before she could even stop crying, she went downstairs and huddled on the couch, while Stiles joined her and fell back asleep in a few minutes. Noah made coffee and came into the living room, sitting in his armchair and sipping in silence.

"Have you thought about seeing a therapist?" Noah said after a while.

"No," Allison said. Her whole body was shaking with the memory of pain, of cold, and of large men looming over her with needles and blades.

"Why not?"

Allison carded her fingers through Stiles' hair, his head resting on her shoulder. "If I tell anyone the truth, they'll lock me up in Eichan House."

"That's a medical facility, Allison, not a house of horrors."

Allison held her tongue. She didn't want to turn over the rock of Eichan House, not yet. "Maybe I can sleep in the basement."

Noah frowned. "Why the basement?" he asked.

"Then if I start screaming, you wouldn't have to hear me."

Noah sighed, leaning forward to put his elbows on his knees. "That's not a solution, Allison."

"Maybe it's as much of one as I'll get." Allison pressed her back against the cushions. Stiles was a heavy, warm weight against her side, anchoring her to the present. "What are you doing today?"

Noah looked at her for a long moment. "I have the weekend off work. I thought I'd spend today dealing with some house chores. Then the party's tomorrow."

"Yeah."

"Are you still up for it?" Noah asked.

"Sure." Stiles was now drooling on her shoulder, but Allison didn't have the heart to move him. "It's been a while since the pack's been able to just hang out without any danger in the air."

"I really don't like the idea of you kids in danger."

"Me either." Allison blinked. Her left arm ached oddly. "I'd do anything to keep those guys safe, you know?"

"I was including you in that," Noah said gently.

"I don't see why." Allison looked at Noah. "Noah, it's fine, I can handle it."

He exhaled. "That doesn't mean I have to like it."

"I don't like it either. But that's the way it is."

Noah stood up. "I need a refill. You want some?"

Allison shook her head. She turned on the television as Noah left the room, leaving the east coast news on mute. There were no more developments on the Aldrich Killian front, but apparently Steve Rogers had spent most of the previous evening giving an impassioned press conference about how the individuals infected with Extremis were victims of medical research gone awry, not terrorists, and they deserved help instead of condemnation.

The closed captioning of the speech looked very impressive.

The sun eventually rose, and Allison was able to manhandle Stiles off to the side without waking him. After a shower and a breakfast of leftovers that tasted like glue, Allison went into work a few hours early, to make up the time. She churned through the stack of files Noah had left for her, fending off the inquiries about her health by the deputies.

By now, everyone at the station knew who her real parents were, and she fielded several questions about Tony Stark's money. She made a joke of them all, but there was a churning uneasiness building in her chest with each one. Why wasn't Tony trying to reach out to her? What had she done wrong?

By ten, with Allison ready to start screaming, she escaped into the archives. Brodie was out of town, so she had a perfectly isolated place for another panic attack. This one felt worse than the one at the Stilinski house, with what felt like actual knives digging into her chest and throat.

She ended up curling into a ball on the floor of the archives, fingers digging into her legs as she tried to breathe around the agony. The cold rough concrete under her was the only thing she could focus on.

She was trying. Oh god, she was trying. So why wasn't Tony?

After an eternity, the stabbing pain eased off, and breathing got easier. Allison let herself sag against the floor, wishing she was asleep, wishing this would all stop.

It took her a painfully long time to realize that she wasn't alone.

"What do you want?" Allison asked, voice raw, as she sat up.

"Nothing," Natasha said. She was about ten feet away, sitting cross-legged on the floor in her beige deputy's outfit. "I just wanted to be here in case you needed anything."

"A bottle of Valium," Allison said. "A fifth of vodka. Together."

Natasha sighed. "Even you might not be able to come back from that," she said. "I'm here if you want to talk."

"Go away," Allison said.

Natasha looked at her for a minute, then said, "Okay." The woman stood up and walked away. A minute later, the door to the archives opened and closed, and silence returned.

Allison sat for a long time, her body aching as the tension of the panic attack faded. She was tired, and she hurt, and she didn't know what else she could do.

So in the end, she just stood up, brushed herself off, and went back to work.

That was the superhero way, after all.

Allison stayed at the station until about four, when she got a pointed text from Noah asking if she was going to be home for dinner. She replied in the affirmative, then packed up her work for the day, signed out, and got on her bike. She meant to head home, but as she rode the streets of Beacon Hills, she found herself drifting north, towards the roads up to the preserve.

It had been almost a week since she had been to the old Hale House, five days since everything had gone straight to hell.

What a week.

The clearing was deserted in the late afternoon sun. Allison parked and dismounted, leaving her backpack and helmet on the bike as she walked over to the house. "Hello?" she called. "Any ghosts around today?"

She became aware that Talia's ghost was watching her from the burned-out window. Allison waved.

"Is Laura around?" Allison asked as she headed up the steps. "She was at my house on Tuesday. I don't know what she's doing now."

Allison entered the living room. Talia was there, translucent and intangible.

"How are you?" Allison asked, heading over to the fireplace. She might as well retrieve the phone from the cache, seeing as how the Dupont complication was now out of her life. "Cora's doing really good. She's with Derek."

Talia was closer to Allison now without having moved.

"Peter and I have come to an understanding," Allison went on, shifting broken bricks. "We're just two crazy kids who are going to make things work."

Talia was on her knees, her cold hand sliding down Allison's back. Allison shuddered.

"We talked about this, no creepy ghostly molestation." She moved to the side. "Just because you sucked out my blood doesn't mean that you get to keep manhandling me." She uncovered her cache and pulled the bundle free of the fireplace.

Without warning, Talia grabbed Allison's arm and hurled her across the room. Allison barely had time to brace for the impact before she hit the bannister, wood splintering around her. In a flash, Allison was on her feet, ready for a fight, but Talia was already there, tossing her onto the ground and pinning her down. Talia's grip was unyielding and as cold as the grave.

"Let me go," Allison snarled, her alpha power rising. She tried to push Talia away, but the ghost was stronger than she was, heavy and cold. "Talia, stop it."

"I could take you." Talia's voice was softer than a whisper, but it was the only thing Allison could hear. "Use your body and be alive again."

Oh motherfucking _shit_. "You could try," Allison said, trying once again to escape. No dice. "But to what end? You're dead. Everyone knows you're dead."

"Too soon."

"I know." Allison stopped fighting. It didn't seem to be doing her any good. "And it sucks. But you can't change it. I can't change it."

Talia's expression changed, her teeth growing sharp. "I could try."

"You could." Allison looked at her. "But killing me isn't going to make anyone any happier. Derek and Cora aren't going to be happy. And Peter probably won't be thrilled to find his wife suddenly possessed by the long-dead spirit of his older sister."

Talia let one of Allison's arms go, to stroke her fingers along Allison's throat. The icy sensation made Allison shudder. "I could protect him."

"No, you can't," Allison objected. "Most of Peter's problems come from you trying to protect him."

"He's my brother."

"He is a grown-ass adult who doesn't need his dead sister to save him."

Talia stared down at Allison for a long moment.

Then she bit Allison's shoulder.

"Get off me!" Allison shouted, bucking to try to dislodge Talia. Talia's teeth were sharp and cold and really fucking _painful_. Allison could feel the blood soaking her shirt, and that hot touch around cold teeth suddenly made Allison very, very angry.

She reached deep inside herself, reaching for the very core of what it was to be an alpha, to be the Hale alpha. This was _her_ territory, and no one, alive or dead, was going to toss her around like a piece of meat.

With a snarl, Allison kicked out, and this time the blow landed. Talia fell to the side, teeth vanishing from Allison's shoulder, and Allison was on her feet and ready for a fight. "This is over!" Allison shouted. "You're not the alpha anymore! I am!"

Talia stared up from the floor, blood on her mouth and chin. Her eyes were unwavering.

"I protect this town!" Allison went on. "I protect the pack. They're mine, do you understand? They're alive and they're _mine!"_

The house shook with the last word. Talia didn't move.

"So leave me alone." Allison stalked back into the living room to pick up her bundle. "I don't know how to help you move on, but you need to. Sticking around the world of the living isn't going to do either of us any good."

Still, Talia didn't move.

"I'm leaving," Allison announced. "I'll protect Peter and Derek and Cora, because they're family. You don't need to be here anymore."

Allison walked to the door and went outside. All she could smell was blood. She made it over to her motorcycle and put her cache on the seat before taking off her jacket. The leather, and the shirt underneath it were undamaged, but Allison's shoulder had been ripped up by Talia's fangs.

And like any alpha-inflicted wound, they were taking their sweet time in healing.

"Fuck," Allison said under her breath. This wasn't the worst day she'd ever had, not even the worst day in the last week, but it ranked pretty near the bottom.

Why was Allison the only one who got haunted?

Allison packed the spare t-shirt from the cache around her shoulder to soak up the blood, bagged the knife and the spare phone, then got back on her bike and drove home.

She was able to sneak upstairs and into the shower without seeing anyone. The wounds from Talia's teeth had scabbed over by then, and she was able to use a bar of soap and cold water to wash the blood out of her shirts. It took a while to sponge out the inside of the leather jacket, but at least the blood didn't show on the outside.

Disgruntled, cold, and more than a little angry, Allison changed into clean clothes and went down to dinner.

* * *

She slept through the night, somehow, and woke late on Sunday. Jarvis had some more details about the recent Extremis models, all of which had even more devastating results than if they left the virus alone.

Frustrated, Allison buried her face in her pillow and wondered if she could just go back to sleep for a year.

Then her phone pinged.

 _What do you want for dinner tomorrow?_ Peter wrote.

"A kick in the teeth and twenty more IQ points," Allison said to the air. _Whatever you want to make._

_Cold spinach and raw lamb, then._

_fine_

_what's wrong with you?_

Allison growled and tapped the screen to call Peter.

"I stand by my question," Peter said in greeting when he picked up.

"Do you want to know what my problem is?" Allison demanded, burrowing back down in her blankets.

"Probably not."

"My problem is that apparently half the werewolves in Southern California have a bounty on my head, I can't solve an unsolvable virology problem, and I have to be at work in half an hour and I don't want to get out of bed."

There was silence for a moment. "So, chicken tomorrow?" Peter finally said.

Allison sighed. "Yes, please."

"You're still in bed?"

"So?"

"So what are you wearing?"

"Sweatpants and an old t-shirt?"

Peter groaned. "Can't you just lie to me or something? Tell me you're naked."

Allison rolled over. "Peter, I am not having phone sex with you with the _sheriff_ twenty feet away from me."

"Killjoy."

"You should be nicer to me. It's my birthday."

"So?"

"So it's been eighteen years since my mother was murdered and I was ripped unceremoniously into the world."

"You sound thrilled about it."

"There's just a lot going on." Allison rubbed her eyes.

"Do you want to cancel tomorrow?"

"Absolutely not," Allison said quickly. "I bought a dress for tomorrow. I had to go lingerie shopping with Isaac. You better believe I am getting a meal out of this."

"Why did you have to go lingerie shopping with Isaac?" Peter demanded.

"Lydia's mother is insane."

"Oh my god," Peter muttered. "Whatever. You should get up and go to work."

"Probably." Allison looked at the ceiling. "So, what are you wearing?"

"Tomorrow?

"Right now."

A pause, and Allison could swear that she heard Peter smirk over the phone. "Why don't you send me a picture of what you're wearing, and I'll do the same."

"Legally, I'm not eighteen until tomorrow," Allison reminded him. "I'm not sending you naked pictures."

"Goodbye, Allison." He hung up.

Allison glared at her phone, then sat up and took a picture of herself giving the camera the middle finger. Her hair was a mess, her shirt bulky, and her legs tangled up in the blanket. If Peter could find a way to jerk off to that picture, Allison didn't know what she was going to do with him.

She sent him the photo, then got out of bed and got dressed. Her new jeans were almost too big, even after being shoved through the dryer. But at least they were clean.

Noah was sitting at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper. Stiles was nowhere in sight. "Ugh," Allison said, hauling herself over to the coffee pot. "Why is everything so early?"

"It's nine o'clock."

Allison collapsed into a chair. "This is my last day as a teenager."

Noah rattled his paper. "You have two more years as a teenager."

"I'm an eighteen-year-old high school junior," Allison said, putting her head in her hands. "You know that my cousin Martin is fifteen? He's in the same grade as I am."

"I'm sure he didn't have many of your challenges growing up."

"Probably not." Allison tackled her coffee cup. "Maybe I should drop out of school."

"Nope." Noah turned a page.

"I could work full time at the station," Allison pressed.

Noah looked at her over his reading glasses. "The only way you're dropping out of school is if you write the high school exit exam and start applying to colleges."

Allison slumped in her chair. "Fine."

Noah went back to his paper. "What are you doing before the party?"

"Work, I guess."

"About that." Noah folded up his paper. "How would you feel about skipping work today?"

Allison looked at him. "You're the boss."

"I have an ask into the state archives for some cold cases, going back about forty years," Noah said. "They'll be coming in on Wednesday. Would you be able to work after school Wednesday and Thursday?"

"Yeah, I don't have any plans." Allison frowned. "But what does that have to do with today?"

"I figured we could spend some time at the shooting range."

"Why?"

"Because you're around guns all day at work and I'd like to know that you have a good grasp of gun safety."

"Noah," Allison said. "Chris is an arms' dealer. I've been around guns since I was a baby."

"Humour an old man."

Allison shrugged. "If it gets me out of staring at one more misfiled set of your deputies' notes, count me in."

"Good," Noah said, pleased. "We can leave at ten-thirty, if you want. Law enforcement hours at the range start at eleven."

"Is Stiles coming?"

"No, Stiles has plans."

The way Noah said that, made Allison instantly suspicious. "Like what?"

"It's a surprise."

Allison rested her chin on her hand. "Noah, do you remember the week I've had?"

"Yes," he said slowly.

"Do you think I'm really in the mood for a surprise?"

Noah relented. "It's not bad. Stiles just wanted Derek to come over early and decorate for the party."

Allison raised her eyebrows. "Derek," she repeated.

"Don't start."

"Derek," she said again, and stood up. "I'll go put the laundry in and we can leave."

"We don't have to leave for an hour," Noah said.

"We can go to Starbucks and I can buy you a coffee," Allison called over her shoulder. "We wouldn't want to get in the way of a Derek visit, would we?"

At the top of the stairs, Allison found Stiles standing in his bedroom door, looking scandalized. "What are you talking about?" he hissed.

"You, Derek." Allison drifted down the hall. "Party decorations."

Stiles sputtered. "Don't say it like that."

"Like what?"

"Like it's dirty." Stiles followed Allison to her bedroom. "Besides, Derek is straight."

Allison sighed. "Derek is as straight as you are."

Stiles stared at her. "Uh, what?"

"I said what I said." Allison tossed her dirty clothing into a pile.

"Um, I'm straight."

"Okay." Allison picked up the clothing. "Just a note, if anyone has any party favours that go off with a bang, I will likely have a flashback in the middle of the party."

"So we'll skip the firecrackers."

"Thank you." Allison elbowed him out of her way.

"I am straight!" Stiles yelled down the stairs after her.

"I said okay!" Allison yelled back.

"So much yelling," Noah muttered in the kitchen.

They got out of the house closer to ten, with Noah's gun case locked in the trunk with all his pistols inside. They stopped for coffee, Noah listening to Allison's theories about highway conditions contributing to all those car crashes on the interstate south of town, and then they headed to the firing range.

For all that Allison had spent over a decade with a knife in each hand, she was almost as experienced with guns as she was with her blades. Chris had taught her to shoot while she was in grade school, and it was one of those few bright memories Allison had of growing up. It was usually just the two of them, Chris putting a loaded gun into her hands and helping her to fire it at a target.

He had shown her how to strip down every type of gun and rifle, how to clean them, how to reassemble them quickly. Allison knew what ammunition was for what gun, what bullets were made from, and what sort of exit wounds came from which bullet.

It had been one lesson of many from the Argents that Allison had carried with her into her superhero days.

The time with Noah at the shooting range was cathartic. Allison's muscle memory hadn't deserted her, and her body remembered how this went; the tension of the hold, the force of the bullet and the momentum of the kickback.

But even the satisfaction of the moment was tempered with memories of Bucky and Sam. Sam was off somewhere on the East coast, hopefully trying to find some healing from what he'd been through in the war, and in losing Riley.

And then, of course, Bucky.

She was going to find Bucky, somehow, someday, and save him. She didn't know when and she certainly didn't know how, but she was.

She had to.

She and Noah spend an hour at the range, then they went to grab lunch at Anton's. After ordering, Noah headed off to the bathroom, which left Allison plenty of privacy to check her phone.

There was a text from Peter, and when Allison saw the attached picture, she blushed so hard she nearly dropped her phone. In it, Peter was fully dressed, sitting on his couch, holding a book, but the way he was looking at the camera made Allison tingle in anticipation.

"Anything interesting?"

Allison yelped. Noah had come back to the table and she hadn't even heard him. "Um, no."

"Uh huh." Noah looked at her. "Anything inappropriate?"

"Nothing that would stand up as evidence in court."

Noah made a face. "Peter?"

"He's not doing anything weird," Allison said, and tucked her phone away. "Besides, he knows tomorrow's my legal birthday."

"So he's going to hold off on anything weird until you're eighteen?" Noah asked. He didn't sound happy.

"No, he's not going to do anything weird, period." Allison sipped at her coffee. "I know you don't like him—"

"I don't like that he's nearly forty and you're not even eighteen."

"But," Allison went on. "I'm making my own choices with my eyes open, and if I see anything that might be weird, I'll bail."

"What does that include?" Noah asked.

Allison put her cup down. "If he makes things weird, or tries to gaslight me."

"He's a thirty-nine-year-old man who practically said to my face that he was using you to get back at the Argents," Noah said. "That's already plenty weird."

Allison tapped her fingers against the table. "Is this where the ultimatums start?" she demanded.

"No." Noah moved his cup across the table. "No, that's not what I mean." Allison waited. "I know you two have an understanding. I just don't want you to get hurt."

"If Peter starts anything that I don't like, I'll leave," Allison said.

"And he'll let you?"

Allison leaned her elbows on the table. "I have a power advantage."

"That you'll use?"

"If I have to. But I won't."

"How do you know that?"

"Because Peter doesn't do those sorts of power plays," Allison said. She wondered how much would be wise to say. "Peter likes to arrange things so other people do all the work. It's very much like chess."

"And if he's trying to manipulate you?"

Allison shrugged. "The thing about manipulation, Noah, is that there's more than one person involved. I trust Peter to be exactly who he is."

"You sound like you think you know him pretty well."

"He was the spoiled only son of older, powerful parents," Allison said. "After they died, Talia spoiled him out of guilt, never making him face the consequences of his own actions. That might have been fine when he was thirteen, but she never stopped. His whole life, up until the fire, Talia cleaned up his messes, and he was fine with that."

"And after the fire?"

Allison put her chin in one hand. "After he woke up from his six-year coma? He's taking responsibility for his own actions now."

Which had included murdering a bunch of people and getting himself murdered by Derek, but, at least it was a start.

"As long as you don't start thinking you need to take responsibility for Peter's actions," Noah said. "Or cleaning up after him."

Allison cleared her throat. "Noah, I promise you that I will not now or ever do anything to cover up for, or clean up after, anything Peter Hale does."

Noah looked at her for so long that Allison wondered what was in his mind. "All right," he said finally. "Point taken."

"Thank you." Allison sat back as the waitress appeared with their food. "Now might be a good time to tell you that I have a date with him tomorrow night."

Noah shook his head. "It's a school night."

"I only turn eighteen once," she said, which was technically not true. "Peter said he'd make me dinner."

"What a gentleman," Noah grumbled.

"Eat your fries," Allison said. "Then we get to go home to see what disasters Stiles has wrought upon your house."

Noah sighed, and the topic of conversation turned to what they were going to do for Stiles' birthday in the spring.

* * *

"Surprise!" came a flurry of voices as Allison and Noah walked into the overly decorated living room. Someone blew on a kazoo.

"What surprise?" Allison asked as she was tackled by Erica and Lydia. "I invited you all to the party."

"I know, but this is more fun." Erica squeezed Allison's ribs with werewolf strength. "Happy birthday."

"Happy birthday," Lydia echoed, jumping up and down. "We got you a hat."

Allison let herself be pulled into the living room, where Jackson handed her a felt hat stitched in the shape of a birthday cake. Boyd and Isaac were lounging on the floor, Cora was sitting on the couch arm, and Derek was glowering at them all from the armchair.

"Thanks." Allison put the hat on. "How stupid do I look?"

"Pretty stupid," Jackson said. Lydia punched him in the arm. "What? She does!"

"Where's Stiles?" Allison asked.

"Why do you smell like gunpowder?" Cora asked, wrinkling her nose.

"Noah took me to the gun range." Allison dragged the girls over to the couch, where she collapsed beside Cora. Erica curled up next to Allison, and Lydia ended up on Erica's lap. "I like your hair."

Cora smiled, pleased. "Derek's been very nice about letting me borrow his hairbrush."

"Derek owns a hairbrush?" Allison wondered.

Derek glared.

"I'm coming!" came Stiles' yell from the basement.

"Gross," Jackson muttered. Both Isaac and Boyd hit him. "What?"

Stiles appeared, holding a piñata. "You're here too early," Stiles complained. "We have to stuff this thing with candy."

"Or you can put that down and we can just eat the candy."

Stiles gestured. "But violence makes it taste better."

"Sit."

Stiles went to collapse on the couch beside Erica and Lydia. "Fine."

"Okay," Allison said. "Birthday speech time."

Jackson sighed as Noah came back into the living room, leaning against the far wall. "Great."

"Hush." Allison took a moment to compose her thoughts. "It's been a hell of a year, or more accurately, a year from hell. Some of us have died and been reborn, metaphorically and literally."

"This is creepy," Isaac said under his breath. Jackson elbowed him.

"Everyone in this room has been through more pain and torment than sanity would allow." This got a few sideways glances towards the Sheriff. "And at the end of it, we're all here together. That's what matters. Pack. Family. Those we choose to protect. Those we choose to love."

Erica put her arms around Lydia's waist. Jackson, Isaac and Boyd huddled closer together. And Stiles just looked sadly at Derek.

"We're safer because we're together. We're stronger, because we're together." Allison let her eyes gleam red, let the alpha revel in the nearness of her pack. "As they say in Latin, _Sic gorgiamus allos subjectatos nunc._ We gladly feast on those who would subdue us."

"That's not _Latin_ ," Lydia said in outrage. "That's the _Addams Family motto."_

"And they're not just pretty words," Allison said in agreement. "We stand together, or we fall apart." She looked at Derek.

For a moment, everyone held their breath. Then Derek nodded, his own eyes glowing with the power of the Hale alpha. "We stand together," he said. "And we will not fall apart."

"Great!" chirruped Stiles, breaking the moment. "Who wants a drink?"

"No alcohol," Noah said reflexively.

"Dad, come on," Stiles protested, as the tension in the room eased. Still, Allison and Derek looked at each other. "I'm not dumb. I got punch."

"You're going to get punched," Erica said, practically tossing Lydia off her lap. "I'm hungry."

"Let's party!" Stiles crowed, and bounced up.

In amongst the chaos, Derek gave Allison a half smile. "Thanks for inviting me," he said.

"Thank you for coming."

"I'm not just here for Stiles."

"I know." Allison patted Cora's knee. "I'm glad you're here."

From the corner came a ghostly growl. Allison tensed, in case Laura attacked, but the growl softened and curled up in contentment. The Hale children, together, in life and death.

"What happens at a California birthday party?" Cora asked.

"Food, mostly," Allison said. "Let's go see what Stiles has planned."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who wants to hear a joke?  
> Knock knock.  
> Who’s there?  
> Little Isaac Lahey.  
> Little Isaac Lahey who?  
> Hey, you can yodel!
> 
> The Addams Family motto: <https://youtu.be/EnrWZiqgv1E?t=77>
> 
> A five-minute video that explains trophic cascade: [How Wolves Change Rivers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ysa5OBhXz-Q)
> 
> Up next! More birthday partying, including presents! Allison gets so many presents! Bad choices are made! See you next week!


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The birthday shenanigans continue at the Stilinski house, with presents and food and only a few traumatic breakdowns. Then Allison had dinner plans with Peter, which both go exactly as she had hoped, and also introduce some new complications into their lives. Meanwhile in Beacon Hills, Tony really does not understand how he has managed to make this entire situation worse.

* * *

The party quickly spilled out into the backyard, where Stiles had gone decoration crazy. A "Happy 50th Birthday!" banner was strung between two trees, the picnic table had a red-checked tablecloth on it, and streamers criss-crossed the yard. The Stilinski family collection of lawn-chairs were set up around the picnic table.

Cora collapsed cross-legged onto the deck. "When do we eat?"

"I don't know, four?" Stiles hazarded. He was still carrying the empty donkey piñata around with a stubborn look on his face.

Erica whined. "That's so far away."

Allison sat on the deck beside Cora. "It's only two-thirty," she said, taking off the silly party hat. The material was making her forehead itch.

"We can start the food now," Noah said from the back door. "Derek, want to give me a hand?"

Derek looked around the backyard, to where Isaac and Jackson were batting around an old lacrosse ball, Boyd was kicking at a basketball on the ground, and Lydia was looking between the deck and Erica perched on the picnic table. "Good idea." He went into the house behind Noah.

"Are you really going to fill that thing with candy?" Erica asked Stiles.

"Maybe."

"Fill it with glitter and don't tell anyone," Allison said. "Lydia, sit down."

Lydia flipped her hair over her shoulder and went to sit beside Erica. "So what are we going to talk about?" she said with a little edge to her voice. Allison did not miss how Lydia's gaze lingered on Cora. "Boys?"

"Sure," Stiles said before anyone else could respond. "So, question. Vahan, in band?"

"He plays trumpet," Allison said to Cora. "What about him?"

"Is he into guys?"

"Why?"

Across the backyard, Isaac nailed Jackson in the stomach with the lacrosse ball. "Pay attention," Isaac said. Jackson threw the ball back at Isaac's head.

"No reason," Stiles said, which made Allison narrow her eyes. "I was asking for a friend."

"You don't have any friends," Lydia pointed out.

"He has us," Erica said.

"Yeah, but why would he be asking for any of us?" Lydia demanded.

Boyd gave up on the basketball and joined Erica. "Are you really asking Stiles to be thematically consistent?"

"No, but Stiles always has a reason for what he's asking," Lydia said.

"Oh my god," Stiles said to the sky. "Forget I said anything."

"Is it always like this?" Cora asked Allison.

"We haven't settled on normal yet," Allison said. "What do you do at birthday parties in Argentina?"

Cora shrugged. "Eat. Drink. Talk. There's so many kids in our pack that I usually have to hide or else get smothered by toddlers."

Erica leaned forward. "What's your pack like?"

"It's…" Cora took a deep breath. "It's just _different."_

Allison knew Cora, knew that tiny tremor in her voice as an indication that she did not want to talk about this. But Erica had asked a question, and maybe there was a way for Allison to deflect this into an afterschool holo special moment. "Cora and Derek grew up in a family pack, that's really different than you guys now," Allison said. "Talia was the alpha, but she was also their mom. Derek's…" She cleared her throat. "Derek."

"A twenty-three-year-old walking disaster?" Stiles suggested. "What grumpy would look like if it turned into a human boy?"

"Hey," Cora said sharply. "He's doing his best."

"He is," Allison agreed, giving Stiles a look. "There's been a lot of growing pains for everyone."

"Some pain more literal than others," Isaac called as he and Jackson dropped into a couple of lawn chairs. "Mostly mine."

"Cry me a river," Jackson said, slumping down. "You didn't have the bite go wrong."

"I was talking about Allison stabbing me multiple times, but sure," Isaac said. He didn't seem to be holding a grudge over that anymore, so that was something. "Allison, what's your birth mother's pack like?"

"A mix of both," Allison said. "The Vasquez pack has always had a solid family base, with a lot of born werewolves, but after the pack wars in ninety-four, there were a lot of humans caught in the crossfire. There's more bitten werewolves in Los Angels right now, and it's making things very interesting for the pack down there to handle."

"Pack wars," Lydia repeated. She looked a little pale. "What happens in a pack war?"

Allison shrugged. "Territory squabbles, ambushes, homicide, mass murder. Basically, a lot of people die."

Erica bit her lower lip. "Could that happen here?" she asked. Boyd slipped his hand around hers.

"I mean, it could," Allison said. What had happened with the Alpha pack could technically be called a pack war. "But Beacon Hills is so small, and it's not a major trade hub, so any pack coming in would be looking for something very specific. In Los Angeles, the pack war had a lot to do with economic reasons, in addition to revenge."

"Okay," Stiles said. "Can you stop saying that we're all going to die horribly?"

"No one's going to die," Allison said. "Another pack comes to town, I'll bury them before they touch any one of you."

"While that is a heartwarming thought," Noah's voice floated out the back door, "Can we keep the murder plots to a minimum?"

"Who's talking about violence?" Allison demanded as Noah and Derek emerged from the house with enough food to feed an army. "Jarvis can help me destroy their lives electronically. Do they cheat on their taxes? Maybe they've got parking tickets. And it sure would suck if their house was suddenly foreclosed on, right?"

"None of which sounds particularly legal, but better." Noah shooed the teenagers off the picnic table. "I'd prefer that none of you kids be in any danger."

"It's not always possible," Derek said, a little subdued. "Beacon Hills is a weird place. Unstable power gets drawn here. It's always been like that."

"Not always," Cora objected. "Mom said that things weren't so weird when her dad was a kid."

 _Before the Nemeton was cut down_ , Allison thought. No one had ever been able to pinpoint who cut down the giant tree that was a focal point of all Beacon Hills' strange mystical energy, or when. "The world is an unsettled place," was all she said. "When it comes to supernatural threats, Noah, we do what we have to do to keep the people in this town safe."

"I know." Noah put the vegetable platter down. "I don't have to like it."

A flash of irritation curled through Allison. "And I don't like that Victoria Argent murdered my mother eighteen years ago today, setting into motion a lot of bullshit that ended up hitting every single person in this backyard with murder and destruction. But here we are."

Stiles snapped the head off the donkey piñata, making everyone jump. "So," he said loudly. "Does anyone know what college they want to go to?"

"I'm going to MIT," Lydia said immediately. "Engineering. Or maybe mathematics."

"Allison said I should go to UCLA for atmospheric and ocean sciences," Erica said. She leaned against Boyd.

"That's random," Jackson said. "Why?"

"It's a good mix of hands-on and theoretical," Allison said, slowly easing back and looking away from Noah. She didn't understand why she was so defensive when anyone challenged her protecting her pack, and her town. "And Erica's so smart."

"I'm going to law school," Jackson announced, and he did not sound happy about it.

"Why?" Cora asked. Noah surreptitiously left the teenagers to their discussion.

"Because."

"But why?" Cora persisted.

"Because his mom thinks he should be a lawyer," Isaac said.

Jackson glared. "My dad's a lawyer. It's a good job."

"Because you always sound so thrilled about it," Isaac pointed out. "Allison, tell Jackson where he needs to go to college."

"Why Allison?" Jackson demanded.

"Because she's great at figuring out what's really going to fuck with parents," Isaac said.

"Okay." Allison leaned forward, fixing Jackson with a gimlet eye. She waited for a beat. "Journalism at Northwestern."

"What?" Jackson just looked confused. "What about that makes _any_ sense?"

"Yeah, Jackson's not exactly a great listener," Erica said.

"Yes, but he is great at finding the truth," Allison pointed out. "He was the first one to notice that Scott was a werewolf, and follow up on Derek."

"I was the first one who noticed Scott was a werewolf," Stiles objected.

"Yes, but you're not going to Northwestern," Allison objected. "You hate the cold."

Stiles thrust the decapitated piñata at Derek, hovering awkwardly beside him. "So tell me, oh oracle of all wisdom—"

"Athena," Lydia interjected.

"Where am I going to college?"

Allison tapped her fingernails against the deck. In her original timeline, Stiles had gone across the country to George Washington University and then joined the FBI. He hadn't been happy about it, and after the Snap, he had returned to Beacon Hills, a little disappointed with his choices.

So Allison said, "UC Santa Cruz. Psychology."

Stiles threw his hands into the air. "You're nuts."

"I can see it," Derek said, startling everyone. "You like to figure things out. People. Find what makes them tick."

"And it's not too far away," Allison said as she stood up. "Only five hours. You can come back on weekends and see your dad." She touched Cora's shoulder. "I'm going to get something to drink. Anyone want some Coke?"

"Diet," Lydia ordered. "And cups."

"You should start to eat," Allison said. "I'll be right back."

The teenagers descended on the food like a pack of starving wolves, and Allison headed inside. She found Noah in his office on the far side of the house, the window open as he was attempting to work through something at his desk.

"I'm sorry."

Noah looked up. "About what?"

"That thing about my mother." Allison rubbed her forehead. "It's possible that I'm a little more touchy about today than I thought."

"Yeah, but you're not wrong." Noah gestured at the chair by the desk, and Allison went over to it. "A lot of bad things happened in this town. I don't know exactly what those kids out there have been through, but I'm a cop, so, I can make a few guesses."

Allison pulled her legs up to her chest. "I hate that I have to think like this," she said, and it felt like a confession, something she would only admit to Bucky weeks into long-haul space flights when they'd exhausted everything but hard truths. "I hate that I have to spend time thinking about who might be coming after us next. I just get tired, you know?"

"I know," Noah said quietly. "And I'm really sorry."

Allison rested her chin on her knee. "Thank you."

"For what it's worth, I think you're handling this all very well."

Allison looked at him. "You might be the only one."

"No, I'm serious." Noah leaned back in his chair. "It's only been a few days since you found out everything that happened to you. And you're able to get up every day and keep going at it."

"Do I have a choice?"

She had meant the question rhetorically, but Noah said, "Yes, you do."

"How?" Allison asked, sitting up straight. "How do I have any choice?"

"Allison—"

"No, I don't have a choice," Allison said. She balled her hands up in her jeans to keep herself focused. "I have to find a way to stop Extremis and I have to keep the bad guys out of Beacon Hills and that's not even counting all the werewolf political bullshit going on right now." Allison dug her nails into the denim. "I don't have a choice, Noah, because if I stop for even a minute, if I even blink, something bad is going to happen and I can't live with myself if it does."

The air hung quiet after Allison stopped talking, the soft hum of the house oddly muted. Noah was just looking at her, his blue eyes steady. Allison had no idea what he was thinking.

Then Noah said, "How can I help?"

 It took a fraction of a second for the words to sink in. When they did, Allison didn't know what to do.

She was a superhero. Civilians didn't ask how they could help superheroes. They expected the superheroes to help them.

She couldn't remember the last time anyone normal had asked how they could help.

"Allison?" Noah said. He was starting to look a little worried.

Allison coughed. "You just did." She stood up. "Thank you."

"That was an honest question," Noah said. "What's the good of being sheriff if I can't do some good in this town?"

"I'll think about it," Allison said. "I should get back out there."

"Okay," Noah said. "If Derek wants any help with the hamburgers, tell him to come get me."

"I will." Allison smiled at Noah and went out into the hall.

She didn't understand why she was so emotional. She had to get a better handle on her reactions. Sure, she could be upset about her mother. Eighteen years ago on that day, Clara had been murdered and Allison ripped prematurely into the world.

But being upset about that didn't mean Allison had any leeway to freak out, or snap at Noah. He had done so much for her, him and Stiles both.

Allison had to calm down. She had to get herself together.

Time to wolf up.

After a detour through the kitchen to get some pop, Allison walked out into the backyard to find Stiles standing on top of the picnic table arguing down at Derek over something. "What's going on?" she asked the girls, who were on the deck watching the show.

"I'm not sure," Lydia said.

Allison sighed and sat down. "No one's ever sure with those two."

Erica shifted against Allison's side. "Are there going to be any games?" she asked hopefully.

"Maybe, I don't know what Stiles has planned." Allison put her arm around Erica's shoulders. "I didn't really have birthday parties when I was growing up. We moved around too much, and I never knew any of the kids at school."

"No one ever invited me to their parties," Erica said quietly.

Cora leaned over, frowning. "Why not?"

Erica shrugged and looked away.

Cora transferred her questioning gaze to Allison. "Why not?"

Allison squeezed Erica's shoulder. "Because children are terrible."

"I have epilepsy," Erica said, and the words were bitter on the air. "People thought I was a freak."

Lydia went over to Erica's other side and reached for the girl's hand.

"And I thought things would be different after Derek bit me," Erica went on. "And they are, it's just..."

"It's been a really hard year," Allison said quietly. "I'm sorry."

Erica was silent for a minute. "Thanks," she finally said. "We're friends now, though, right?"

"Right."

Allison was aware that Cora was still looking at her, and she suspected that there would be an awkward conversation in her future. She just hoped it was about the betas, and not her.

 Across the yard, Stiles yelled, "Fine!" and jumped off the picnic table. He stalked over to where the girls were sitting and slumped down in front of Allison.

"What's that about?"

"Derek doesn't want to play Truth or Dare," Stiles grumbled.

Allison rolled her eyes. "Are you kidding? You want to play Truth or Dare with werewolves? _These_ werewolves?"

"What else are we going to do?" Stiles demanded. "Spin the bottle?"

"Just because you wouldn't mind kissing half the people at this party, doesn't mean I'm enabling you," Allison retorted. Stiles turned pink. "Go get a pack of cards and all that candy you had for the piñata. We're playing poker."

"Like poker's any better than Truth or Dare," Stiles muttered, but off he went.

"Which half?" Erica asked.

"Huh?

"Which half of the party does Stiles want to kiss?"

Shit. Allison really needed to learn to keep her mouth shut. "Everyone knows he's had a crush on Lydia since grade school," she hedged. Lydia made a face. "I'm pretty sure he'd rather kiss a rattlesnake than Jackson, though."

"I can hear you," Jackson said from across the yard.

"So do you want to kiss Stiles?" Allison asked without raising her voice. Jackson made a face very similar to Lydia's.

Off to the side, Allison was aware that Derek was listening to this conversation very intently.

"I'll do it," Isaac said, to everyone's intense surprise. "What?"

"Why?" Jackson demanded. "Boys, sure, but Stiles?"

Isaac grinned, a little nervously, but that was probably because of how Derek was glaring at him. "Why not? He's so bendy."

A chorus of disgusted exclamations rose at that, and Jackson cuffed Isaac's ear.

"Why are you all so weird?" Boyd asked wearily.

"Welcome to the Island of Misfit Toys," Allison said. "Derek, can you turn on the grill? I'm starving."

"Fine," Derek said shortly.

"I mean," Erica said. "I'm, like, totally over Stiles. But I can see Isaac's point." For some reason, she looked at Lydia, and Lydia blushed. "Bendy."

Lydia blushed harder.

Stiles chose that moment to return. "All right, I've got cards and candy, but the peanut butter M&Ms are mine and mine alone, I didn't survive lacrosse practice in goal for nothing." He stopped dead. "Why is everyone looking at me?"

"Speculation," Allison said. "Come on, let's play poker before bloodshed breaks out."

Slowly, Stiles crossed the deck. "No, really, why is everyone looking at me?" he hissed at Allison. "And why is Derek _not_ looking at me?"

Allison hauled Stiles down. "Everyone thinks you're cute."

"Except me," said Jackson.

"Except Jackson." Allison took the cards from Stiles. "We're playing five-card draw. I'm dealer."

"Why you?" Stiles asked, settling down between Erica and Lydia.

"Because this is a metaphor for my life." Allison cut the deck one-handed. "Deal the candy."

They played poker until the hamburgers were cooked, by which time Cora had won most of the others' candy. Noah came out of the house with the fixings, and the pack fell onto the food, assembling the weirdest hamburgers. Stiles almost won with his Dorito-and-sweet-pickle combination, but then Cora edged in with a last-minute potato-salad-and-brownie mix.

"Are you really going to eat that?" Lydia asked, nose wrinkled.

"Yup." Cora opened her mouth and took a bite. "It's not bad."

Lydia sighed. "I hate werewolves."

Allison put a second patty onto her bun before reaching for the ketchup. "I wish we had some kimchi."

"For a hamburger?" Isaac asked, his mouth full.

"Laura and I lived next to a Korean restaurant in New York," Derek said unexpectedly. Everyone went quiet. "They made this hangover soup that Laura loved."

Allison felt a brush of ghostly fur along her arm.

"Laura always ate weird stuff," Cora said to her hamburger.

Derek managed to smile. "She'd probably love that disaster you have there."

"Hey," Cora said, pulling herself together. "This is your potato salad."

"It's not supposed to go with brownies."

"Wimp."

Erica stole Stiles' burger and took a bite. "That's gross."

"What's the weirdest thing you ever ate?" Isaac asked Allison. "You moved around a lot, right?"

"I don't know about weird." Allison chewed for a moment. "Chitterlings? Rattlesnake? Maybe deep-fried grasshopper?"

Boyd gagged.

"But something I'd eat again? Either escargot or alligator."

"Why did I ask?" Isaac muttered, looking a little green.

"Hey, you do what you have to." Allison shoved the last of her hamburger into her mouth. "Does anyone want to go deer hunting this year?"

Noah perked up. "Is that something you're interested in? I could never get Stiles to go with me."

"Yeah, because deer and guns," Stiles objected. "Also, outside."

"Anyone else?" Noah asked, looking around. "Derek, I know your father used to bag a few deer every year."

Cora choked. Derek looked mildly amused. "Dad didn't go hunting with guns," he said pointedly.

"Oh," Noah said. Allison could see his mental wheels turning, and coming to the obvious lupine conclusion. "Right."

"Besides," Derek went on. "Mom thought deer were boring. She'd go up north in the spring to go moose hunting."

"Wait, I thought those were business trips," Cora objected. "No fair."

"Any hunting opportunities in Argentina?" Allison asked, to deflect Cora's annoyance.

"Mostly cougars," Cora replied. "A couple of the neighbouring farms have sheep, so we get cougars coming down from the mountains. It's dangerous with all the little kids around, so we take turns going out at night to keep them away."

"That sounds dangerous," Noah said. "You don't go alone, do you?"

Cora rolled her eyes. "No, my Uncle Mateo makes us go in pairs. But I can take a cougar out on my own."

"We get mountain lions coming down into town, sometimes," Allison said. She met Derek's sudden glare. "Remember, at the school?"

"Yes," Noah said with a wince. "Certainly made parent-teacher night memorable."

"Didn't your dad-- I mean, Chris, shoot it?" Erica asked.

"Yup." Allison shoved a jalapeno slice into her mouth. "Because that's how ever girl wants her first month at school to go, with her father massacring mountain lions in front of all her friends." She shook her head. "I'm pretty sure he thought it was going to be a shapeshifter."

"Do you mean Pe—" Jackson was cut off by Boyd's elbow in his ribs. "Right."

"I missed a lot of stuff last year," Erica said slowly. "Can grown-ups have guns at school?"

"Chris has a concealed carry permit that lets him carry on school property," Allison said. She suddenly wasn't as hungry. "Which made him showing up in the locker room at the lacrosse game a couple of weeks ago super-exciting."

Erica looked horrified. "Did he pull a gun on Jackson?" she demanded.

"No," Jackson said. "Allison was there first." He looked over at Allison. "Did he pull a gun on you?"

Allison swallowed down the remembered panic at that encounter, the then-unrealized fears making her terrified of Chris. Now, she at least had a basis for that fear. And he probably wouldn't come after her for being a human alpha.

She was almost certain.

"No," Allison said, returning to the present. "No, he didn't."

"Did you think he might?" Erica asked.

"Probably not." Allison rested her elbow on her knee. "I think things are okay."

"Can we not talk about all the ways we can die horribly?" Stiles asked. "Seriously."

"Sure." Allison nudged him. "Is there cake? Or is there more food first?"

"Can we have more hamburgers?" Erica asked, perking up.

"Yeah, can we?" Isaac echoed. "Those are really good."

"Sure." Noah got up. "Derek, want to help me?"

"Stiles can do it," Derek said. Noah grabbed Stiles' shoulder as he passed, hauling his protesting son to his feet. "Allison, what's your mother's pack going to do about Chris?"

"Nothing." Allison snagged a chip off Lydia's plate. "I asked them to wait until the investigation figures out if Chris was involved in Clara's death before they do anything."

Derek glared. "And they agreed to that?"

"Anna and Inez did. I doubt Victor's making any plans to head north, so Chris should be fine."

"Are you okay with that?" Derek asked.

"Yes? I mean, if he and his Hunters leave town, some other gang of miscreants will move in and the last thing I need is to start having to pick off unstable sociopaths in between school and working at the station."

"No, I mean, are you okay with Chris being around," Derek said. "You were pretty freaked out by him at the ice rink."

Allison shrugged. "I got over it."

Cora licked potato salad off her thumb. "Your life is fucked up," she said.

Allison let out a weary sigh. "Tell me about it."

"We have a problem," Stiles announced, returning to the group. "We have ten people and only six hamburgers left."

"How is that a problem?" Boyd asked. "Cut them in half."

Stiles stopped. "Half," he repeated. "Right." He went back over to the grill.

"Half?" Isaac repeated.

Boyd gave him a look. "You've met my sisters. Everyone gets equal portions or someone dies."

"I like this party," Erica mused, linking arms with Lydia. "There's food and drama."

"And no hallucinations or resurrections like at my party," Lydia added. Everyone looked at her. "In my defence, I was being haunted."

"Haunted," Cora repeated. "By who?"

"Peter." Lydia was very carefully not looking at Allison.

Cora stared at Lydia, then slowly turned her gaze on Derek. "What?" Derek demanded.

"What is _with_ this town?"

"It's built on a convergence of telluric currents," Allison said. Everyone blinked at her. "Electric currents under the earth? It's a thing."

"Electricity under the ground makes this place weird?" Boyd asked. He sounded sceptical.

"No, the telluric currents attract supernatural power, which makes this place weird." Allison's heart was sinking. This particular piece of knowledge apparently hadn't been revealed to the pack yet. "Beacon Hills is literally a beacon for the supernatural."

Derek frowned at her. "Who told you that?"

"I think Chris was doing some research on it," Allison said, trying to evade the question. "What matters is that Beacon Hills is a magnet for the supernatural, sentient and not, which means life is complicated."

"Great," Derek muttered.

"Did Mom know about this?" Cora asked.

"If she did, she sure as hell didn't tell me," Derek snapped.

"Does Peter know?"

"How should I know?"

Cora bit down on her thumb. "Do we do anything about it?"

"Like what?" Allison asked. "You can't change the way the planet works."

"Should we tell people?"

"Why?" Allison took the last chip off Erica's plate. "Beacon Hills' supernatural community is just as law-abiding as the human population. More so, because they know what can happen if anyone finds out about them."

"What, that Hunters will come after them?" Cora snapped.

 "Yes," Allison snapped back. Around them, the others had gone still. "So will humans. Don't be worried about the one Hunter with a gun. Be worried about the twenty-thousand humans in this town who would break out the pitchforks and torches if they find out werewolves are real."

"You're doing it again," Stiles interrupted, returning with a platter of burgers. "Freaking everyone out with stories of our impending demise."

"Is it always like this here?" Isaac wondered.

"No, Allison's normally not this optimistic and cheerful." Stiles danced away from Allison's hand. "So before anyone takes another hamburger, know that there is a giant cake in the house."

"Great," Boyd said. "Now hand over the beef."

Stiles sighed, but did as he was told.

* * *

The pack finally finished all of the food. Derek guilted everyone into helping clean up and get the dishes back into the house, before they all collapsed around the living room.

"Can we do presents now?" Erica asked from her slumped position beside Allison. "I think I ate too much."

"Presents and cake," Stiles said, buzzing around the room, setting down a handful of forks. "Wait." He turned a horrified face on his father as Noah carried plates into the room. "We forgot ice cream."

"No one wants ice cream," Lydia said. "Sit down."

"I want ice cream," Isaac said. Boyd kicked him.

"We can go for ice cream after," Allison said. She had her pack here, safe and in one place. Once Kira came to town, and they could find Malia up in the hills and convince her to turn back into her human form, her pack would be complete.

As soon as she could figure out what was wrong with Scott.

Allison sighed, feeling a bit of her happiness drift away. Scott had been acting so strange towards her and Stiles, she hadn't invited him to the party. Erica had confirmed that the conversation Scott denied had occurred, which was strange. Why had Scott said it hadn't?

"Lights," Noah called. Stiles dove for the light switch, plunging the room into a twilight. In came Noah, carrying a birthday cake with tiny burning candles.

"Since no one here is in glee club, do your worst," Stiles ordered, and everyone sang _Happy Birthday_ with varying levels of melodic accuracy. Noah set the cake down on the coffee table in front of Allison as the song drew to a close.

"Make a wish," Noah said.

Allison just sat there. What could she wish for? A guarantee that she had done enough to stop the Snap and save the universe? Safety for everyone she loved? Any hint or sign that she would be able to rescue Bucky one day from Hydra's clutches?

Unbidden, a wave of grief and pain washed over Allison. There were some things that she would never be able to get back. She'd never see Morgan again. Lydia's kids, all the pack's children, born after the Snap, would never be.

An arm went over her back. "It's okay," Lydia said, so worried. "Don't be sad. It's going to be okay."

"Please don't cry," Erica said from Allison's other side. "Derek gets all freaked out when you cry."

"I do not," Derek said. "She can cry if she wants, her life is really fucked up."

"Wow, can you help any less?" Stiles demanded. "Allison, come on, I know that our singing is terrible, but is it really that terrible?"

Allison laughed in spite of herself, pulling her back to the present. She might not be able to get back what she had lost, but she had her pack, the people she loved. "You're pretty bad," she said, sniffling a little. "Wait until the next birthday when I join in."

"Can you sing?" Cora asked.

"Not in the least." Allison squeezed Erica and Lydia's hands. "Thanks."

"Great, now blow out the candles before they melt the cake," Stiles ordered.

Obediently, Allison leaned forward. _Let me protect everyone,_ she begged an uncaring universe. _Let me keep them safe._

Then she blew out the candles.

It took a few minutes for the lights to go back on, for the cake to be cut and distributed. The cake was chocolate with strawberries inside and it was so good that Allison almost started crying again.

"So," Erica said with a mouthful. "Whose birthday is next? Can we go bowling?"

Everyone cracked up, and Allison was able to hold down the tears.

When most of the cake was gone, Stiles bounced up again. "All right, who needs more Coke and some presents?"

"I think you've had more than enough caffeine for one day," Noah said, setting aside his half-eaten plate. "Erica, Boyd, can you come help with presents?"

The two hurried after Noah. "You guys didn't have to get me anything," Allison said, feeling a little overwhelmed. "This is the best birthday party I've ever had."

For some reason, everyone looked at Jackson, who stared straight at Allison. "I'm glad you think that," he said with a straight face.

Lydia rolled her eyes and Isaac smirked. Allison's heart sank a little. So, Jackson had either gotten her nothing, or else it was a gag gift. That was okay. As long as it wasn't something dirty.

Erica staggered back into the room first, holding a huge box. "You have to open this first," the girl announced. "It's from me."

Oh, hell. "Erica, you didn't have to do this," Allison said, jumping up. She helped Erica navigate putting the box down on a spot of empty carpet.

"No, it's okay," Erica said. Her cheeks were pink and she was grinning. "Go on."

"Please do," Boyd said, carrying in a laundry hamper filled with wrapped presents. "I had to spend all day yesterday driving around Redding for that."

"Um, okay." Allison waited until Noah was back in the room and sitting down before she tore open the wrapping paper. Opening the box, she found that it was stuffed to the brim with bags of chips and cookies and candy. And, oddly, a little basket of green apples.

"My mom doesn't let me have junk food at home," Erica said. "But she said if it's for sharing, it's okay."

Allison couldn't help it. She sat back and started laughing. "Maybe you should become the lawyer."

"Nope." Erica hauled out a bag of honey mustard flavoured chips. "Do you want some?"

"A bit later." Allison pulled Erica down into a hug "You are the best," she said against Erica's cheek. The alpha was warm and happy and so glad to be with her pack. "Thank you."

Erica squeezed Allison tight. "I'm glad you like it." She sat down beside Allison again. "I was worried you might think it's dumb."

"Are you kidding?" Allison asked. "It's brilliant. I get junk food and friendship, how cool is that?"

Erica's smile was blinding.

"Who's next?" Noah asked.

"I got you this," Boyd said, handing over a wrapped tube the length of Allison's forearm. "It's not as neat as what Erica got you."

Unwrapping the gift, Allison found an insulated water bottle with a pretty flower pattern on the outside. "This is brilliant," Allison said. "I can't stand the taste of school water. This is going to get me through the day."

Boyd rubbed the back of his neck. "I know what you mean about school water," he said.

"Thank you."

The next present out of the basket was from Isaac. "You might hate it," Isaac cautioned as Allison unwrapped the paper.

"Unless it's a punch to the face, I doubt that," Allison said. The final scrap of paper came away from the small case. "A fountain pen?"

Isaac shrugged. "Mr. Whittemore has one on his desk, I thought it was cool."

"It is cool, thank you." Allison uncapped the pen and wrote on the back of the wrapping paper, _From Isaac_.

"Mine next," Lydia said. Boyd handed over a medium-sized box. "I'm pretty sure everything is in your colour palette."

Underneath the cotton-candy wrapping paper was a collection of makeup that made Allison raise her eyebrows. "Lydia, this is way too much," she protested.

Lydia waved her hands, brushing the words away. "I know you're going all minimalist hobo these days, but you're so pale it hurts my eyes."

"Did she really just say that?" Cora asked Derek in Spanish.

Lydia whipped her head around, eyes flashing. "Yes, I did," she replied in kind. Then, in English, "If Allison wants to look like a four-day-old corpse, fine, but she might want to have _options._ "

"One-day old corpse at best," Stiles said. "I think by day four the corpse is bloating and the bodily fluids start to leak and—"

"Stiles," Noah said. Stiles snapped his mouth shut. "How do you know that?"

"I read, Dad," Stiles said.

"Uh huh."

"Interrupting this installment of CSI: Beacon Hills," Allison said. "Lydia, I really can't—"

"Yes," Erica interrupted. She put her hand over Allison's. "You can." There was something serious in her eyes, a shimmer of warning.

"Yes," Lydia repeated, brittle. "You can."

Allison nodded. "Thank you, Lydia, this means a lot."

Lydia forced a smile onto her face. "You're welcome." She turned her head towards Jackson. "Why don't you open Jackson's next?"

The boy squirmed a little. "Danny sent something," he deflected. Boyd hauled out the small flat box. "His parents brought it back from Hawaii."

Allison took the box of chocolate-covered macadamia nuts. "Excellent, I love these."

"Jackson's next," Lydia repeated.

With a shake of the head, Boyd pulled the last item out of the hamper. It was soft and squishy under the wrapping paper.

Everyone was looking at Allison with anticipation, except Jackson, who had his jaw set like he didn't care what anyone thought. Tearing open the paper, Allison found a pair of plush bear-paw slippers.

The air hung with gleeful anticipation.

"Thank you, Jackson," Allison said with complete sincerity. "My feet have been getting really cold when I'm at home. This is perfect."

The room exhaled, and Jackson just nodded as if he had fully expected Allison to say that. "You're welcome."

"It's still a stupid gift," Lydia muttered to Erica. Erica nodded in sympathy.

Stiles clapped his hands together. "Does anyone have anything else?" he asked, fixing a gimlet eye on the Hale siblings.

"I do." Cora reached behind the armchair. "I couldn't find any wrapping paper at Derek's loft."

She handed over a brown bag with the name of a local workwear store. Allison took the bag and looked inside. "Boots?" she said, pulling out a pair of brown leather shoes.

"I know you bled all over your other boots," Cora said. "Stiles gave me your shoe size. I've got the receipt if they don't fit."

Allison quickly tried on the footwear. They'd need a little breaking in, but the fit was good and the grip on the bottom perfect for running in the woods. "These are awesome. Thank you."

Cora tried to hide a pleased smile. "I figured that you saved me from Hunters, so I'm returning the favour."

"Saving you was not a favour that needs repaying." Allison unlaced the boots. "You're family."

"Pack family!" Stiles interrupted loudly, casting a nervous glance at his father. Noah looked a little annoyed, but let it pass. "Which, who would have thought that was a thing three weeks ago?"

"Stiles, did you get Allison a present?" Erica asked.

"I did." Stiles turned his eyes on Derek. "Derek. Derek. Derek first."

Derek let out a breath. "You are such a pain in the ass," he muttered as he yanked a small jewelry box out of his jacket pocket. "Allison, this is for you."

He tossed it underhand over to Allison. Her heart was suddenly pounding in her chest. She was pretty sure that she knew what this was. In the original timeline, Derek had given her his aunt's necklace soon after the debacle with Dupont. Was this happening again?

She opened the box, to reveal a pendant with a single black pearl suspended between two silver crescents. Allison bit her lip. This necklace was something worn by women like her, born to a human father and werewolf mother, with the wolf in their blood but never changing under the full moon.

"My dad had a sister," Derek said. The room had gone quiet again. "His parents were like yours, his father was human and his mother a werewolf. They say girls like that are born under the dark of the moon. This was her necklace." Derek took a breath. "But she died. Dad was going to give the necklace to any of my sisters if they married a human man, but…" He looked at Cora, who nodded. "I think you should have this. It shows that you're under the protection of a pack. Our pack."

Allison touched the black pearl. She had valued this necklace above everything else, the first time she had lived this life, and had worn it as often as possible, right up until the day Derek died.

Allison had put the necklace back into Derek's cold hand before they buried him up in the preserve.

But all that had changed. Allison wasn't going to let anyone hurt Derek, or anyone.

Allison had to swallow twice before she could speak. "Thank you."

Derek nodded. "Just. Uh."

Allison waited.

"Your mother's pack might get a little pissed off that you're under someone else's protection."

Allison raised her eyebrows, then smiled a very sharp, satisfied smile. "My mother's pack is in Los Angeles. This is my home. All of you, you're my pack."

Derek grinned back at her, a flash of red in his eyes. "You don't mind the politics?"

"If Victor Vasquez wants to offer me blood protection on his lands, we can talk." Allison quickly put on the necklace. "But I've bled for this land, and for this pack. Blood spilled willingly is a pact." She lowered her hands. "It's a promise."

"Why are you two always so weird?" Lydia whispered.

"Alphas' prerogative," Derek said, leaning back in his chair. "Stiles, happy now?"

"Never better!" Stiles ran out of the room.

"Is he always like this?" Cora asked.

"Yes," came a chorus of answers.

"I can still hear you!" Stiles called from the kitchen. "Okay, so before the grand finale with my present, we have two very special arrivals." He returned to the living room carrying two FexEx packages. "I'm pretty sure they're birthday presents, unless Allison was doing some online shopping."

"I didn't," Allison said, reaching out for the envelopes with a frown.

"When did those arrive?" Noah asked, a similar expression on his face.

"While you were out.

The first package had a printed return address of Stark Industries, in Los Angeles. Allison tried to swallow down the spring of hope in her chest. It probably wasn't from Tony. He hadn't made any acknowledgement of her existence outside of one text the previous week.

Carefully, Allison set the package aside. The other one was addressed in pen, sent from A. Vasquez at Vasquez Media. Allison smiled in spite of herself.

"Are you going to open them?" Isaac asked.

"Yes." Allison pulled the knife from her waistband, making Lydia meep. "This is from my aunt Anna."

"The one who came to visit you?" Erica asked.

"Yes." Allison slit open the envelope, set the knife aside, and pulled out a photograph in a cardboard holder and a small velvet jewelry bag. The paper wrapped around the photos had a short message from Anna.

> _Happy birthday, dear niece. I look forward to getting to know you better. I know you may have seen pictures of your mother, but I am sending to you the family photograph from her quinceañera, along with the rosary she received on that day. She was fifteen._
> 
> _I hope to see you soon._
> 
> _-Anna_

Allison looked at the photograph, of the Vasquez family on that day in 1988. Clara was in a sparkling baby-blue dress, grinning at the camera. Inez and Victor were behind her, with Inez looking very much like Anna did now. Anna was in the picture, a scrawny twelve-year-old at Clara's elbow. And on Clara's other side stood her brothers, Rafael and Matias, seventeen and fourteen, respectively.

Allison wondered a little at the expression on Rafael's face. Alone among the family, he did not appear to be overwhelmed with excitement.

Well. Seventeen-year-olds could be difficult, Allison supposed. She was in a room with several of them at the moment.

Speaking of which. She handed the photo to Lydia. "That's my mother's family," she said, opening the jewellery bag. "Clara's the one in the blue dress."

"Holy crap, she looks just like you." Lydia handed the photograph around. "Except for that hair."

"Blame the eighties." Allison poured her mother's rosary out onto her palm. "It was a dire time for one's coiffure."

"What's that?" Stiles asked, neck craned.

Allison held up the rosary. "It's my mother's," she said. The turquoise beads were warm on her fingers. "I've never had anything of hers before."

Stiles, who was holding the picture, stared at it for a while. "That sucks."

"My life sucks." Allison wrapped the rosary around her hand. "But Anna said that I can keep asking questions. I'll never know Clara, not really, but I have family out there."

"What's in the other box?" Isaac asked.

Allison took a deep breath. "Likely crippling disappointment," she said brightly. "Which, let's do it."

The room watched as Allison opened the next envelope. Inside was a small black case, about the size of her palm, and a printed note.

> _Allison, happy birthday. I trust that we will one day meet 'in person' but until then, a small token of my appreciation at our most recent collaborations. These will pair seamlessly with your phone, and have a roaming distance of up to two miles. A recent bit of engineering experimentation on my part. All of my best wishes._
> 
> _-J.A.R.V.I.S._

Allison had been expecting it, but the lack of any mention of Tony hurt like a stab to the chest. But she refused to let herself react. If Tony Stark didn't want to have any part in her life in this timeline, so be it.

She wasn't going to beg for scraps. She'd rather starve first.

She folded the note and put it in her pocket, then opened the case. Inside lay a pair of wireless earbuds, with such a sleek profile that Allison whistled. "Now this is what I'm talking about," she said to herself, lifting one earbud. It could fit into her ear and be almost invisible, even with her hair up.

"Headphones?" Erica asked.

"Better than that." Allison put the earbud back into the case. She would contact Jarvis later to thank him. "More like a hands-free headset. Now I can take phone calls on my bike."

"We're going to talk about that," Noah said from the corner.

Allison put the case on the table beside Isaac's pen and Boyd's water bottle. "All right, Stiles, your turn."

"Wait," Lydia objected. "Didn't you get anything from your father?"

"Apparently not." Allison rubbed the beads of the rosary absently. "My official birthday isn't until tomorrow, so, who knows."

Lydia looked betrayed. "Why is Tony Stark such a _jerk?"_

"I don't care." Allison touched Lydia's hand. "You're all my family, okay? You're all I need."

"Sweet." For some reason, Stiles knelt beside Erica's legs and reached under the couch. Erica pulled back, her eyes flashing amber in irritation. "Allison, I got you this."

With a triumphant reveal worth of the Stilinski name, Stiles hauled an axe out from under the couch, its surface bound in strips of wrapping paper so tight, Allison could almost see the brand name. Stiles was grinning like a maniac.

"Did you get me a new backpack?" Allison asked with wide-eyed innocence. Derek snorted. "Oh, a new computer!"

"Allison," Stiles said, annoyed.

"It's a limited-edition framed copy of the fourth run of Aqua Man," Allison went on.

Stiles shoved the axe towards Allison. "The guy at the army surplus store said you'd like it."

"A sewing machine," Allison said.

"Allison!"

"If you don't unwrap that thing, Stiles might vibrate into another dimension," Jackson said in irritation.

"Exactly!" Stiles said. "Let's go, chop chop!"

At Allison's side, Lydia let out a strangled breath with the beginnings of a scream. She shot to her feet, nearly knocking Allison over, and ran out of the room.

"What—" Stiles began, but Allison was already up and moving after the girl.

Lydia had gone in a straight line, right into the kitchen, right over to the sink. She was breathing hard, with an edge on each breath that warned of a banshee losing it.

 _Shit._ Allison hauled the alpha up so fast it hurt. "Lydia," she said in a soothing, power-rich voice. "Lydia, do you know where you are?"

"Of course I do," Lydia said, the fluttering panic turning to anger.

"Good." Allison put her hand carefully on Lydia's arm. "The last time I had a flashback, I grabbed a knife and nearly climbed on top of the fridge to get away from Scott."

"I'm not having a flashback," Lydia snapped. She pressed her hand over her mouth. "When Stiles said 'chop, chop'…"

"Are you thinking about what happened in that room?" Allison asked. She could hear movement behind her, could sense that Stiles and Jackson were lurking just outside the kitchen. She hoped they would stay put. "Dupont?"

Lydia lowered her shaking hand. "Dupont was going to cut your arm off," she said faintly. "And you told him that you didn't have all day. You told him chop chop."

Allison ran her hand over Lydia's arm. "And then what happened?"

Lydia sniffled. "Then you told him to go through the joint instead of sawing through the bone, it would be faster."

In the hallway, Stiles nearly choked.

"Yes," Allison said patiently. "And then what happened?"

"Then…" Lydia trailed off. The house seemed to breathe around them. "And then…"

Allison squeezed Lydia's arm. "And then."

Lydia looked at Allison. The panic in her eyes was fading, and there was a shine there that Allison knew so well. In the future, when Lydia knew her strength as a banshee, as the most powerful supernatural creature in Beacon Hills, she had looked at Allison like this.

Like she knew who she was.

And this Lydia, still so young, she was on her way.

Allison let out a breath. "Are you going to be okay?"

Lydia nodded, her hair flying. "Everyone's going to think I'm such a spaz," she said.

"No." Allison pulled Lydia in for a hug. "They're going to think that you've been through a lot. Like everyone in that room."

"Cora will."

"She will not." Allison kissed Lydia's temple. "We all have ghosts. Sometimes they're louder than others. And some of yours are barely even cold yet."

A throat cleared nearby. "Actually, by day six of decompo--" Stiles began, then let out an _oof._

"Why are you so defective?" Erica hissed, and there was the sound of someone being hauled bodily away.

Lydia hid her face against Allison's shoulder.

"Lydia?" Jackson came into the kitchen awkwardly. "Do you want me to, uh, go eat Stiles' face?"

"No," Lydia said. She turned her head. "Hey."

"Hey."

"Can I be a super-clingy girlfriend for a while?" Lydia asked.

Something on Jackson's face cleared. "Yeah."

"Okay." Lydia eased back from Allison. "Thanks."

Allison tucked a strand of hair behind Lydia's ear. "I'm here whenever you need me, okay?"

Lydia nodded, then wiped her eyes and went over to Jackson, wrapping her arms around his chest and letting him guide her back into the living room.

Allison took a moment to focus, and centre herself. Lydia's reaction had been a very stark reminder that Allison could not afford to be weak, or let herself focus on her own problems. Her friends needed her to be strong, to help them. They were just kids, and Allison was a grown damned adult, practically middle-aged.

She had to be strong. Disappointments, she could deal with. Disappointment never killed anyone. Sure, a few tears, a bit of screaming, years of therapy. But what didn't kill her, could be dealt with.

In the empty kitchen, something cold brushed Allison's hand.

Allison sighed. "Hi, Laura," she said in the softest voice possible.

"Happy birthday," came the quiet, ghostly words. Invisible fingers ran down Allison's arm to circle her wrist.

"Go back to haunt Cora or whatever you're doing," Allison said. "I'm busy."

A giggle, then Laura kissed Allison's cheek and vanished.

Allison shuddered. Why the hell was she the only one in town who was haunted?

"Allison?"

Allison looked up to see Stiles watching her. "Hi."

"You okay?"

Allison shook her head. "Yes." She went over to take hold of Stiles' arm. "Thanks for the axe."

"You haven't even seen it yet."

"I still love it."

"The guy at the shop said it wasn't an axe, it was a tomahawk."

"I prefer the non-culturally appropriative terminology," Allison said. "And it doesn't matter what I call it, as long as it's sharp enough to decapitate a chupacabra, it's all I need."

Stiles stopped dead. "Wait, are chupacabras _real?"_ he demanded.

Allison slapped his cheek. "Who knows? Let's ask Cora."

"I don't know anything," Cora protested as Stiles and Allison re-entered the living room. The pack looked up guiltily from where they had been digging into Erica's junk food box.

"Then that's something we can figure out." Allison retrieved the axe from where it had fallen by the couch. "I've personally never seen one, but then I've never seen a kangaroo in person and I'm sure they exist."

"You've never seen a kangaroo?" Jackson asked from the couch, where he was pinned by Lydia on his lap.

"Not in person." Allison ripped the paper off the axe. "Photos can be doctored." She ran her hands appreciatively down the axe haft. "This is oak, right?"

"Uh." Stiles looked a little confused. "I didn't ask."

"It feels like oak." Allison slipped the sheath off the axe head. The blade was shiny and sharp and solid under Allison's fingers. She couldn't wait to get this out in the field. "Stiles, you do bring me the nicest toys."

"I'm starting to have second thoughts."

Allison held the axe down and let the handle slide through her hand, giving it a quick toss to catch just under the head. "This is almost perfectly balanced."

"Is axe throwing a thing we do now?" Isaac wondered.

"We could." Allison snapped the sheath back over the axe head. "Do you guys want to go get ice cream and head into the woods to throw this thing around?"

"Yes to ice cream," Erica said. "No to flying knives."

Noah stood up. "You kids go have fun," he said. "Just try to be back by ten, all right? You've got school tomorrow."

"Sure thing, Dad." Stiles bounced up. "Wait, we gotta clean up first."

Noah waved his hand. "I'll do that."

"I'll help," Derek said.

"You're not coming with us?" Stiles asked, frowning.

"No." Derek picked up the remains of the cake.

"Come on," Cora said, looking between her brother and Stiles. "I'll tell you all the embarrassing Derek stories I can remember."

"It's more fun when he's there to hear them," Stiles grumbled, but he let Cora pull him towards the door.

Everyone else got themselves together, gathering jackets and bags. Allison put her mother's rosary on the side table, out of everyone's way, and propped the photograph up against the lamp.

"Allison?"

Allison turned to see Noah gathering up the plates. She steeled herself for some sage advice, or worried counsel. "Yes?"

"No drinking and driving, okay? If anyone needs a ride, call me."

"Noah, we're just getting ice cream."

Noah looked at her with a weary expression. "I was eighteen once too, remember?"

Allison drew an X over her heart. "No drinking and driving, no drinking and axe-throwing, either."

"Good." Noah shook his head. "Seriously. Have a little fun, okay?"

"Axes are always fun," Allison said, and grinned.

"Allison, come on, Erica's going to bite my head off if she doesn't get some butter pecan in her soon!" Stiles called. Then came a thud and a crash. "Why are you so violent?"

"Why are you so annoying?" Erica snarled.

Allison sighed. "Wish me luck," she said to Noah, and headed towards the hall. She spotted Derek in the kitchen, and made a detour. "Are you sure you don't want to come with us?" she asked.

"They don't need their alpha hanging around to kill all the fun," Derek said as he stacked dishes into the sink.

"It can still be fun if you're there," Allison said.

Derek looked down at the soapy water. "Not today, okay?"

Allison knew that expression. "Okay," she said, and backed out into the hall. "Hey, maybe you can get Noah to tell you all the embarrassing Stiles stories."

At the door, Stiles froze. "On second thought," he said. "I'm staying home."

Isaac picked Stiles up in a fireman's carry and hauled him outside, which at least meant that everyone was laughing as they left.

* * *

Stiles woke the Stilinski house early the next morning, for them all to be dragged out for Allison's free breakfast at Denny's on her birthday. Noah drank cup after cup of coffee while Allison and Stiles argued about chemistry, then biology, then history.

Then off to school, where they had to suffer through first-period gym. Scott was avoiding them all, hardly even making eye contact, so Allison let him be. She escaped to computer science without incident, and was able to thank Danny for his birthday present.

In history, Mrs. Martin had an entire lecture prepared about the Declaration of Independence, and Allison let the patriotic party line wash over her for an hour.

Lunch was boring, as Lydia and Isaac were finalizing their campaign speech for the student council election assembly on Wednesday. Erica and Jackson had their heads together over their English homework, so Allison and Boyd talked about their math assignments for a while. Stiles had texted to say he was in the library working on something, which was always worrying, but Allison figured that she could get him to spill his secrets after school.

Biology was awkward. Mr. Arthurs was back, but he was pretending that Allison's chair was empty, even when she raised her hand to answer his pointed questions. By the end of the hour, Allison was ready to start screaming. But at least there wasn't any homework.

For the last period of the day, Allison and Boyd continued their math discussion once Mr. Lazarov set everyone free for independent work. The questions weren't difficult, and Allison used the spare time to pry into Boyd's plans for his date with Erica at the Homecoming dance.

Without work after school, Allison headed home. Stiles was at the library, so Allison could focus on her homework in a silent house. Peter had texted her to say she should come over at seven, which left Allison with way too much spare time before she had to get ready. To avoid thinking about things, namely, why Tony hadn't so much as sent her a _happy birthday_ text, Allison hand-wrote thank you cards for all her birthday presents using Isaac's pen, then wrote a letter to Anna and Inez about what had transpired at the birthday party.

Well, most of it. She left out the axe-throwing and the various declarations of pack loyalty.

By then, it was late enough for Allison to head upstairs to get ready for her date. Peter had pretty much seen her at her worst, in the few weeks that they had been sleeping together, so Allison probably didn't have to raise the bar all that high.

Or, she mused, setting out the make-up from Lydia's present on the bathroom counter, she could pull a complete one-eighty, and yank out all the stops.

She stared at her reflection, then pulled a face.

The things she did for Peter's dick.

She hopped in the shower to shave her legs and give herself a scrub to get the smell of high school off her body. With the bathroom barely steamy, she took a few minutes to pluck her eyebrows back into shape, vowing that if Peter hadn't at least bought any dessert, she was going to have some serious words with him.

She did her eye-liner and mascara in quick strokes. Sorting through the various lipsticks took a while, to get the right shade. In the end, Allison had to let her eyes go alpha-red to find the right colour, which was a level of pretentiousness that made her feel like an idiot.

Heaven forbid that her lipstick clash with her eyes.

As she was capping the lipstick, she heard the front door slam. "I'm home!" Stiles shouted.

Shit. Allison didn't have a bathrobe. She grabbed a towel to wrap around her middle before she poked her head into the hall. "Stay down there," she ordered.

"Why?" Stiles asked. She could hear his feet on the stairs.

"Modesty." With alpha speed, Allison dashed to her bedroom and closed the door. "Okay, do what you want."

Stiles walked down the hall to Allison's door. "Why were you taking a shower?" he asked from the other side.

"Because I have a date with Peter."

"Gross." There was a crunching sound. "Why?"

"Because." Allison shucked off the towel and reached for the dresser. "Sometimes, when a human and a werewolf love each other very much, they like to spend time together without all the other werewolves around."

"Gross," Stiles said again. More crunching.

"What are you doing?" Allison asked as she stepped into her fancy new underwear. She had ended up going with a dark blue lacy bra and matching panties, and if this didn't get Peter's attention, nothing would.

"Eating an apple. What are you doing on your date?"

"Peter said he would make me dinner." Allison pulled her black dress over her head, and zipped it up the back. She had to arrange her cleavage a bit, but the push-up bra did its job admirably in making it look like Allison actually had a figure.

"But, just dinner, right?"

Allison went over and opened the door. Stiles nearly fell into the room. "I want you to think really hard if you want me to answer that," Allison said. Stiles just gaped at her. "Stop it."

"You look really good," Stiles said, finally closing his mouth. "Like, totally different than at school."

"Make-up is an amazing disguise." Allison went over to get her hairbrush. "So is not wearing basketball shorts and one of your t-shirts."

"I forgot that you had…" Stiles made a hand gesture that Allison didn't want interpreted. "That's a nice dress."

"Thank you." She brushed her hair straight, then twisted it up into a bun.

Stiles settled on Allison's bed to watch. "Why Peter?"

"It's complicated."

"Okay." Stiles crunched his apple. "I can give you a thousand reasons why not Peter."

"Stiles, I can give myself the same lecture." Allison plucked the pearl-and-moon necklace off her dresser. "It's just…" She clasped it around her neck before reaching into the drawer for the blue sapphire necklace. "I don't know how to explain it. He gets me. And I get him."

"So?"

Allison adjusted the sapphire so it hung against the pale of her chest. "Love doesn't have to make sense. It's…" She let her hand drop. "He gives me what I need, but he doesn't get in my way. Does that make any sense?"

"No."

Allison spun in a circle, letting the dress flare around her. The skirt settled easily. "Like I said, I can't explain it. He likes me and I like him."

"Even knowing what he's done?"

Allison collapsed onto the bed beside Stiles. "Yes. And him knowing what I've done."

"Huh." Stiles put his elbows on his knees. "Dad's not going to like it."

"Noah had already expressed his reservations about this relationship."

"Yeah, but he doesn't know the whole story."

"He knows enough of it," Allison said. "And I told Noah that if Peter makes it weird, I'll leave him."

"How can he make it weirder?" Stiles demanded. "Derek told me about the sex and the biting, remember?"

Allison shook her head. She didn't want to damage Stiles' innocence. "Sometimes, in a relationship," she said, "One person can make demands that the other person doesn't want to go along with, or feels pressured into doing. That can make it weird. I already told Peter, I'm not interested in power plays."

"Okay, but he already bit you during sex and now you're werewolf married."

Allison patted Stiles' knee. "And I was a willing participant in that particular situation," she said delicately.

Stiles made a face. "Oh, god, you're both weird."

"Isn't that love?" Allison stood up. "Finding someone who's strange in the same ways you are?"

"Love shouldn't be strange," Stiles argued. Below, the front door opened and closed. "It's supposed to be… I don't know. Nice."

"It's not supposed to be about feeling strange, it's that you can laugh about things in the same way." Allison dug into her backpack to get out her wallet, plucking out her driver's licence and a twenty. "Like when Derek's off on a tangent, I can look at Peter and we can have a whole conversation without talking."

"None of this makes any sense," Stiles complained.

"It doesn't have to." Allison grabbed her phone and stood. "I have to leave. Give me your keys."

"What?" Stiles demanded, horrified. "No!"

"Stiles, please, I can't ride my motorcycle in this dress."

"You could."

"Stiles."

"Ugh, fine." Stiles bounced to his feet. "On one condition."

"What?"

Stiles looked deep into Allison's eyes. "That you never, ever tell me any details about anything that happens tonight."

"Deal."

"My keys are downstairs." Stiles left the room, giving a dramatic shudder as he went.

Allison checked her messages. There was an odd one from Lydia that read _good luck tonight,_ a photo from Boyd taken the previous night where Allison and Erica were eating each other's ice cream cones, and a question from Danny around the computer science homework. Allison replied to them all quickly, sent Peter a message that she would be there soon, and reluctantly locked the phone.

Still nothing from Tony.

Allison made a stop in the bathroom to give herself a last glance. Dress in order, make-up and hair in place, all presentable. She smiled at the mirror to make sure she didn't have lipstick on her teeth, then grabbed the lipstick tube for any late-night repairs.

She ghosted down the stairs and paused in the entrance to the kitchen, where Stiles and Noah were talking about the party. "—can't believe how much those kids ate," Noah was saying, his back to Allison. "I thought Derek was joking."

"Werewolves eat, like, a whole lot," Stiles said. He looked at Allison. "It's a metabolism thing, right?"

"It's also a teenager thing," Allison said. "They're really active, so of course they're going to need more calories."

"Also, super-healing," Stiles said as Noah turned around. "What do you think, Dad, does Allison clean up okay?"

Noah stared for a heartbeat. "You do look really nice."

Allison held out her skirt in a mock-curtsey. "Sometimes, a girl needs a little black dress."

"What about boys?"

"A boy should have a nice suit if he wants one." Allison walked over to Stiles with her hand out. He slapped his keys into it. "Tell you what, next weekend, we are going to go suit shopping for you. You need something for Homecoming."

"I have a suit," Stiles protested.

"And you've put on too much muscle since last year for it to fit." Allison poked Stiles in the cheek. "You need to find a date."

"Stop trying to set me up," Stiles complained. "You and I should go on a bro-date."

"Stiles." Allison shook her head. "You can do so much better than a pity date."

Stiles spread his hands. "Who then?"

"Maybe Cora? If she's still here?"

Stiles made a face. "I'm not taking Derek's little sister."

"Let me work on it. And getting you properly outfitted is step one." Allison turned to Noah. "All right, I'm leaving. I will, um. See you tomorrow morning."

There was a pause before Noah cleared his throat. "All right," he said awkwardly. "But, just remember, if you want to come home any earlier, you can. Just text me if everyone's in bed, so I'll know who's coming through the door."

There was no way Allison was crawling out of Peter's bed before sunrise, but she wasn't so crass as to actually say that to Noah's face. "I will." Allison turned, smacked a kiss against Stiles' cheek, and headed to the door.

"You have lipstick on you," was the last thing Allison heard Noah say before she closed the door behind her, and she was smiling as she got into Stiles' jeep.

The sun was just setting as Allison pulled the jeep up in front of Peter's apartment. She checked her lipstick one last time, then shoved the keys into her jacket pocket and nearly ran up the steps to Peter's place. Her heart was beating a little fast in anticipation as she knocked.

It seemed to take an eternity for Peter to answer, but finally, the door swung inwards, and Peter was there. For a moment, Allison could only stare. Peter was wearing an actual waistcoat over his shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It was so _unfair_.

"Wow," was the first thing Peter said. "You. Look."

Allison inhaled, trying to regain her senses and her dignity. "I do," she said, slipping past Peter into the apartment. "If I recall correctly, you said something about me not eating if I didn't wear something nice."

"Yeah, but I didn't think that you would do this." Peter closed and locked the door.

"Do what?" Allison asked, kicking out of her boots. Footwear had been the only down-side to this outfit. She really needed some flats. "Clean up nice?"

"Oh, this isn't just nice." Peter walked up to her, staring for a moment before reaching up to touch her cheek. "You look exquisite."

The words sent a slow shiver through Allison's limbs. "You don't look too bad yourself."

Peter reached for the zipper on Allison's jacket, and she let him unzip it and push it off her shoulders. His hands drifted down her spine as he pulled her against him. "You smell so good," he whispered, then kissed her neck.

Allison moaned, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "Would it be a breach of first-date protocol if we went to bed right now?"

"What, thirty seconds into the date? I don't see a problem." Peter licked her earlobe, kissed along her cheek, but stopped before he got to her mouth. "You are so beautiful."

Allison smiled. "If you keep saying that, I might believe it."

"Believe it." Peter's lips on hers were achingly soft. "I really want to take you to bed."

"What's stopping you?" Allison asked. "How long can dinner wait?"

"It's not going to be ready until eight."

Allison glanced at the clock on the wall. "A whole hour, Peter. Think of everything we can do in an hour."

Peter pressed his forehead against hers, his hands going around her waist. "This isn't fair," he whispered. Allison waited. "How much I want you."

"I want you, too." Allison tilted her head to kiss him. "If you want to wait, I can wait. Anything you need."

Peter trailed one finger down her neck, to the pearl-and-moon necklace at the hollow of her throat. "This suits you."

"Did Derek tell you he was going to give it to me?"

"Yes." Peter stroked her skin. "I told him that if he thought you needed protection, he hadn't been paying attention for the last few weeks."

"I think it's nice," Allison said. "It's a sign that we can both be alphas in Beacon Hills."

Peter let his fingers slide down to the sapphire pendant. "This isn't your colour."

"You don't like it?"

"I don't like another man giving you jewelry." He exhaled. "I know. I know how possessive that sounds."

"It wasn't a man," Allison said. "It was a sentient computer program."

Peter pulled back, frowning. "A what?"

"A sentient computer program," Allison repeated. "Artificial intelligence. Someone with no gender and no body." Allison pulled him back in. "And no reason for you to be jealous."

"I'm not jealous."

Allison curled her hand around the back of his neck. "Liar."

Peter stared at her lips. "Say that again."

"Liar."

Peter touched her cheek. "Your fucking mouth."

Allison smiled at him. "Do you remember how I asked you what you'd get me if I wore pretty underwear?"

"Is this about the lingerie shopping with Isaac?"

"Sort of."

Peter sighed. "I said I'd get you a birthday cake."

"No, you said that I could have anything I wanted."

"I remember." Peter's eyes were dark, and there was a tension in his body. "What do you want, Allison?"

Allison kissed him, slow and deep, pulling him closer. When they finally broke for air, Allison's knees were weak. "I want you to come in my mouth."

"Jesus," Peter groaned against her neck. "What the hell for?"

"Because you like it when I go down on you." Allison let her hands run down Peter's sides. "And I like it when you feel good, because then you make me feel good."

Peter stayed still for a long moment. "Can you take the jewelry off first?" he said finally.

"Yes," Allison said.

"Okay." Peter backed away, taking Allison's hand to guide her over to the bed. "Just so you know, if you do suck me off, I might have to return the favour."

"Why, Peter, I was hoping you would offer." Allison was about to go on, when Peter drew her over to the foot of the neatly-made bed, and sat her down. "Oh. Okay." She reached for his belt, but he stopped her.

"First things first." Peter stepped away to pick up his phone off the coffee table. Allison narrowed her eyes. "How about a birthday picture?"

"No naked pictures," Allison said. "Non-negotiable."

"This isn't about naked pictures." Peter lowered the camera. "This is about you looking like a piece of art, on my bed."

Allison tried to think through any way Peter could use a photograph of her as leverage on anyone. She didn't see how; she was fully dressed and perfectly presentable. "All right." She crossed one knee over the other, arranged her skirt before sitting up straight. "How about this?"

"What's the name of this photograph going to be?" Peter asked, holding up his phone again.

Allison considered. "Woman annoyed at having to justify her choices to the men in town."

"Perfect." Peter took a few shots. "How about one called woman disliking delayed gratification?"

Allison leaned back, putting her hands flat on the bed to brace herself. She turned her head to look at the camera sideways. "Or, woman unable to understand why local man doesn't already have his dick out." The corner of her mouth twisted up.

"Perfect." Peter took a few more photos, then tossed his phone onto the couch. "Now what?"

"Come here." Allison held out her hands, and when Peter took them, she pulled at him until he fell on the bed. They both pulled at the covers to get down to the sheets, then Allison shoved him onto his back and straddled his waist. "You lie there and think of England."

"Hang on," Peter protested. "I believe this whole encounter was dependent on you wearing fancy underwear. I haven't seen this underwear."

Allison's hand stilled on the buttons of Peter's waistcoat. "Is that how it's going to go?"

"Yes."

"All right." She sat back, wriggling a bit on Peter's hips. He gasped. "You started this."

"And I have regrets," Peter said as Allison reached behind herself to unzip her dress. "Do you need help?"

"I told you to lie still." Allison pulled the dress over her head and tossed it to the floor. "Is this pretty enough for you?"

Peter ran his hands up her thighs. He didn't seem to know what to say.

"I know you said before that blue wasn't my colour." Allison reached up to unclasp her sapphire necklace. "What do you think now?

Peter pulled her forward, so he could touch her breast. "Is there a way for me to tell you that your body is amazing without sounding like a pervert?"

"No." Allison undid the pearl necklace, then leaned over to put them both on Peter's nightstand. "Do it anyway."

"You're amazing." Peter's hands traced over her skin, touching the band of her panties, before skimming back up to her breasts. "That dress is amazing, this is amazing, you are absolutely incredible."

Allison looked down at him. "Do you want me to get naked before I suck you off?"

Peter lifted one hand to Allison's cheek. "No," he said. "Leave these on."

"As you wish." Allison leaned in for a quick kiss. "But you have to be naked."

Peter hesitated, then put his hands behind his head. "Don't let me stop you."

Allison unbuttoned his waistcoat, then all the little buttons on his shirt. She eased the fabric back to bare his chest. "I think I like you like this," she said as she pressed little kisses over his chest.

"Like what?" Peter asked, breathless.

"Underneath me." She licked his nipple, enjoying his groan. "I wonder if I can get you all the way inside me like this."

"It might take some work," Peter breathed. "We might need to go slow."

"Patience does not appear to be a virtue either of us shares," Allison said. She unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his jeans.

"Far better to have vices shared than virtues." Peter gripped the mattress as Allison squeezed his length through his boxers. "What are your vices, beautiful?"

"I am guilty of lust." Allison pulled the waistband of Peter's boxer's down, and took the tip of him in her mouth. Peter's moan was like music in her ears. "And probably pride."

Peter helped Allison push off his jeans, and yanked off his shirt. "What about avarice?"

Allison looked up Peter's body. "The only thing I covet is you." She stroked him, feeling him hard and hot under her palm. "And at the moment, this."

"You can have anything you want," Peter said. "As long as you keep doing that."

"Okay." Allison took him back into her mouth, working at him with her hands, letting her tongue play over the head of his dick before dipping her head. Peter's hips moved and she moved with them, going down as far as she could.

Peter let out a guttural groan as Allison pulled back. "How do you do that?" he whispered.

"I watched some instructional videos in France," Allison said, stroking him two-handed once again.

Peter went up on his elbows to look at her. "You're telling me that you learned how to suck dick from _French porn?"_

Allison let go of Peter to push him back onto the mattress. "If you keep asking me questions that I need my mouth to answer, I'm never going to finish."

Peter spread his hands. "My apologies."

"Thank you." Allison quickly undid her hair, letting it fall down around her shoulders, before returning to the task at hand. Sucking Peter off was turning her on more than she had expected it would, and she could feel the wetness between her legs as she took him back into her mouth. It wasn't fair, that Peter could mess her up this badly just by existing.

"Hang on," Peter said. Allison looked up, raising her eyebrows as her mouth was occupied. "I have an idea."

Allison sat back, not sure what Peter was on about now, and let him pull at her until she was lying perpendicular to him. "Now what?"

Peter ran his hand up her thigh. "Maybe I'm tired of not contributing." His fingers slipped between her legs, dipping under the fabric of her underwear. "How's this?"

Allison moaned as Peter's fingers slid over her clit. "Very distracting."

"Good." He pushed her legs apart. "I bet I can make you come first."

"Challenge accepted," Allison said, and ducked back down. It was hard to think clearly with Peter's fingers working their way inside her body, but it felt so good, so intense, so right, that Allison just decided to stop thinking all together. She closed her eyes and let Peter gently move his hips, fucking her mouth, her hands on his dick and his balls, him letting out little harsh breaths as he got closer.

At the same time, Allison ground down on Peter's hand, enjoying every twist of his fingers inside her. She might have been moaning around Peter's dick as she got closer.

In the end, Peter came first. Allison took as much of him as she could as he spilled into her mouth, hot and salty and intense. He went still for a moment, then collapsed back onto the bed. "Holy fuck," he said to the ceiling.

Allison pulled off him slowly. "I win," she panted, trying to relax the ache in her jaw. "What do I get?"

"A gold star." Peter lay still.

"Okay." Allison shifted her hips, Peter's fingers still tantalizingly deep inside her. "If you leave me hanging like this, I might lose my mind."

Peter took a deep breath, then sat up. "So demanding," he said, hauling Allison to the centre of the bed. He had her underwear off in an instant before pushing her legs apart. The touch of his tongue on her clit made Allison bite back a cry. "How about this?"

He slid his fingers back inside her, finding that spot inside her that made her forget how to breathe. Alternating his tongue with his thumb pushed Allison over the edge, making her cry out as she clenched around Peter, but he just kept going, kept her coming for an eternity.

Finally, when pleasure was on the edge of turning into pain, Allison squeezed Peter's shoulder and gasped out, "Enough."

Peter went still, letting the orgasm settle down to aftershocks. His fingers were still inside her, moving gently. "Perfect," he whispered against her thigh.

Allison stared up at the ceiling. "How did you do that?"

"Do what?" Peter moved up to lie against her. He kissed her, sloppy and wet, and she could taste herself on his tongue.

They kissed until Allison was dizzy, and she had to push him away. It took her nearly a minute to catch her breath. "Make me come like that?"

Peter's smile was sharp and satisfied. "I am a man with many talents."

"I'll say." Allison pulled at Peter until he was practically lying on top of her. "That was insane. I think I saw stars."

"Good." Peter's hand slipped behind her back, working on the bra catch. "I think I like you in this blue, but." He unfastened her bra, and leaned back enough to pull it off. "You look better naked."

"So do you," Allison said, and kissed him again.

They lay like that for a long time, kissing, touching. Peter was getting hard again, pressed against her thigh, and Allison wondered when it might be polite to ask if he wanted to go for another round.

In the end, she didn't even have to ask. Peter shifted his weight as she hooked her thighs around his hips, easing inside her with such gentle slowness that Allison moaned.

"You're so beautiful," Peter whispered in her ear as he just kept going.

Allison grabbed the sheets as Peter finally bottomed out. "Hang on. It's a little much."

Peter stilled. "Do you want me out?"

"Don't you dare." Allison breathed, trying to relax.

"How about this?" Peter hooked his hands around her ankles and pushed her knees up to her ribs. He gave a slow thrust. "Better?"

"Do that again."

Peter obliged, sliding out and back in. The position was perfect, with Peter going deep on every push, but nothing too tight. "How are you getting even wetter?" Peter asked as he sped up.

"It's all that stimulation," Allison gasped, before pulling Peter down to kiss her. Everything felt so _good_ , with Peter's hands on her body, his tongue in her mouth, him filling her completely.

The pleasure was building inside her again and she let it rise, let the alpha fill her. She burned hotter with every thrust, Peter taking her apart.

Finally, Allison broke away from the kiss and opened her eyes. "Peter," she whispered. He looked down at her, the wolf rising in his eyes. He growled and snapped his hips up, making Allison cry out. "Again," she said.

He went up on his elbows, holding Allison down as he fucked into her, pulling little sounds from her with every push. "Beautiful," he got out between his own harsh breaths.

Allison pulled him back down into a kiss. This time, the kiss only broke when with the pleasure consumed her, making her shudder and cry out into his mouth. He kept fucking her through her orgasm, until he let out a cry of his own, his hips snapping into her a few more times as he came.

Then he collapsed on top of her, a heavy weight, as Allison shuddered through the echoes of her climax.

"Maybe two gold stars," Peter said after a minute.

Allison let her head fall back. "I need to move."

 Peter slowly pulled out of her, and Allison lowered her legs. "I don't know, you look good with your ankles over your shoulders."

Allison slapped his arm. "Don't be crude."

"Never." Peter cuddled back in at her side. "You do."

Allison brushed the hair out of her eyes. "That was amazing."

Peter kissed her shoulder. "The things you do to me."

They lay together for a while, slowly coming down. Allison traced patterns on Peter's arm, reveling in the soft touch of this man.

Finally, Peter said, "Do you want your birthday present?"

Allison smiled. "I get more than this?"

"I'd give you everything," Peter said. He sat up. "But one has to start somewhere."

He stretched out to reach into the drawer of his bedside table, leaving Allison to admire the long, lean line of his body. When he moved back, he stayed sitting, so Allison sat up too. She looked at the flat velvet box in his hands. "What's this?"

"Something that I think you'll look better in." Peter opened the box. Inside lay a blood-red ruby, suspended from a soft gold chain.

"Oh," Allison said softly, touching the red teardrop. "Peter, this is too much."

"Do you like it?"

"It's beautiful."

"Then it's not too much." Peter put the box down and drew out the chain. He fastened it around her neck, the red of the ruby practically glowing against Allison's pale skin. "Beautiful," he said, and pulled her into the lee of his body.

"You do know that all I need is you, right?" Allison touched his cheek. "Not jewelry. Not things." She kissed the corner of his mouth. "You."

"I know." Peter kissed her back, his hands curling around her waist. "But you look better in gold than silver." His eyes flashed.

 _And,_ Allison thought, _Something to take the place of things that make you jealous._ But she didn't need to let Peter know how easy he was to read. "It's amazing."

"Good." Peter ran his hand over her back. "I have something else."

"I don't need anything else."

Peter hesitated, and that was enough to make Allison wonder. "You might need this."

"Oh?" Allison asked, as Peter got out of bed and walked over to the bookcase. "A little knowledge going a long way?"

"No." Peter moved some books to the side, and grabbed something small from a metal box that had been hidden there. He walked slowly back to the bed, naked, and Allison shouldn't have been as distracted by his body as she was.

"Something small," she said as Peter crawled back into bed. "Is it a tiny flashlight? A postage stamp?"

That was when Peter held up the ring box.

"Oh," Allison said, suddenly alarmed. Was Peter… oh Jesus Christ, was he going to _propose?_ They had only been together for three weeks.

"Open it," Peter said.

"Look," Allison said. "I know things have been intense between us. One might say that we're moving too fast. But—"

Peter caught Allison's hand and pushed the ring box into it. "Open it," he said again.

Allison opened the box, ready to start a series of soft denials.

Then she saw the ring.

"What the _fuck_ ," she whispered, half reverent, have shocked. Inside the box lay a ring with a striking pattern carved into the silver metal, a pattern that only the old werewolf families and fewer of the older Hunter clans knew about.

"You know what this means," Peter said, and it wasn't a question.

The pattern on the ring was the symbol of a werewolf enforcer, the strong arm of the pack when the alpha either wouldn't or couldn't make the hard calls. Most packs didn't have an enforcer; hell, most packs thought the idea of an enforcer was brutal and archaic.

But Allison had worked with packs who had an enforcer over the years, and she'd found that when the pack was healthy, the enforcer was the pack's protector against external threats, rather than any internal danger.

Allison had no idea that the Hale pack had ever had an enforcer.

"Whose ring is this?" Allison asked, her fingers brushing over the metal.

"My mother's," Peter said. He was looking at her very intently. "She was wearing it when she died."

Suddenly, all of the things Allison had heard over the years about Molly Hale made so much more sense. "She was your pack's enforcer?"

"She was my mother," Peter said. He took the ring out of the box. "She protected us, our land, this town." Peter turned the ring around. "Her people called it something different. I think everyone has a different name for it. At the end of the day, she stood between us and the things trying to kill us. And one day, it killed her."

"I'm sorry," Allison said, wrapping her hands around his. "I didn't know."

Peter took a deep breath. "Talia refused to have a pack protector, she said it was barbaric to have someone whose only role was violence. So one day I took the ring out of Mom's stuff and I kept it."

Allison ran her thumbs over his skin, waiting.

"I could never wear this," he said, voice quiet and just a little bitter. "I'm not… I'm not like that. I can't throw myself into danger without knowing I have a way out. I can't convince myself to protect people I don't care about." He turned the ring around again. "I would never go up after a wendigo by myself because it had to be done."

Allison shifted closer to Peter, putting her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her back.

"Derek told me what you said yesterday, when he gave you the necklace," Peter went on. "That you said you've bled for this land, for the pack, and that means something."

"This is my land," Allison said, putting her hand on his chest. His heartbeat was steady under her palm. "And the wolves are Derek's pack, but they're my family."

"And me?" Peter asked.

Allison thought about how Peter had held her hand in the sheriff's station as that horrible metal barb was slowly pulled out of her back, how he had held her hand and never looked away. "You're mine, too."

Peter kissed her forehead. "And that's what Derek doesn't get. He still thinks you need to be protected, like any other human girl. He doesn't understand you."

"And you do?"

"I know that you know what this ring means," Peter said. "You know the symbol, and you know what someone wearing this ring would do if they had to."

Allison sat back. She had to be absolutely clear about what Peter meant, because if she was, Peter giving her this ring was more complicated and a whole lot more permanent than a simple proposal for marriage. "Are you going to put that ring on me?" she asked.

"No." Peter put the ring flat on his palm. "I am offering it to you."

"You want me to become the Hale pack enforcer."

"I want you to acknowledge that you have already bound yourself to this land and my pack," Peter said. "I want you to admit to yourself that if you put this ring on or not, nothing is going to change. This isn't a commitment. The ring is a warning to anyone who would hurt our pack."

"If I'm not going to do anything different, then why are you offering me your mother's ring?" Allison pressed.

Peter exhaled. "Because I'm an idiot, apparently." He closed his hand over the ring.

Allison caught his hand. "That's not what I mean." She opened his fingers. "Do you want me to have this so any werewolf who comes looking for a fight will know who's going to kick their ass?" She looked at him, the alpha flashing in her eyes. "Or because you want me to wear your mother's ring to say to the world that this town is mine." She ran her other hand through Peter's hair, closing around the back of his neck. "That you're mine?"

Peter swallowed. "That last one," he said weakly.

Allison took a deep breath, and held out her hand. "Put it on me."

The ring fit on Allison's right middle finger. Peter held her hand for almost a minute, looking at the ring. Then he pulled Allison into a hug, his bare skin warm against hers as he held her for a long time.

Finally, he said, "Are you really sure?"

"Yes." Allison ran her hands over his back, feeling him so alive. "Derek might bitch about it, but I'm pretty sure I can take him."

"He doesn't understand." Peter pulled Allison onto his lap. "You took down a wendigo by yourself. You took out a Hunter who wanted to kill you, and dismantled his entire power structure without shedding a drop of anyone else's blood." He kissed her neck. "You talked Cora down from turning me into werewolf tar-tare with a very select version of the truth. Your knives don't scare me, beautiful. Your mind does."

"Do I really scare you?" Allison asked, stroking her fingers over Peter's cheek.

He kissed her palm. "Just enough to make things interesting."

"I don't want to scare you."

Peter leaned in to kiss her lips, so gently. "Keep me on my toes, then." He kissed her again. "Now, I know you wore off most of your lipstick on my dick, but how much of it is on my face?"

Allison pushed him away. "None. You probably rubbed it off on my thighs."

"Delightful." Peter swung her to the side before standing up. "We should get dressed for dinner."

"Why?"

"You might feel like eating naked, but I prefer a layer of cloth between me and a hot baking pan."

Allison crawled over to the edge of the bed. "Where are my clothes?"

Peter tossed her dress on the bed, then went in search of her underwear. The bra joined the dress, but Peter carried her panties back over himself. "You don't seem like the kind of girl who prefers a thong."

Allison pulled the underwear off his fingers. "As much as it pains me to admit it, there are a lot of things I'd do for your benefit."

"Don't."

Allison looked up at him. "What?" She didn't understand the frown on Peter's face.

"If you don't want to do something, don't do it." He sat on the bed beside her. "New ground rule. I don't want to be second guessing what you're doing."

"All right," Allison said slowly. "Same goes for you, then."

"All right."

There was a beat, then Allison shimmied around to slip into her underwear.

"I want to take a picture of you."

"I told you, no nudes." Allison fastened her bra.

"Not a nude. More of an after shot."

"After?" Allison pulled her dress over her head. "After what, legally fucking me into next week?"

"Yes."

Allison rolled her eyes. "You know what? Fine." She turned around. "Zip me up."

Peter's fingers slid down her spine, making her shiver. "The skin on your back is perfect."

Allison looked at him over her shoulder. "I don't scar."

Peter looked tired. "Not all scars are physical."

"I know."

Peter coughed, then zipped up her dress. "All right, how are you going to pose for me?"

"You want me on your bed?" Allison asked, turning around to face him. The bed was a mess, she was pretty sure that her hair was a disaster, and she just hoped that she didn't have lipstick smeared all over her face. "Remembering what we did?"

"Yes." Peter went to get his phone. He was still naked, and Allison did love to watch him walk when he was like this. "How about you pose the way you think you should, then the way you want?"

"Fine." Allison gave it a moment's consideration, then pulled her hair over one shoulder before getting on her knees. She sank back on her heels as she moved her knees apart a few inches, folding her skirt up her legs to bare most of her thighs. Then she folded her hands in her lap, arranged her features in an expression of innocence, and waited.

Peter was just staring at her. "You say no nudes, then you pose like that?"

"There's nothing wrong with this pose," Allison pointed out. "You can't see my underwear, can you? This is perfectly safe for work."

"It's indecent." Peter raised his phone to take a few pictures. "And now?"

Allison slid off her heels, pulling her legs around in front of her. She shook her hair out, letting it fly wild, before she pulled her right leg up to her chest, propped her elbow on her knee, and let her right hand hang in front of her, the ring on display in the gleam from the bedside light.

Peter's eyes flashed blue. "Pull the dress up your thigh a little," he said, voice rough. Allison did so, then stared right at the camera as Peter took two shots. "That's quite an effect."

"I do like it when I have an effect on you." Allison shifted around so she was sitting cross-legged. "But I do have one question."

Peter tossed his phone onto the bed before going in search of his pants. "Just one?"

"When are we going to eat?"

Peter stepped into his pants. "Ten minutes?"

Allison watched him move around the apartment, picking up his shirt and pulling it on. She didn't want to move out of the bed, smelling of her and Peter and sex. "I don't suppose you could bring me the food here?"

"Hmm." Peter pretended to consider. "Let's see." He walked over to the bed and scooped Allison up into his arms. "Nope."

"Put me down."

Peter set her on her feet, leaving her to adjust her dress. "No crumbs in bed."

Allison sighed. "Who would have thought that you would be so fastidious—"

Across the apartment, her phone rang with Jarvis's special ringtone.

Allison was moving before the first trill ended. Jarvis hardly ever called her, saving most of their conversations for text. Was something wrong? Had there been some discovery on Extremis?

Had something happened to Tony?

"You don't have to answer that," Peter called after her.

"I'll just be a minute." Allison dug the phone out of her jacket pocket. "Jarvis, hi, what's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong, Allison," said Jarvis smoothly. "I called to wish you many happy returns."

"Oh." Allison rubbed her thumb idly over her ruby necklace. "Thank you. And thanks for the earbuds, I haven't had a chance to try them yet, but I'll pair them to my phone."

"There is no rush. I thought that a young person might care for the ability to listen to music unobtrusively."

"No, it's good, especially for running. Or when I'm riding."

"Indeed."

Across the apartment, Peter was setting the table with pointed irritation.

"Yeah." Allison swallowed. "Is there anything else? Is anything happening with Extremis?"

There was a slight hesitation before Jarvis replied. "Dr. Maya Hansen has turned herself in to the authorities."

A zing went down Allison's spine. "What? Where? That's great, but is she talking? Has she given any insight into how we could neutralize the carriers?"

"Damnit." Peter slapped the last fork down.

Allison moved the phone away from her mouth. "Peter, people's lives could be at risk."

"My dinner plans are at risk," Peter grumbled before going over to the stove.

Allison put the phone back to her ear. "Do you need me online?" she demanded.

Another hesitation. "No," Jarvis admitted. "I appear to have caught you in the middle of something."

"I'm on a date, but if there's something that can't wait, I can get online."

There was such a long pause that Allison wondered if the call had been cut off. Then Jarvis said, "No, there is nothing that cannot wait. My apologies for interrupting you."

"It's okay," Allison said, starting to breathe a little easier. "Can it wait until tomorrow morning? I'll be home before school to grab my laptop."

"Yes, indeed," Jarvis said. "I will arrange to have the materials ready for you in the morning."

"Great, I look forward to it."

"Have a nice evening."

"You too. Talk soon." Allison hung up, frowning a little. That had been an odd exchange.

Quickly, she checked her texts, but there was nothing from either Jarvis or Tony.

All day, all week, and not a word from Tony.

Allison put her phone back into her jacket pocket. Fine. That was the way it was going to be. Allison had fucked things up so badly with Tony that he didn't want anything to do with her.

Well, he didn't have to. Allison would keep doing what she was doing; helping Jarvis with Extremis, keeping Beacon Hills safe, getting to know her mother's family in this timeline. She didn't need anything from Tony.

It didn't matter that she'd come so far back into the past to try to save the universe, and the one thing it appeared she'd lost in the exchange, was her father.

It didn't matter.

Allison slowly walked across the apartment to where Peter was tossing salad in a bowl. "All done?" he asked, voice sharp.

She leaned against the counter. "You don't get to put this ring on me and then get mad at me five minutes later when I'm doing the very thing this symbol represents."

Peter dished the salad out onto plates. "Maybe I wanted to spend some time with you without having to compete for your attention."

"Hey." Allison crossed her arms over her chest. "It was a phone call that took less than a minute."

"I know." Peter put his hands on the counter. "I know, okay? I know how fucked up this is." He pushed off the counter. "I used to see other people do this, get all possessive. It was embarrassing."

Allison waited.

"Now here I am, doing the same thing." Peter carried the salad plates over to the table. "It doesn't make me feel great."

Allison closed the few steps between them. She slid her hand around Peter's, feeling the ring press against his fingers. "I'll make you a deal," she said.

Peter looked at her. "What?"

"If something's bothering you, tell me. We'll talk it out." Allison put her other hand around Peter's waist.

"You make it sound easy."

"It's not, and I know that." Allison leaned in to rest her cheek on Peter's shoulder. "Just know that I'm always going to want to be coming home to you, okay?"

Peter exhaled. "Okay." He put his arms around her and held her close. "You're here now."

"I am." Allison reluctantly pulled away. "But if I don't eat something soon, I am going to have to leave to seek sustenance further afield."

"We can't have that." Peter kissed her forehead, then pulled out the chair at the table for her. "I was hoping that you would stay until at least midnight."

"What happens at midnight?"

Peter sat down across the table. "I turn into a pumpkin."

"Hm." Allison watched Peter pour her a glass of wine. "At the risk of sounding too forward—"

"Says the woman who practically jumped on my dick before she came in the door," Peter said as an aside.

Allison kicked his leg under the table. "I had hoped to stay the night."

Peter looked at her as he picked up his wine glass. "A sleepover? On a school night?"

Allison opened her eyes wide. "Who said we'd be getting any sleep?"

Peter went still, then carefully held out his glass. "To sleep deprivation."

"To anticipation." Allison clinked her glass against Peter's. "And appetites."

"May they be satisfied."

Allison sipped at the wine, white and dry with a hint of apple. "Now, tell me something interesting."

Peter speared a radish slice on his fork. "What do you know about the old Scorpion Mine south-west of town?"

"Very little."

Peter smiled. "Then you won't have heard the rumours that there's something living in it deep underground."

Allison leaned forward. That sounded interesting, and Peter's stories always had a way of keeping her captivated. "Tell me more."

### Tony Stark

Tony sat in the rental car in the dark with the engine off, a few houses down from the Stilinski place, and wondered how he had managed to make everything _worse_.

He hadn't meant to get to Beacon Hills so late. It was just that when he finally decided to throw caution to the wind and take the plunge of visiting Allison on her birthday, the day after Clara's death, it had been too late to file an immediate flight plan.

He could have taken the suit, but he wanted Allison to know he wasn't just a guy in a flying robot suit, or a superhero. He was a normal person.

So the plane had taken off later than he wanted, and then there had been a kerfuffle at the Redding airport car rental desk, and then he'd taken a wrong turn after getting off the I-5, and it had been dark when he finally made it to the place Allison was staying in Beacon Hills.

And she wasn't there.

She was on a date. Because why not? It was her birthday. Tony hadn't told her he was coming to town. He hadn't known _how_ , after that disastrous text message the previous Wednesday.

And what kind of a message had that been, anyway?

He picked up his phone and scrolled back to the often-read words.

 _Hi thank you for your message. I saw you on tv over the weekend, thanks for saving the president and everyone. Terrorist-enforced regime change is so 1980s. If you find anything new re Extremis please let me know, I can duck out of class if needed._ _Given politics I can't come to LA for the foreseeable future so I will be in Beacon Hills should any development arise._

How could Tony have responded to any of that?

_You're welcome?_

_Why are you like this?_

_Why won't you talk to me?_

He dropped the phone onto the seat beside the small wrapped present he had been planning on giving Allison for her birthday. It was a bracelet, milled from the wrecked Iron Man armour he'd been wearing in New York when the Chitauri attacked. He'd meant it as an apology, something to say he was sorry for thinking she might be a villain, that he was sorry he hadn't been there to stop her from being kidnapped eighteen years before.

But it didn't matter, because she was on a date.

"Sir," Jarvis said into the silence. "I will say again, I can call Allison back."

It took Tony a minute to stir. "No, she's busy."

"She may well interrupt her plans if she were to know that you are here, and wishing to see her."

Tony rubbed his eyes. "Jarvis, did I ever tell you what I got up to on my eighteenth birthday?"

"I have seen the footage, sir."

"Yeah." So had Tony, which was good, because he sure as hell didn't have any first-hand recollection. "So I get it. You turn eighteen, you have plans. No one wants their old man dropping by unannounced and making demands."

Only Tony wouldn't have minded in the slightest, because that would have meant that his father wasn't dead, his mother wasn't dead, in some stupid car accident on Long Island.

"Sir."

"What? You heard the phone call." Tony had listened in the background, like he did for all of Allison's conversations with Jarvis. It made him feel like a creep, listening to his daughter's voice as she bubbled along, chatting with Jarvis, sounding so alive and curious and intense.

In all those overheard conversations, she had never asked for Tony's help, or made any indication that she wanted to hear from him at all.

"If she were to know you were in Beacon Hills, I believe that she would want to see you," Jarvis pressed.

"Well, then, it's good she doesn't know." Tony turned the key in the car ignition. "Can you call the pilot and tell him to file a flight plan back to Malibu?"

"Of course," Jarvis said. "May I voice my strong objections to the fact that you are leaving without speaking with Allison?"

"Voice away." Tony released the parking brake, and started off. "I'll figure something else out. Maybe start with a phone call or something."

"Or something," Jarvis said in what sounded like reproach.

Tony drove south out of town, up onto the interstate. It was dark up north, the highway surrounded on one side by trees, the other side sloping down towards the Sacramento River. It was not a busy stretch of road, past eight on a Monday night, and Tony had nothing but time to reproach himself for everything.

The previous day had been rough. The eighteenth anniversary of Clara's death would have chopped away at him in any event, but now, knowing that Clara had been murdered, that their daughter was taken and raised to so much abuse, clawed at Tony.

Pepper had contacted their lawyers, to see what the status of the investigation was around Allison's kidnapping, and the resulting wall of ice had been suspicious. Pepper was going at the legal complications with the LAPD while the private investigators were looking into where Chris Argent had been at the time Clara died.

Because if Tony could prove that Chris Argent had helped his wife to murder Clara, Tony was going to kill the man himself.

But now… from the sounds of things, with Dupont out of the way, it appeared that Allison was safe at the Stilinski house, away from Argent. All she had to worry about was school.

And deadly assassins, said a treacherous voice in the back of Tony's head. Murderous deadly winter soldiers who had filled Allison's head with political secrets and deadly knowledge. Extremis might be almost in hand, but what about what Allison had said about Hydra infiltrating SHIELD?

With Natasha refusing to talk about the Winter Soldier, Tony was left to wonder what the hell had happened to Allison that summer in France.

God, she had been through so much.

Even without talking to her, hearing all the details of her life, her hopes and dreams, Tony knew too much about Allison's past. It was too easy to extrapolate from the medical reports, the school records, how much the family moved around. Sprinkle in the trail of carnage that the Argents left behind them, and Tony wasn't surprised that he had been waking up from nightmares even more than usual.

At least he had been distracted in recent days with the fight to stop A.I.M. and find Aldrich Killian.

Speaking of which. "Jarvis."

"There is a rest stop in seven-hundred yards if you wish to turn around, sir."

"Stop it. Where is the FBI investigation on Killian?"

It was better when he was working and driving. That way, he didn't have to think of how well he was fucking up his second chance with his daughter.

Dropping off the car at the Redding car rental place was a chore, as was clearing security to get back into his plane. The staff took one look at him and vanished into the galley before the plane even took off.

This left Tony the space to work. And while he truly and desperately wanted a drink, he stuck to water and coffee. He had work to do. He had terrorists to stop.

After all, he was Iron Man.

Happy was waiting for him at the air strip. "Boss."

"Happy." Tony got in the Rolls' backseat.

"Where to?"

"Where's Pepper?"

"At S.I. headquarters, safe and sound."

Tony looked out the window at the airport chaos. The idea of going anywhere quiet crawled under his skin. "Take me there."

"Sure thing." The car pulled out. "You want to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?"

"The reason that you're back in town about four hours before we expected you?"

"Happy, it's after eleven."

"I know."

Tony put his head in his hands. "Happy, I will buy you a small island if you don't make me talk about this right now."

"Right." Happy was quiet until they were out of the airport roads. "Your kid not want to see you or something?"

"I repeat: Island?"

"What am I going to do with an island?" Happy asked, merging. "You wanna shut me up, build me one of those electric cars you were working on. That's more my speed."

Tony reached into his suit pocket, and pulled out Clara's engagement ring. The diamond sparkled in the light from passing cars. "I couldn't do it," he said after a while. "I don't know how I can face her."

"You haven't done anything."

"Which is exactly the problem." Tony put Clara's ring away. "From the sounds of things, she doesn't need anything from me. You can't miss what you never had, right?"

Happy made a pondering sound.

"What?"

"That sounds a bit like bullshit, that's all."

"Keep driving."

Happy thankfully shut up after that, and deposited Tony at the front door of Stark Industries head office, where Pepper had been holed-up as a makeshift safehouse since the attack on the White House.

Tony walked the halls, nodding to the various night security staff, through the offices, back to the living quarters. These had been originally built to house staff and researchers visiting from other sites, and Tony had commandeered the biggest suite for Pepper and himself. It was far bigger, and much more secure, than any safehouse SHIELD might provide.

Even if Tony wasn't worried about SHIELD being lousy with Hydra.

Any hopes that Pepper might be asleep were quickly dashed when Tony entered the room, to find Pepper in her pajamas, sitting on the bed, staring at him.

"Hi," Tony said, and closed the door.

"Jarvis told me what happened," Pepper said immediately. "You didn't even try to see Allison?"

Tony glared at the suite's monitoring camera. "Jarvis, off for the night," he said in irritation.

"Yes sir," Jarvis said, and faded back into emergency monitoring mode.

"Tony."

"Allison had plans, okay?" Tony took off his suit jacket. "Who wants their father interrupting birthday date plans?"

Pepper pushed her hair back in irritation. "We could have called her in advance—"

"Doesn't matter," Tony interrupted. "She doesn't need me."

The sudden silence from the bed was worrying, but Tony concentrated on getting out of his monkey suit. The birthday bracelet he tossed into a drawer, beside Clara's ring.

"This stops now."

Tony swung around. "What stops now?"

"This." Pepper stood up. "This is killing you, and—"

"I'm fine," Tony protested.

"This thing with Allison is killing you," Pepper said again. She was starting to look angry, which never ended well for Tony. "I don't care if she slaps you and spits in your face, we are going to Beacon Hills and we are going to talk to her, together."

"Why?" Tony demanded. "What good could that possibly do her?"

Pepper balled her hands up into fists. "I don't know. Quite frankly, at this point in time, I don't know her, and I don't have to care about her. But I care about you, and I see you dying just a little every day about this."

"I'm not!" Tony exclaimed.

"You are." Pepper crossed her arms. "And as your boss—"

"Blackmail," Tony muttered.

"I am making the executive decision that you and I are going to Beacon Hills as soon as I can clear my schedule, and we are going to find Allison, and we are all going to sit in a room and talk about what is going on."

Tony went to the closet to find a t-shirt. "You're a busy woman."

"You having a mental breakdown is not going to help clear up my time," Pepper snapped. "You have been trying to convince everyone that you're not bothered by this, and that's also worrying."

Tony raked his hands through his hair. "How can I talk to her, Pep? How do I go to her and say, hey, sorry I've been ignoring you since I found out you were alive and sorry I didn't bother to do anything to help you when you were being chased by psychopaths?"

"It's a start," Pepper said. "And then I am going to ask her what the hell is going on and how she knows so much about all this terrorism."

"I told you," Tony said, suddenly exhausted. "Natasha said that it was the Winter Soldier who told Allison."

"And that's another rock I'm going to flip over in Beacon Hills." Pepper went back to sit on the bed. "I am going to find Natasha and we are going to have a conversation."

"About what?"

Pepper started to gather up her papers. "About how no one thought to tell you your daughter might be alive."

Tony pulled his t-shirt over his head. "They didn't have any proof."

Pepper moved the paper and her tablet over to the side table. "They should have told you when they sent in Natasha and Clint."

Tony went to slump on the bed. Pepper moved over beside him and put her arm around his shoulders.

"What would you have done if they told you? If you hadn't seen Allison hacking in to Jarvis's servers?"

"If they'd told me that they thought Clara's daughter was alive?" Tony stared at his hands, at the faint scarring, the calluses. He let out a long breath. "I'd have gotten in the suit and flown up there without asking any more questions."

"Maybe that's your answer."

Tony closed his hands. "No one can change the past," he said heavily. "I can't change all the things that happened to her."

Pepper kissed his cheek. "No, you can't," she agreed. "But you can be there for the future. Okay?"

Tony nodded.

"We'll go as soon as possible," Pepper said again. "I'll see if I can get everything off my plate for Wednesday."

Two days. Tony would be able to see Allison in two days. He nodded again. "Okay." He squeezed Pepper's hand. "Okay."

He'd see Allison in two days.

He just hoped that was soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Allison_ : Through my own actions, my father doesn't want anything to do with me.  
>  _Tony, across town_ : Through my own actions, my daughter doesn't want anything to do with me.  
>  _Jarvis_ : If I had hair, I would be tearing it out of my head. 
> 
> This chapter is 17% brought to you by the "Let Erica Reyes be happy" society.
> 
>  
> 
> _Random notes:_
> 
>   * [Allison's water bottle](https://www.swellbottle.com/products/swell/bottles/peony-branch/)
>   * [Allison's bear paw slippers](https://www.bunnyslippers.com/shop/Grizzly-Bear-Paw-Slippers.html)
>   * [The Scorpion Mine is a real place in California. Cryptid occupancy is unconfirmed.](https://www.blm.gov/programs/abandoned-mine-lands/california/scorpion-mine)
> 



	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allison and Peter have a discussion about what they’re going to do next. Noah just wants to clarify a few things with Allison about what she’s doing with her life. Then, Allison runs smack into Aldrich Killian, who has decided that the best way to punish Tony Stark for ruining his life is to go after the one thing Tony can’t keep safe: Allison herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: This chapter contains scenes of violence and attempted rape.

* * *

Allison gradually drifted back to consciousness in the dark. It took her the briefest of moments to register why her surrounding should have felt strange. She was at Peter's apartment, in Peter's bed, with Peter asleep beside her, his arm over her stomach.

It should have felt strange and it wasn't, and that was the strangest thing of all, because sleeping with Peter had never felt so comfortable in her now-unlived future.

Without moving, Allison was able to see the clock across the apartment. It was just past three, which meant that she'd had four hours of sleep, worn out as she was after Peter's insatiable demands following dinner. Not that she had minded in the slightest. Peter had been considerate with a single-minded intensity that completely overwhelmed her.

She wanted more.

Now, Peter was deeply asleep, his breathing slow. He probably wouldn't wake for hours yet. Allison should let him be, even though she knew she wouldn't be getting any more sleep herself that night.

Slowly, carefully, Allison slid out from Peter's grasp and got up. The apartment was dark as she moved silently over the floor. She thought about getting her phone, to see what Jarvis had uncovered, and what, if anything, Maya Hansen had told the FBI about Extremis.

But then again, she had told Jarvis that she was busy. She supposed that she should set some boundaries with her father's artificial intelligence.

But what if she could figure something out?

But, but, but. Allison instead went into the bathroom. Peter had left his silk robe there, and she pulled it on to ward off the chill. Touching the black fabric reminded Allison of the shadow silk that had been gifted to her a few days before, and that had been sitting in her dresser ever since. What was she supposed to do with it? Wear it as a scarf? Unfold it and use it as a blanket? Leave it untouched as the priceless object that it was?

She should probably do _something_. She had a suspicion that it had not been given to her out of sheer kindness.

She would figure something out. She usually did.

Leaving the bathroom, Allison went to retrieve her phone. There was no new information from Jarvis, and the pack group chat was quiet. Idly, Allison wandered over to the bed and stood watching Peter sleep for a while.

He looked so much younger like this. All the tension and barely buried pain he carried around with him during the day had faded. Not for the first time, Allison wondered what he would have been like if the fire had never happened, if his wife and children had lived.

How much of the Peter Hale she had met in Beacon Hills was because of the fire? How much of the man he had been before survived the flames?

Allison would never know.

With a sigh, Allison picked up the ring from the bedside table. The gleam of the silver-cut pattern was sharp as she walked over to the couch. She had no doubt that Peter had told her the truth the night before, about this ring being a symbol of their connection. But it was also so much more complicated, and Peter had to know that.

If Allison wore the ring in Beacon Hills, that was one thing – this was her land, and this was her pack. But if she wore the ring on another pack's territory, she risked bloody challenge.

Even if she didn't wear the ring, if she was acknowledged as the Hale pack enforcer… life would be complicated.

Was that consequence something she was willing to live with?

Allison sat on the couch. She slipped the ring on and held up her hand. It looked good on her.

In the end, Allison gave a mental shrug. She'd never shied away from a fight, even when intelligence and a lick of common sense would have suggested it. That was how she became Alpha, after all.

If someone wanted to pick a fight with another pack's Enforcer, that was on them.

She would have to figure out how to explain all of this to her mother's family, however. That was going to be awkward.

But that was in the future. Now, her mother's family was in L.A., her father was god-knew-where, ignoring her, and she was in Beacon Hills with another annoying day of school ahead of her. At least she didn't have to work that afternoon, with those shifts pushed to the back half of the week. She wondered what she was going to do. Maybe watch the boys' lacrosse practice? Go for frappuccinos with Lydia and Erica?

Or, she thought, a note of gloom settling over her, she would lock herself in her bedroom with her laptop and repeatedly fail to find a way to save the twelve remaining Extremis victims from an incendiary fate.

Well.

Not twelve.

Thirteen. But she had no interest in saving Aldrich Killian from a fate he had brought upon himself.

Wait.

Allison sat up straight. She had seen the files from A.I.M. on the twelve subjects, but she hadn't seen Killian's file. There had to have been one, right? He couldn't have just injected himself with Extremis and not done any testing at _all_ , not when the dosage of repressors was such a delicate balance.

So where was his file?

Allison tried to think back to what Tony had told her about Aldrich Killian in the months following the attacks at Christmas. Most of Tony's attention had been on helping Pepper, and then his own heart surgery, and he had never told Allison the details of what he had done to stabilize Pepper.

That was irritating.

But she recalled talking to Uncle Rhodey about when he'd been held captive by Killian, and he said that Killian had had better control over Extremis than the others, including the ability to breathe fire.

Allison tapped her fingers on her knees as she let the pieces of the puzzle drift around her. A few new ideas on what to try next presented themselves, patterns slotting into place, as they inevitably did. But Killian… Killian was the outlier. Killian was the disruption in the pattern.

And one could not put together a puzzle without all the pieces.

She had to figure this out.

So she sat in the dark and thought, with Peter's heartbeat a warm rhythm anchoring her to the present.

It was because she was listening to Peter's heartbeat so closely that she heard the first change. His pulse picked up, then his breathing. A nightmare, most likely. Allison turned around to look at the bed just as Peter started awake, sitting up with a jerk. He was still for a moment, then, almost frantically, he groped over the sheets. "Allison? _Allison?"_

"I'm here," Allison replied, standing.

Peter blinked hard in her direction. She could tell when he finally realized she was there, because the fear and tension dropped from him like a stone. He put his head into his hands as he sat forward, hunched in on himself.

In a few steps, Allison was at the side of the bed, letting the robe fall to the ground as she got back under the covers. "Come here," she said, pulling at his arm. He went, sliding down until he was curled around her, hands soft on her skin, touching her as if seeking reassurance. "Are you okay?" he asked, voice muffled against her neck.

"Yes." Allison twined her legs with his. "I woke up early. I didn't want to wake you up."

"Maybe you should have." Peter rolled onto his back, holding Allison in his arms. "Fuck."

"Nightmare?" Allison asked. She shifted her weight until she was comfortably lying on Peter. He was so warm.

"Aren't they all?"

"I know."

Peter held her tight. "Do you have nightmares?"

"All the time." Allison let her fingers play over Peter's shoulder. "I keep waking everyone up screaming at home."

Peter's hands moved over Allison's back. "I have this dream," he said after a pause. "I can't move and I can't scream and." He swallowed hard. " _Things_ happen."

The horror in those two words cut deep in Allison, because there was the very real possibility that Peter wasn't having nightmares, but memories. "Did you have those dreams before the fire?"

"No." Peter kissed Allison's cheek. "After the worm moon."

After Peter's death and resurrection. Allison closed her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"I hate it." The words were whispered, but Allison would have heard them even if she was a mile away. She held him tighter. They lay together for a long time, Peter's heartbeat slowing, his breathing getting calmer. "What wakes you up screaming?"

Allison had not been expecting the question and it sank in with a jolt. She went still, the shards of her fractured nightmares flashing behind her eyes. The most recent round had been of that forest in France in 2023, her bones broken, her flesh torn apart, as that monster dragged her towards the river to drown her. Only it hadn't been that monster who had done those things to her.

It was Morgan.

Then Allison had woken up and she couldn't even scream from the pain that the perversion of her beloved sister's memory brought her. She had only been able to bury her face in her pillow and rock, screaming on the inside.

"Allison." Peter's hand went to cup her head.

She realized she was digging her fingers into Peter's arm. "I'm sorry," she whispered, releasing her grip and turning her face against his neck. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." Peter kissed her forehead, her cheek, anywhere he could reach.

Allison breathed deep, holding Peter as if he was the centre of her universe. "I don't want to talk about it right now," she finally said.

"Okay." Peter kissed her cheek again, then settled back. Allison was under no illusion that the conversation was over, but at least it was on hold for now. "How long can you stay?"

"Until five-thirty."

Peter's hands moved down her back to her waist. "I wish you could stay here all day."

"Me too, but if I'm truant, someone's going to call the house, and neither of us wants Noah over here."

"Would he do that?"

Allison shifted around so she could prop herself up on Peter's chest. "He really doesn't like the fact that we're in a relationship, so, yeah, he might."

Peter's eyes were dark as he looked up at her. "Are we?"

"What?"

"In a relationship?"

Allison arched her eyebrow. "I don't know how werewolves do things, but where I come from, giving a girl your mother's ring and asking her to tell the world that she'll protect you and your pack's lands count as a sign that you're in a relationship."

"Hmm." Peter's hands slid down to Allison's ass. "Does this make you my girlfriend?"

Allison stuck out her tongue. "That might be the creepiest thing you've ever said to me."

"Your significant other?"

"That makes me sound like you're introducing me at the local theatre society fundraiser potluck."

"That's oddly specific. My inamorata?"

"Slightly better." Allison sat up, moving her legs so she was straddling Peter's hips. She had a pretty good idea where things were going. "Your partner in crime?"

"Fellow board member?"

Allison laughed. "We can just skip that step and tell everyone that you're my sommelier."

"I do have a vested interest in your tastes in wine," Peter agreed. He put his hands under Allison's knees and pulled slightly so she was sitting back on his dick. "Now that we've agreed to a definition of our relationship, I believe that there is one item outstanding on the agenda."

"Which was?" Allison asked, enjoying the way Peter's hands played up her thighs.

"You said you wanted to know if you could take me inside you, like this."

"I did," Allison said. Peter was getting hard and in spite of the morning's uneven start, she wasn't going to get out of this bed without answering Peter's challenge. "I think you said we might need to go slow."

"And you said that neither of us is a patient person."

Allison put her hands on Peter's chest and leaned down to kiss him. "And yet, I think that we might be able to squeeze one more item into today's agenda."

"Fuck," Peter whispered. "You're dangerous."

"And you're not?" Allison kissed him again, sliding her tongue over his. Peter groaned into her mouth. "Come on, Peter, I don't have all day. Are you going to get to it?"

To Allison's delight, Peter was quite eager to demonstrate his early-morning work ethic.

* * *

Allison paused on the front step of the Stilinski house. She could hear movement inside, Noah's steady and slow early-morning tread around the kitchen. There was no way she'd be able to avoid him on her walk of shame.

Not that she was ashamed.

Holding her head high, Allison unlocked the front door and went inside.

Noah poked his head out of the kitchen as Allison was hanging her jacket in the closet. "You're home," he said, and he sounded relieved.

"Well, there's school." Allison took a deep breath. She had left her hair down, but had put on all three necklaces before she left Peter's place, to the man's minor annoyance. She was also wearing the ring, and Allison had no doubt that Noah had spotted the two additions to her jewelry holdings as soon as she was in his sight. "Are you on the early shift?"

"I have a call at eight," Noah said, ducking back into the kitchen. He was pouring coffee into Allison's favourite mug before she even sat down at the table. "The sheriff in Carson City, he wants to talk shop."

"Old friend from sheriff summer camp?" Allison asked. The coffee was good and hot and tasted like home.

"Actually, we were both in Army training camp at the same time." Noah resumed his seat, but did not pick up his newspaper. "I couldn't stand the son of a bitch. Of course, we were both eighteen then. What the hell did we know?"

"That sounds like a leading question, officer." Allison set the cup down and folded her hands. The ring glinted in the kitchen lights.

"Maybe it is." Noah gave Allison a very direct look. "The ring is new."

"So is the necklace," Allison said.

"Sometimes a ring means something different than a necklace, especially when it's on a girl's hand."

Allison returned Noah's look. "It belonged to Peter's mother."

Noah winced. "Jesus, Allison."

"He didn't ask me to marry him, if that's what you're thinking." Allison went back to her coffee. "He just wanted me to wear it." Noah probably didn't need to hear the real significance of the ring, Allison decided. He would only worry.

"A thirty-nine-year-old man gives an eighteen-year-old girl his dead mother's ring just because." Noah was frowning with that uncomfortable grimace that Stiles had sometimes. Come to think of it, Stiles usually looked like that when the topic of Peter Hale came up. "You want me to be okay with that?"

"I want you to be okay with me making my own choices."

Noah exhaled. Then he said, "Can I ask you a question?"

"Why would anything stop you now?"

"Are you on birth control?"

Allison nearly choked on her coffee. Carefully, she lowered her mug. "Of course I am."

"Do, um." Noah was getting a bit red. "Do you need any help paying for that?"

Oh god, what a conversation. "I'm fine," Allison said, although she wasn't exactly sure she was. The Argents' health insurance used to take care of the cost of her depo shots, the appointments for which Victoria had been militant. But Victoria was dead now, and Allison wasn't exactly sure when her last shot had been.

Which…

Wasn't great.

Allison decided to put a pin in that for the moment. "Look, Noah, I might joke about dropping out of school, but I'm just joking. I'm going to graduate from high school sooner or later, and I'll see what happens with the college thing. But having a litter of puppies while I'm in high school is not happening."

"Puppies?" Noah's confusion was obvious.

"It's a trick of genetics." Allison stood up to get more coffee. "People assigned female at birth with a werewolf mother and human father won't turn into a werewolf, but any children they have will be werewolves." She brought her mug and the pot back to the table. "And the way these things go, the first pregnancy is seventy-percent likely to be twins."

"Twin werewolves," Noah said. "And I thought Stiles alone was bad."

Allison stared at her cup. "Peter's kids were twins," she said, and the energy in the room changed. Of course, Noah had been at the house after the fire, had seen the carnage, the bodies. "We haven't talked about any of that, his wife and children. He's not ready and I'm not going to push, especially given the Argent thing."

"He knows you're not an Argent now."

Allison twisted the ring around her finger. "Maybe intellectually. But there's something else that I don't think he's really pinged to yet."

"Which is?"

Allison touched the blue sapphire pendant. "Peter lost his wife and kids to an Argent. So did Tony. Only I'm not dead, and Tony gets a do-over." She let her hand drop. "Peter is never going to get that chance."

"Do you think he'll hold that against you?"

Allison shook her head. He hadn't, in the original timeline, not outside of creepy remarks aimed in her general direction for a year or so. "But I do think that when he figures that out, he's going to have to deal with it."

"If he ever gets mad at you—"

"He won't," Allison protested.

"If he ever gets mad at you," Noah repeated. "You can always come to me."

Allison was getting a little irritated. "And then what? You start up that campaign of police harassment again? How is that an incentive for me to ask for help?"

"All right." Noah sat back. "If you need help, really need help, what does that look like?"

"Damn it, Noah, I'm not going to start thinking of all the ways Peter could hurt me just to satisfy this weird craving you have."

"Fine. Let's flip it. Erica."

"Is dating Boyd," Allison said repressively.

"Let's say she wasn't. Let's say she's dating some asshole who's not being too nice to her. What do you do when she says she wants out of that situation?"

Allison glared and held her tongue for a moment, because if anyone tried to hurt Erica Reyes, all Allison would need to do would be to show up an hour later with a bottle of tequila and a shovel to hide the body. "I would appeal to her alpha to help extricate her from the situation," Allison said. "If she was living with them, I'd make sure she had money for her own place, or else stay with me or someone else until she could get settled. If it was at her work, I'd help her get a new job."

"You wouldn't do anything to the asshole?"

Allison smiled then, sharp. "Like I said on Sunday. I know a guy who can heap bureaucratic retribution down on anyone without leaving a trace."

"Now flipping it back." Noah rubbed at his eyes. "If something happens with you. I'm not saying it's Peter. Maybe it's someone else. What do you need to get out of there?"

Allison let her head fall back. "Okay, we'll do this." She stared at the table, trying to think to her own past, to the years after high school and before the Snap. There had been a few times when she was in college that she had spent a very long time in erasing from her memory, and she was not about to resurrect them four years before they ever occurred.

But there was one thing about that time that she could remember, the only thing that had kept her from swallowing her college roommate's sleeping pills with a bottle of whisky on that one fateful day. She clenched her hands together.

"Stiles."

"What?" Noah sat back, startled.

Allison swallowed. "If things get fucked up, and I need an exit strategy, I need Stiles."

The kitchen was so quiet, they could hear Stiles shuffling around upstairs in his bedroom. Then Noah cleared his throat. "Why?"

"Because that's what Stiles does," Allison said. "He fixes things. He figures out a way to save people even when it doesn't seem like there's any way out." Allison put her hands on her lap. "So if I run up against something I can't punch my way out of, I know Stiles can help me."

Noah put his hand over his mouth. "What the hell has been going on?" he finally asked.

"Stiles is the glue that holds us all together, whether he realizes it or not." Allison swallowed, remembering how much it had _hurt_ when Stiles turned his back on her after Derek's death. "I want you to know that."

Noah gazed down into his mug. "What the hell have I missed?" he asked.

Allison shrugged. "You know Stiles, he doesn't want to let anyone see what he's feeling. He hides too well."

"He's my son."

"Which means that you're the last person he's going to show any weakness to."

"Damn it," Noah muttered.

Overhead, Stiles walked down the hall, then reversed course at a fast clip for the stairs. The boy was already talking as he burst into the kitchen. "Dad, Allison's not home, maybe we should get a crowbar and go over to Peter's to—" Stiles stopped dead when he saw Allison sitting at the kitchen table. "Oh."

"Yes, oh." Allison stood up. "Get a crowbar and what, Stiles?"

Stiles shrugged. "You know. Pry you on out of there." He accompanied the words with a dramatic re-enactment.

Allison gave Stiles' cheek a gentle slap. "Just for that, I get first shower."

Stiles nodded sagely. "Gotta wash away all that sin."

"Stiles," Noah said, annoyed, but Allison just smiled.

"Yup," she said brightly, and sailed out of the kitchen to the soundtrack of Stiles' gagging.

* * *

Tuesday at school was another exercise in boredom. Allison spent most of computer science chatting with Jarvis, but the details the FBI had thus far gleaned from Maya Hansen were so sparse as to be useless. Allison did ask Jarvis if he had any idea where Killian's medical records were, and Jarvis said he would follow up with the authorities.

Then Allison had to close her laptop to go to history, where Jackson practically strong-armed her into sitting at his side, far away from Scott. "What is wrong with you?" Allison demanded under her breath as Mrs. Martin told them to get out a pen for a pop quiz.

"You smell like Peter and I don't feel like watching Scott wolf out in the middle of class," Jackson hissed back, before Mrs. Martin separated them for the test.

Allison glowered at her paper, wrote more than was perhaps wise on the political lessons the modern student could take away from the American Revolution, then let Jackson drag her to biology. There, Lydia yanked Allison down beside her, while Erica and Isaac sat in the seats in front of them. "So?" Lydia asked. "How was your date?"

"Did Peter like the underwear?" Isaac asked. Erica hit him.

"Yes," Allison said archly, dropping her books on the desk. "The date was fine. Peter made dinner and we talked about local cryptids."

Erica looked disappointed. "Was that all?"

Lydia gave Erica an exasperated glare. "Of course not."

Erica blushed, embarrassed. "Lydia, stop," Allison said. "I had a nice night, and since a lady does not kiss and tell, that is all I will be saying on this matter."

Isaac grinned and turned back around in his seat, but Erica kept staring at Allison. "Did everything go okay?" she asked.

Allison patted Erica's hand. "Yes, it did."

Erica smiled at this, and turned around. Allison sat back in her chair. She could feel Lydia's eyes on her, but she didn't turn her head. Let Lydia figure out what she wanted to ask on her own time.

Mr. Arthurs came into the room, pushing a television cart before him. The mood of the room brightened. "Quiet," the man said. He smelled faintly of sour liquor and disappointment. Hangover, Allison deduced. "We're watching a video and you're filling out a quiz based on what you see, so pay attention."

Allison settled in for another hour of monotony. At least this hour was spiced up by Lydia's vibrating intensity at Allison's side.

The class ended at the bell, and everyone spilled out on the search for lunch. Allison caught Lydia's hand to hold her back. "What?" Lydia demanded.

"Walk with me." Allison scooped up her books and towed Lydia out to their lockers.

"What do you want?" Lydia asked as Allison dumped her armful.

"We need to talk."

"About what?"

"Peter."

Lydia flipped her hair over her shoulder. "I don't see why."

Allison shoved her locker closed, then took Lydia by the arm. "Humour me."

Lydia sighed, exasperated, as Allison walked them outside to the little bench by the flagpole. "I really don't see what the point is," Lydia said, sitting down and arranging her short skirt over her legs.

"I know you don't like Peter—" Allison started, then stopped when Lydia snapped her head around, her eyes flashing.

"Oh, is that what you know?" Lydia exclaimed. "Why would that be? Because he bit me and _ruined_ my Winter Formal dress?

"Lydia…"

"Or because he haunted me into bringing him back from the dead?" Lydia went on. "Or how about because he never said sorry?"

Allison put her arm around Lydia's shoulders. The girl curled in at Allison's side. "Yes, all of that," Allison said softly.

"I don't like him," Lydia grumbled. "And I don't like that you're doing all this stuff to make him like you."

"Like what?" Allison asked.

"Like, buying nice bras and dresses and worrying about what necklace he wants you to wear."

"How much of that do you do for Jackson?"

"Shut up."

"Okay." They sat for a moment on the bench, watching a handful of freshmen boys arguing over some sport.

"He did all those bad things," Lydia said after a few minutes.

"He did."

"He killed those people."

"The ones who helped Kate murder his family?"

"I guess."

Allison squeezed Lydia's shoulder. "I'm not pretending that Peter is anyone other than who he is, Lydia. I know what he did and I'm not pretending he's a nice guy, or that he was justified in doing any of that. I understand his reasons, but I'm not excusing them."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"It does to me." Allison let Lydia sit back. "Are you going to be okay?"

"No. Maybe." Lydia rubbed her wrists absently. "I guess I will be, on one condition."

"Yes?" Allison asked warily.

Lydia turned to face Allison, her green eyes intense. "This weekend, you and me. Banshee research."

Allison let her shoulders drop in relief. "I'm working during the day at the station, but I'm off at four. Why don't you come over for dinner on Saturday? Stiles can help us."

"I don't know if I want him to know," Lydia said dubiously.

"He won't tell anyone," Allison said. "You know Stiles."

After a moment, Lydia nodded. "All right. But don't tell him anything. I want to."

"Of course."

Lydia grinned then, wide and happy. "Let's go eat."

Allison smiled back. "As you wish," she said, and let herself be dragged into the cafeteria.

* * *

The rest of the day passed in a blur, and soon enough Allison was packing her backpack for the trip home. The boys had lacrosse practice, Boyd had work, Erica had homework, and Lydia had a doctor's appointment. This left Allison on her own for the afternoon, with no work to take her to the sheriff's station until the next day.

Allison drove home, dumped all her stuff in the empty house, then finally connected the wireless earbuds to her phone. "Jarvis?"

"Hello, Allison," Jarvis said softly into her ears. "How do you like them?"

"They're perfect," Allison said, stepping into the bathroom to check her profile. The earbuds were practically invisible. "Do I have to be near my phone for you to pick up my voice?"

"No. As I indicated in my letter, these earbuds can roam up to two miles away from your model of StarkPhone without disruption in service."

"Jarvis, you're a miracle-worker." Allison went back to her room. "Do you have anything new on Extremis?"

"Even with the files from AIM, nothing has arisen," Jarvis said regretfully. "There are no records to be found on Aldrich Killian, and Dr. Hansen is not talking."

"Great." Allison dropped her phone on the bed and went to her closet. "You know what? We may as well start over. Maybe I can find a way to fit Killian into the picture if I back up."

"May I ask a question?"

"Always." Allison grabbed her running gear. Maybe going out for a run would jog something loose.

"Why do you think that Killian is infected with Extremis? We have had no indications that he is, from AIM records."

Allison dropped her clothes on the bed on the way to get socks. "The Winter Soldier told me," she lied. "And like, it makes sense, right? If you're an ego-driven super-villain and you develop something that could cure your health problems, wouldn't you use it?"

"Would you?"

"I don't know." Allison changed into her running gear. "Not Extremis, that's for sure, but I can understand if a teenager would want to do something to get rid of a chronic illness." She thought about Erica and Scott, both now healthy on this side of the bite. Then she thought about the stories she had heard about when the bite went wrong, and shivered. "But is the trade-off worth it?"

"And here we get to the question of medical ethics," Jarvis said. "Can one truly give consent to a procedure when the risks are not explained, or not understood?"

"Exactly." Allison braided back her hair, then stuck a throwing knife in one pocket, her house key in the other, and tucked her phone into her running bra. All set. "But ethics later. We've got a dozen lives to save."

"Is it really that easy?" Jarvis mused as Allison headed out. "If we find a cure that is worse than the disease?"

"I know." Allison headed east, keeping her pace to human speed. "Maybe the best we can do is to find a situation and explain the risks, and let the infected make the decision."

"We can continue to produce the regulators, but what if the virus itself mutates?" Jarvis asked.

"Or if the regulators become ineffective?" Allison headed towards the river path. "All right. Let's find a solution first and worry about the medical ethics after. Back to basics. What is the main mechanism behind Extremis?"

She and Jarvis talked for about half an hour as Allison ran along the trail by the river, up to the cemetery on the north bluff, then looped back down and around the water treatment plant. From there, Allison went west, zig-zagging through the walking paths near the preserve. The day was a sunny one, and the trails were full; families, older people, even an entire Cub Scout pack wearing their cute blue uniforms.

It was a happy, sunny day.

So why was Allison struck with sudden alarm?

She stopped. Lots of people were littered across the hillside, with its low vegetation and sparse trees highlighting the populace. On the alert, Allison marked the one older couple, the trio of three old ladies with their walking poles, a family with a stroller and a five-year old, the pack of Cub Scouts…

And one man, alone, by the parking lot.

Watching her.

Allison's mouth was suddenly dry. She had only seen pictures of Aldrich Killian, but the blond hair, the jawline… could that be him?

"Jarvis," Allison said, cutting off Jarvis's line of conversation. "Do you have a picture of Aldrich Killian?"

"On your screen," Jarvis said, suddenly all business. "Why?"

Allison swallowed. "I think he might be here."

"In Beacon Hills? Where?"

"About thirty feet away." Allison pulled her phone from her bra and glanced at the screen. There was no mistaking the image.

"Activating your phone's camera," Jarvis said.

That was when the man started walking towards Allison.

"Jarvis, confirm identification," Allison said, dropping into Alpha mode. People were in danger and she had to identify the threat.

"Confirmed," Jarvis said. "That is Aldrich Killian. I have alerted the FBI."

"I don't think that's going to help." Allison put the phone back in her bra, making sure the camera was above the fabric line. At the worst, Jarvis would have a record of what happened.

Killian stopped about ten feet away from her. "You must be Allison," he said, smiling.

"Can I help you?" Allison asked. She had no idea how fast Killian was, or how strong, but if he attacked her here, people would get hurt.

Killian's smile grew. "I'm a friend of your father's," he said. "He asked me to take you to him."

Allison glared, incredulous. "Did you really just give me a _'get into the van, little girl'_ speech? I know all of Chris Argent's friends, and you're not one of them."

"Oh," Killian said, and his smile turned frosty. "I know who your father is, Allison Argent. Or should I say, Stark?"

Killian's eyes trailed over her body in a way that made Allison want to punch him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Tony Stark's daughter," Killian mused. "While he's in Malibu, coming up with ways to ruin my life's work, you're here. All alone."

"What are you talking about?" Allison asked. "There's a ton of people here."

Killian took a step forward. "But there's no one to stop me from sending a message to your father, is there?" 

His eyes started to glow with flame.

"Your father," Killian went on, losing his calm, "Destroyed everything I have been working towards, and he thought that there wouldn't be any consequences? I will—"

It was at this point in the monologue that Allison turned and bolted up the hill as fast as she could.

There were shouts behind her, but Allison didn't stop, didn't hesitate. She had to get Killian away from all those people, all those children, before someone got hurt.

She could hear pounding footsteps in pursuit, almost as fast as a werewolf, and this was just like that run in the woods that first night back in time with Peter, only it wasn't like that at all. This wasn't a game and this wouldn't end in banter and gentle menace.

The way Killian had been talking, Allison knew that if he caught her, he'd kill her.

And here she was in the woods, with only one little knife.

She needed a plan.

"Jarvis, any ideas?" she asked, jumping over a log.

"The authorities have been alerted, and I am monitoring your location."

Instinct threw Allison to the side as an explosion of fire slammed into a tree. The tree went up like a candle. "Fire department," Allison exclaimed, putting on a burst of speed. The forest was so dry after the hot summer, and this idiot Killian was out here breathing fire at her?

"Stop running!" Killian shouted at her.

"Fuck you!" Allison shouted without looking over her shoulder.

She was gaining altitude, away from town, which meant that any fires Killian started might be contained from civilians. But that also meant that Allison was getting further and further away from help.

Unless.

Allison change direction and half ran, half fell down the hillside. She was close to the Hale house, full of broken wooden planks and fallen brick that she could use to fight Killian. She needed to keep him at a distance, because from all that Allison had read about Extremis, and everything that she had seen in Pepper's version of the virus over the years, if Killian could touch her, he could burn her.

And burns were the one thing that could take her out.

She had to get to the Hale house.

Another burst of fire singed her arm and she nearly tripped, but she caught herself before she hit the ground. Killian was so close now, too close. Why hadn't anyone in the future told her how fast he was?

She came up over the rise and there was the Hale house, the burned-out wreck that she kept coming back to. If she could get to the house, maybe rip up a plank and use it like a baseball bat to hit Killian—

Killian tackled her, and they fell down the slope together. Killian's hands were like iron around her wrists as he got on top of her, keeping her from throwing him off. "You bitch," he spat, forcing her arms above her head. "I'm going to make your father pay for what he did, do you understand me? I'm going to burn you from the inside out!"

Allison didn't bother to speak, just kicked at him, getting him in the thigh. He let go of her left hand to rip at her running pants, tearing the fabric. Allison used the distraction to punch Killian in the face and he fell back, giving her enough space to scramble to her feet and keep running towards the house.

She had to get to the house.

She was five feet away from the house when Killian tackled her again. She fell hard, the impact jarring her phone loose from her bra. Killian jerked her arm behind her back, pressing her face-first into the ground. "Stop fighting and you might live through this," Killian said, wrapping his other hand around her throat and squeezing hard.

Allison reached out with her free hand, trying to find purchase on something, a rock, some wood, anything to hit him with. The world was starting to go grey.

Killian let go of her throat and ripped at her bra, tearing the fabric.

Allison's hand hit the front step of the Hale house, solid and unyielding.

Killian yanked at Allison's pants, ripping them all the way down her leg.

Something cold grabbed Allison's hand. Allison lifted her head to stare directly at Talia Hale. The ghost's eyes burned a bloody, vengeful red.

Allison squeezed Talia's hand as hard as she could and Talia pulled, yanking Allison out from under Killian. The man stumbled back, but recovered enough to lunge for Allison, now lying on the front steps of the house, inside the line of mountain ash that had kept the Hales from escaping the fire on that fateful night six years before.

Inside the line that kept Talia Hale contained.

Allison lifted her hand and Talia's claws sliced across her palm, spilling blood copper-fresh into the air. As Killian fell on her, Allison put her bloody hand around his throat to push him away. He knocked her arms down, a sneer on his face. "Do you think that you can stop—"

Talia fell on him then, her fangs sinking into his throat through Allison's blood, spilling his all over the steps. He gurgled and tried to fight, but his hands moved through Talia's body like she was made of smoke.

Allison scrambled back. To her horror, Killian was starting to glow with the uncontrolled burn of Extremis.

"Talia, get away!" Allison shouted as she tried to get up, slipped on leaves, then finally found solid ground. Talia just kept her grip on Killian's throat, shaking him. But it wasn't enough to kill him, wasn't enough to stop his body from burning, glowing, turning to an uncontrollable glow as he went nuclear.

Allison ran as fast as she could, trying to get to the ravine, trying to get away from the inevitable incineration.

She wasn't fast enough.

The shock wave from the explosion caught her and flung her into the air, into the ravine, smack into the hard rock wall that held half the hillside in place.

Then the darkness took her.

* * *

Smoke.

Allison tried to move. Everything was dark, and everything hurt, and the air was full of smoke.

She couldn't move, and everything was dark.

Allison tried to open her eyes, but it hurt so much.

"I found her!" came a distant shout. "Boss!"

Allison knew that voice. She made herself open her eyes. She was on the ground, outside, and the air was thick with smoke, nearly blocking out the sun.

"Allison!" Someone skittered over to her side. "Jesus, what happened?"

"Hi, Ibarra," Allison rasped. Her throat hurt.

"Boss!" Ibarra shouted again. "It's okay, kid, we got you."

While that was reassuring, Allison would rather have had this touching reunion somewhere less ablaze. She tried to sit up. The pained moan she let out didn't ease Ibarra's worried expression any.

"Hang on, Allison, we'll get the ambulance crew," he said.

"I'm fine." Allison managed to sit up. She took stock. She was in pain and bruised to high hell and her head _hurt_ , but none of her limbs were broken, and there wasn't any pain in her torso that spoke to broken ribs. "Help me up."

Another set of approaching footsteps, and Noah skidded to a halt at Allison's side. "Oh my god," he exclaimed, touching Allison's cheek. "What happened?"

"Bad guy," Allison said shortly. "He had Extremis, and after he singularly failed to murder me in an attempt to get back at Tony, he blew up." She blinked. "Did someone call the fire department?"

"They're here," Noah said. "And _what?"_

"Hey!" came a loud voice. A firefighter in full gear was at the top of the ravine, waving down at them. "Get out of there, we need to contain the fire before the winds change!"

"I can walk," Allison said. "Help me up."

With a heave, Ibarra and Noah pulled Allison to her feet. She had to lean on them on the way out of the ravine, up the slope around the side of the house, behind the line of firetrucks and police cars.

"Ibarra, go coordinate with the fire chief," Noah said as Allison leaned against the side of the squad car. "Let's get something to cover you up."

Allison glanced down. Her left breast was practically bared, her running pants barely staying up. "Asshole," Allison muttered, trying to pull the remains of her running bra back into place. Her hand had healed from where Talia had clawed her, but the blood remained… wait.

Talia.

Allison pushed off the car and took a few steps to see the fire framed between the fire trucks. The front of the house was just _gone,_ blown away when Killian exploded. The rest of the house was engulfed in flames.

And Talia stood outside the ring of fire, staring at the remains of her home, her prison.

She was finally free.

"Allison." Noah draped a blanket over her shoulders. "Come on, let's wait for the ambulance back here."

"I don't need an ambulance," Allison protested.

"That's so not true."

Allison turned her head to see Natasha, jogging over. "Hi."

"Jarvis called us," Natasha said, getting a bit close and looking directly into Allison's eyes. "Are you seeing double?"

"No." Allison touched her ears. The earbuds were gone, but she came away with bloodied fingers. She stared, confused. "He said he was calling the FBI."

"They're on the way, for all the good it's going to do them." Natasha nodded, and Noah guided Allison back over to the squad car, where he helped her sit in the driver's seat with her feet on the ground. "What happened?"

"Uh." Allison looked at her bloody fingers again. "Killian found me. He said he was going to get back at Tony."

"By doing what?"

A shudder of memory tore through Allison, and she clutched the blanket closer around her. "He said he was going to burn me from the inside out."

"Did he rape you?" Natasha asked, voice flat.

"No, but not for lack of trying." Allison was starting to feel the after-effects of shock – cold chills, rapid heart rate, dry mouth. "How did he find me?"

"Fury's looking into that," Natasha said. She patted Allison's shoulder. "We're going to figure this out."

Noah's shoulder radio squawked and he stepped away to answer the call. Natasha kept staring at Allison. "Stop it," Allison said.

"Stop what?"

"Looking at me like I'm going to fall apart."

"You were just chased through the woods and assaulted by the most wanted terrorist in the northern hemisphere," Natasha pointed out. "I'd say you're overdue for a breakdown."

Allison managed to glare at Natasha. "You can take your overdue breakdown," she said, "And shove it up your—"

"The other two fires are contained," Noah interrupted on his return. "Thank god there's no wind right now."

"We still might need to evacuate here if the wind picks up," Natasha said, turning back to the fire. "Someone should blockade the road."

"Not until the ambulance gets here," Noah said. "Why don't you go connect with Ibarra."

Natasha gave him a look. "Be careful."

"Don't tell me what to do," Noah said in irritation. Allison looked between the two, confused by the exchange. Natasha stalked off, leaving Noah standing by the open car door, awkwardly. "Do you need another blanket?" he asked.

"No, I don't think it'll help." Allison rubbed at her ear. "What was Natasha talking about?"

"She thinks you might be a little fragile."

Allison curled against the seat. "I wish I had the luxury of being fragile."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I don't have the option of shattering into a thousand pieces." She watched the flames of the house leaping high into the afternoon air. "Not with what happened with Dupont, and not with anything that's coming out of this mess with Tony."

Noah was silent.

"And you know what really grates my ginger?" Allison went on. "None of this was even about me. Dupont wanted to get revenge on Victoria, and Killian wanted to take out his rage at Tony. Why doesn't anyone in this town ever torture and try to kill me, for me?"

"That's a fucked up way of looking at it."

"They're cowards," Allison said. "If you're mad at someone, take it out on them, not their eighteen-year-old daughter who's just trying to save the world."

"Allison." Noah crouched down in front of Allison. "I know you're trying to pretend that you're okay—"

"I'm fine," Allison interrupted. "Let's go bowling tonight."

"But you don't have to be."

"Whatever. I'm going home." Allison made to stand, but Noah's hand kept her seated.

"You're going to the hospital."

"Why?"

"Because I say so, and I'm your boss." Noah stood. "Now stay put until the ambulance gets here. Are you okay with Natasha heading back into town with you?"

"I can't wait."

Noah carefully put his hand on Allison's shoulder. "I'm really sorry this happened to you."

"Don't be," Allison said. "It's just another day in my life, you know?"

"I know, and that's what I'm most sorry about." With a gentle squeeze, Noah headed off.

Allison sat in the squad car for what felt like an eternity. A fire tanker truck groaned its way down the drive to resupply the other trucks, and Allison sat and shivered and waited.

A car peeled up the drive, drawing a flurry of activity. A car door slammed, voices were raised, and Allison had to shake her head to make sure she was hearing things right.

Was that Peter?

"Wait here," Ibarra practically shouted, and Peter was manhandled behind the line of fire trucks. He stared at the fire, horrified, like he was back in hell.

"Hey," Natasha snapped on her way past Peter. "Eyes left." She pointed at Allison as she kept walking.

Peter turned, and it took him a moment to focus. Allison knew when he saw her by the way his expression changed from horror, to confusion.

"I'm sorry," Allison said as Peter hurried over to the car. "I didn't know where else to go, I didn't mean to bring him here, I'm sorry."

"What happened?" Peter asked, nearly falling on his knees. His hands were so gentle on her face as he cupped her jaw. "Who hurt you?"

"Aldrich Killian," Allison said. She worked one hand free of the blanket to put over Peter's. His touch was scalding against her skin. "He was the one behind the Extremis bombings."

Bewilderment passed over Peter's face. "Why did he come after you?"

"Because of Tony." Allison turned her face in Peter's grasp, pressing her lips against his palm. "He wanted to get back at Tony. I'm sorry about the house."

Peter glanced over his shoulder at the remains of his family's home. "Did he set it on fire?"

"Sort of. He blew up."

Peter turned back to Allison. He ran his thumb over her cheek, and she closed her eyes for a moment. "I should get you out of here," he said.

"Okay," Allison said, because it beat waiting around for an ambulance she didn't need.

Then came the sound of another car and Derek's Camaro pulled into view. Derek and Cora spilled out, followed by the ghostly presence of Laura Hale. There was something on the Hale siblings' faces that pulled Allison up short. Neither of them had been in the house at the time of the fire, but Allison knew they had both been witness to the worst of the flames from the outside. What nightmares would this have brought back to them?

Peter stared at the remains of his family and clenched his jaw. Allison could almost feel him pulling away, doubling in on himself, back into that place of pain and agony.

"Go to them."

Peter lifted his head "What?"

"Derek and Cora need you."

A darkness flashed through Peter's eyes. "They don't."

Allison squeezed Peter's hands. "They lost everything too."

"They weren't in there."

"And maybe that makes it worse." Allison kissed Peter's hand. "Derek might be the alpha, but you might have to be the grown-up here."

Peter's eyes flashed blue. "Do you know what I lost in that house?" he snarled.

"Yes."

"Really?"

Allison touched his cheek. Peter hadn't just lost his family in the fire. He had lost so much of himself. In the years after he woke up, he had pulled further and further away from Derek, until he was practically an omega with no ties, no protection. This Peter hadn't gone so far, and maybe, just maybe, he didn't have to. "Yes."

"God," Peter said. He leaned in to kiss Allison's forehead. "You're so bossy." He stood up. "I should go with you to the hospital."

"I'm fine," Allison said. "Those two aren't."

Indeed, Cora was sobbing, watching the house burn, and Derek had an expression of complete desolation and despair that was worse than any tears.

"You didn't lose everything," Allison said softly. "Go."

With one last look at her, Peter walked over to where Derek and Cora stood. He hesitated, and for a moment, Allison thought he might walk away, but then Cora spotted him and fell on him in a hug. Peter hugged her with one arm, then pulled Derek in on the other side. It took Derek a minute to realize that Peter was there, and even longer for him to put his own arm around Peter's shoulders.

Allison watched them for a while, then a flutter of movement off to the side caught her eyes. Laura was standing beside Derek, her eyes on the figure of Talia, moving toward her family. Laura reached out, and mother and daughter embraced in death.

It was all very touching, but Allison's head hurt and she wanted a nap. To her intense relief, Natasha appeared and helped Allison to her feet. "The ambulance can't get up the drive with the cars in the way," Natasha said. "Can you walk?"

"Sure." With one last look at the Hales, alive and dead, Allison let Natasha lead her away from the house. "Is Jarvis mad at me?"

"Why on earth would he be mad?" Natasha demanded, helping Allison navigate over a tree root.

"Killian's dead."

"Good."

"Now how are we going to figure out what he was planning?"

"We'll figure it out," Natasha told her. "Listen to me. You survived. That's all you had to do today."

Allison let Natasha lead her on. Her head hurt so much. "But what if we can't figure it out without him?"

"Allison, stop." Natasha walked her towards the ambulance, parked with its back doors open. "It's not worth you hurt, all right? It's not worth you dead."

Allison wasn't exactly sure that breakdown was right, or even valid, but she was in too much pain to want to argue.

### James 'Rhodey' Rhodes

Rhodey flew west towards Beacon Hills. He had been ordered to head to the bombing site, but word from the FBI stated that they had taken control of the area, and that any contributions from the military would not be welcome.

That was fine with Rhodey. He simply recalibrated to Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital, cleared a landing with the hospital's helipad operator, and touched down light as a feather.

The wide-eyed controller came out of his booth as Rhodey walked over to the wall, out of the way of any incoming copter traffic. "War Machine? Damn, man. Why are you here?"

Rhodey released the armor and stepped out. "Following up on a suspected Extremis suicide bomber outside of town," he said.

"Oh yeah." The man pointed north. The dark black smoke was just visible against the darkening sky. "Word has it that an Argent finally took out the Hale house."

Rhodey stared at the man, not sure of his meaning.

"You here to see her?" the man went on. "She's down in the ER."

"How do you know all that if you're up here?" Rhodey asked, already walking towards the doors.

"I know everything. I see better from a distance." The man flashed Rhodey a grin, and went back to his cubby.

Strange. But Rhodey was on a mission. Find Allison and figure out what the hell was going on.

Jarvis had contacted Rhodey bare seconds after the War Machine armour had lifted off. Apparently Jarvis had been speaking with Allison when she was attacked by Killian, and he had recorded the entire assault, culminating in Killian's immolation, which ended the recording by incinerating Allison's phone.

Jarvis had then calmly informed Rhodey that Mr. Stark had also seen the recording and was in the care of Ms. Potts following an incident, and he would not be able to attend to Beacon Hills at that time.

Rhodey could guess what the incident was, if it was keeping Tony out of the sky. Rhodey had been watching Tony fall apart since he was sixteen years old, and if anything would push Tony into freaking out, watching helplessly as his daughter was attacked and nearly murdered would do it.

So Rhodey had told Jarvis to tell Tony and Pepper that he would make sure Allison was safe, and that Tony needed to pull himself together. He suspected that last line would undergo revisions before reaching Tony's ears, but sometimes a little shake-up could pull Tony's head around.

The elevator reached the ground floor, and Rhodey stepped out. It took him a few minutes to find the emergency room, which had a bustle of activity happening at one end. A nurse in pink scrubs looked up as he approached the desk. "Can I help you?"

"Ma'am," Rhodey said. "I'm looking for Allison Argent."

The nurse, who had only been half paying attention, snapped her head up. "Why?"

"Because of an incident she was involved in this afternoon," Rhodey said.

"Why is the military here looking for Allison?" the woman demanded, putting her chart down.

"Colonel Rhodes," came a familiar voice. Both Rhodey and the nurse turned as Natasha Romanoff, dressed in a deputy sheriff's uniform, came down the corridor. "It's okay, he's just here to talk."

"I am," Rhodey said to the nurse. To Natasha, he said, "Is Allison okay?"

"Yes and no. Why are you here?"

"Officially? My CO sent me to investigate."

"And unofficially?"

"Someone had to come."

"Hrm." Natasha glanced at the nurse. "Do you mind if he comes back, Melissa?"

The nurse set her jaw. "No, but if Allison objects to him being here, he leaves."

"Fine." Natasha turned on her heel and led Rhodey down the hall. Rhodey wasn't entirely surprised when the nurse followed them.

Natasha walked to a cubicle half-shrouded by a curtain, away from the chaos at the other end of the ER. Rhodey's heart was in his throat. He was going to finally meet Tony's daughter, Clara's daughter. He just wished it was under any other circumstances.

He tried to prepare himself for what he might see. Jarvis said that Allison had been caught in the explosion, so she was probably banged up. Rhodey had seen casualties from explosions before, both those who had survived, and those who had not. Allison might be in pretty rough shape. But Rhodey told himself that he was prepared for anything.

He was not.

Natasha pulled back the curtain and said, "Allison, Colonel Rhodes is here to see you. Is that okay?"

Rhodey took another two steps forward and stopped. He had seen Allison on Jarvis's screens before, knew how much she resembled Clara, but the young woman in the hospital bed locked eyes on him like she _knew_ him.

Clara had never looked at him like that. That was how Tony looked at Rhodey, Tony having come back from hell.

Rhodey didn't _understand._

"Allison," Natasha repeated. The young woman finally tore her eyes away from Rhodey. "Is it okay if Colonel Rhodes is here?"

Allison gave a jerky nod of the head. She had dark smudged bruises under her eyes and a hospital blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and Rhodey could see blood on her hand.

"Hi," Rhodey said, stepping forward. "I'm James Rhodes. You can call me Rhodey."

The nurse slipped past them both to Allison's side. "I need to take your blood pressure," the woman said.

Allison didn't seem to notice. "Hi," she said to Rhodey, her voice rough. "Is… did Tony come with you?"

"No," Rhodey said carefully. Allison stared at him for a long moment, then did that jerky nod again. "He—"

"Doesn't matter," Allison said. She turned her eyes on the nurse. "Melissa, can I go home?"

"No," said the nurse. "Not until you've got a clean bill of health from the neurologist. You might need to stay here a few days under observation."

Rhodey swore that he saw Allison's skin actually crawl. "No." She tried to stand up off the hospital bed but Natasha was at her side, helping the nurse sit Allison back down. "I don't need to be here."

"Allison, please," the nurse said. She patted Allison's shoulder once, but stopped as Allison flinched away. "Just hang out here for a while. The neurologist is going to be here as soon as he can."

"Why don't you talk to Colonel Rhodes?" Natasha suggested. "I hear he knew your mother."

Rhodey glared at Natasha. Really?

"I know." Allison subsided back on the bed. She clutched at the blanket over her shoulder.

"What do you know?" Rhodey asked gently, taking a seat on the rolling stool by the wall. "About your parents?"

Allison picked at the edge of the blanket. "Anna came looking for me," she said. "Clara's sister. She found out about me and came to town and we talked about stuff."

"That's good," Rhodey said. He remembered Clara's siblings. Anna had been the littlest one, all spit and vinegar. He wondered what she was like now.

"And I know you were supposed to be my godfather," Allison said. She let the nurse put an oxygen monitor on her finger.

"I was," Rhodey said. He swallowed, missing Clara so much. "But maybe now we can be friends."

The half-smile that crossed Allison's face was painful to look at. "You're Tony's best friend."

"So I can't be yours?"

Allison watched the blood pressure cuff inflate. It took her a minute to say, "Has anything else come to light with Extremis? I've been off-line for a while."

Natasha shrugged at Rhodey's expression. "Not that I know of," Rhodey said. "Why?"

"Wishful thinking." Allison reached up to rub at her eyes, letting the blanket slip open. Rhodey could see the ripped side of her sports top, the torn running pants, and his heart plummeted into his shoes.

What the hell had happened in the woods?

"Do you want to talk about what happened today?" he asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

Something on Allison's face changed. "Right," she said. "You're here for a report. Of course."

"That's not it," Natasha said.

"Yes, it is." Allison shook her head. "It's fine. I get military life. You go where you go as ordered."

Rhodey, who had already had all of his ideas about this young woman chucked out the window in the last few minutes, decided to do with her what he would do with Tony. "You're right," he said. "But I also want to be here. I've really wanted to meet you."

Allison pulled the blanket back over her lap. "I don't know why, but thanks."

"You don't know why?" Rhodey repeated. "Are you kidding? I'd have come all the way out here just to shake the hand of the person who's done all that work on Extremis."

"Jarvis did most of the work," Allison said.

"No, he didn't," Rhodey said. "I've seen his analysis, you're the one making all the discoveries. You've advanced virology about a decade in the last two weeks, he said."

Allison didn't look pleased, or even embarrassed. She looked at Rhodey like she didn't understand what he was saying.

"I'd also come here to shake the hand of the person who took out Aldrich Killian," Rhodey said.

"All I did was run," Allison said.

Natasha coughed. "You got him away from a very crowded area, at extreme danger and risk to yourself."

Allison turned her head. "He had broken into a full pantomime villain monologue with about thirty children around," she said. She was starting to look a little angry. "There was a Cub Scout group collecting wildflowers, for fuck's sake. I couldn't let him hurt them."

"I know."

"I—" Allison broke off suddenly, turning her head. "Peter?"

There were footsteps down the corridor, and something in Allison's expression eased as they grew closer.

A man appeared from behind the curtain, with a face Rhodey vaguely remembered seeing, something in connection to the Argents. Not Chris Argent, that was for sure, but someone else. He glanced around the group. "Is this a party or an interrogation?" he asked. His voice was rough. As he spoke, Rhodey caught the scent of smoke about the man's clothing. Maybe he had been up at the fire north of town.

"It's a farewell," Allison said, trying to stand up again. "Take me home."

"No." The nurse put her hand on Allison's shoulder. "You're not leaving, and there's too many people here already."

The man turned his head. "Really?"

"Then the rest of you can get out," Allison said, gaining strength back in her voice. "Peter is the only person I actually want to see."

The nurse fixed Peter with a glare. "You." She pointed at the chair beside the bed. "Sit there."

"Of course." Peter walked over to the chair and sat. Allison moved over on the bed so that she could put out her hand, and the relief on her face when Peter took it was apparent. "Has the doctor seen you yet?"

Allison shook her head, then winced. "I'm low on the priority list. What happened at the house?"

Peter held Allison's hand with an attentiveness that made Rhodey uneasy. The man had to be closer to Tony's age than Allison's. "The fire chief made the call to let it burn out," Peter said. "He said the house was a fire hazard that should have been torn down years ago. After I helpfully pointed out that I had been in a coma and was therefore unable to consent to the demolition, I was asked to leave the scene."

Suddenly, Rhodey realized where he had seen this man's picture before. This was Peter Hale, the sole survivor of the fire set by Kate Argent.

That… Probably wasn't great.

"It didn't really matter," the man went on. "I've already watched that house burn down once. It's less exciting when you're not inside."

"Peter." Allison put her other hand on his wrist. "What about Derek and Cora?"

"Stiles showed up, god knows why, and I told him to make sure to get those two home." Peter ran his thumb over Allison's fingers. "It's fine. The FBI had just arrived and I have no doubt they are going to spend the next few days ripping up every last inch of my family's home."

"It'll save on demolition costs," Allison said so dryly that it took Rhodey a moment to get the joke.

Peter looked up at her. "What do you think I should do with the place? Maybe a nice bed and breakfast? Outdoor skating rink?"

"The land wasn't in Derek's name?"

"No, our parents' will said that the land was half Talia's, half mine. After she died, it's mine." He sighed. "Maybe I'll turn it into a huge off-leash dog park."

The nurse fumbled with an instrument. Peter never took his eyes off Allison. "If you do," Allison said, "Can I be there when you tell Derek? I've always wanted to see his head explode."

"Deal." Peter turned his attention on the room. "Now, what exactly did I walk into?"

"Right." Allison cleared her throat. "You know Deputy Rushman from such incidents as _Allison undergoes emergency surgery at the Sheriff's station_. And this is Colonel James Rhodes, United States Air Force. He was a very good friend of my mother's. Uncle Rhodey, this is Peter Hale."

Rhodey faltered on the honorific, but still, he reached out to shake the man's hand. "I didn't know there was an Air Force base that close by, for you to get here so quick," Peter said.

"He's also War Machine," Allison said.

"Ah." Peter picked up Allison's hand again. "War Machine being Tony Stark's best friend."

Allison didn't respond to this. "And what anyone hopes to get out of me, I do not know."

"An official statement might be nice," Natasha said. She pulled an audio recorder out of a pouch on her belt. "If you feel up for it." She put the recorder on the table, its red light on.

"I'm not sure what to say."

"How about start from the moment when you spotted Aldrich Killian?" Rhodey suggested.

Allison looked up at the ceiling for a moment. "Fine," she said. She took a moment to compose herself. "After school, I returned home. As Sheriff Stilinski was at work and Stiles was at lacrosse practice, I contacted Jarvis to discuss Extremis and our next steps, regarding Dr. Maya Hansen's recent incarceration."

Rhodey wondered a little at the dry, precise recitation in Allison's voice. It didn't sound rehearsed, more like she had done this sort of thing before.

What had her life with the Argents been like?

"I took my phone and my earbuds and went for a run, along populated areas through town, and then up to the entrance to the park on the north slope of the mountain."

"Had you run that way before?" Natasha asked.

"No." Allison's free hand was on Peter's wrist, and her fingers were trembling, just a little. "And I didn't tell anyone where I was going. But." She turned her head a fraction of an inch, so much like Tony. "Someone might have been tracking my phone location off the cell towers."

"Go on," Natasha said.

"I was at the park when I realized someone was watching me. I asked Jarvis to pull up a photo of Killian, and Jarvis also activated the camera to confirm identity." Allison blinked. "Killian came over and said that he was a friend of my father's and that I should go with him. I told him that Chris Argent didn't know him, then he said that he knew I was Tony's daughter."

Natasha stirred. "That's…not good."

Allison frowned at the woman. "I mean, I know Clara's family are keeping quiet about it, and Tony's doing a great Howard Stark impression, but the LAPD is a leaky sieve."

"The LAPD has been buckled down," Natasha said. "And it was supposed to be confidential in SHIELD, too."

"SHIELD knows about me," Allison said. "Great. That means Hydra." She paused. "Were Tony and Steve Rogers ever able to make a connection between Hydra and whatever Killian was doing?"

"We connected Killian to the Vice President," Rhodey said. "There are some shady players in the background there, but you think it was Hydra?"

"What, like the Nazis?" Peter asked. "I thought that all got stamped out before the end of the Second World War."

"Cut off one head, and two more will rise to take its place," Allison said hollowly. "I fucking hate Nazis."

"We will follow up on that later," Natasha said. "Back to today. Killian said he knew you were Tony's daughter?"

"And I told him to leave me alone, and he started monologuing about how Tony ruined his life and how he was going to ruin Tony's, or something, and how I was all alone. It was getting boring, so I ran."

"Which direction?" Natasha asked.

"Northeast. I had to get him away from the crowd before he started breathing fire."

"Hang on," Rhodey said. "How did you know that Killian had Extremis? We couldn't find anything like that in the AIM records."

For the first time that night, Allison appeared nonplused. "Um." She took a deep breath. "The individual I met over the summer, in France, the one who told me about Extremis in the first place. He told me."

Rhodey didn't miss the slight frown on Peter's face at that, but he was pulled away from that line of thought by the sudden and intense stillness that came over Natasha. "He told you that?"

"Yes," Allison said, with confidence this time.

"Why didn't you tell Tony?"

Allison stared at Natasha. "I did. Didn't I? I thought I did."

"Moving on," Rhodey said. "You started running."

"And Killian followed me." Allison looked down at where Peter was holding her hand. "He was almost as fast as I was, which I wasn't expecting, but I didn't have much of a choice in the matter."

"He chased you," Peter said.

Allison nodded. "I thought if I could get to the house, there would be something there I could hit him with. All that sharp wood, or the couch. But."

She exhaled. The cubical was deathly silent, with the sounds of the ER curiously muffled around them.

"He tackled me on the hill down to the house, and he got hold of my arms." Allison was still looking at her hands. "He was stronger than I was."

"Okay," Peter said, in a voice so soft it was almost a whisper.

"And then he told me that he was going to burn me from the inside out, which is a visual I never wanted in my head." Allison ran her fingers over Peter's knuckles. "He let go of my hand to try to take my pants off, so I punched him and got away."

"Good for you."

"But then he caught me again, at the house." Allison tapped Peter's fingers. He stayed still. "Killian told me if I stopped fighting, I might survive it, which really didn't sound like a great option as he was ripping my clothes off."

Peter's eyes flashed blue, which told Rhodey all he needed to know about the man's heritage. "Then did you kill him?"

"Peter," the nurse snapped, and even Natasha appeared a little horrified. But Allison looked at Peter, and smiled at him as she wrapped her hands around his wrist.

"I wish I could take credit, but I can't." She deliberately turned to look at Natasha. "There's this stray dog that lives up near the house. I've been feeding it sometimes. It must have heard me today because it came running right up to Killian and grabbed him by the throat."

Rhodey didn't have to be a werewolf to know that Allison was lying, but to what end?

"And I got away, but Killian started to glow, like he was burning from the inside out." Allison was still looking at Natasha. "I thought he was going to explode, so I ran. I was almost at the ravine when the shockwave hit me."

Natasha stared at Allison for a very long time. Then she crossed her arms over her chest. "What happened to the dog?"

"I didn't see," Allison said. "Maybe she got away."

"And if she didn't?"

"Then I will be very sad, but grateful that at least someone tried to help me."

Natasha clicked her tongue. Rhodey took a moment to look at Peter, who was frowning, then the nurse, who was looking at Allison in disbelief.

"Well," Rhodey said. "I'm sure glad that you're okay."

"Thank you."

"I just have one question."

"What?"

"Did you actually _see_ Killian explode?"

"I saw him go nuclear, if that's what you mean."

"Good." Rhodey rubbed his jaw. At least that was one less terrorist menace out in the world for Tony to set his sights on.

"Isn't it just?"

At that point, an older man in a white lab coat walked into the cubical. "All right," he said. "Everyone out."

"This is Dr. O'Connor," said the nurse. "The neurologist."

The man looked around the cubical again. "I need to talk to my patient. Everyone who's not family, please leave."

Natasha retrieved her recorder. "I'll be just outside," she told Allison, and pulled Rhodey with her into the corridor.

"Not family, Mr. Hale," the doctor said pointedly.

"He stays," Allison said, sudden steel in her voice. "Or I leave. Either works for me."

"All right." The doctor nodded to the nurse, who pulled the curtain shut. Of course, it being cloth, no sound was blocked, but it gave the illusion of privacy.

Rhodey looked at Natasha. Natasha looked at Rhodey. Then Natasha walked further down the hall with Rhodey following her. "She was lying about the dog," Natasha said in an undertone as they neared the vending machines.

"But why?" Rhodey asked. "Was she worried she would get in trouble for killing Killian?"

"I don't know." Natasha tapped her utility belt. "I do not understand how one girl gets into so much trouble."

"She's Tony and Clara's daughter, it's genetic." Rhodey leaned against the wall. "When I saw her…"

"She looks like Clara, right?" Natasha went to plug a dollar into the vending machine.

"Exactly like her. But…" Rhodey glanced at the clock. "After Tony got back from Afghanistan…"

No. That wasn't it.

It was Tony, after he had fully realized Obadiah Stane's true treachery.

"Allison looked like Tony at his absolutely lowest point."

"That's good." Natasha kicked the vending machine, and it spat out a Twix. "Because Tony at his lowest is Tony at his most dangerous."

"You think we need Allison to be dangerous?"

Natasha unwrapped the candy and handed half to Rhodey. "I think that girl has been pulled into some very dangerous waters, by some very dangerous people," she said. "The only way she's going to be able to survive it is by being a little dangerous herself."

"She just turned eighteen yesterday," Rhodey pointed out before chomping down on his chocolate bar.

Natasha's expression was sardonic. "Do I need to remind you what Tony was getting up to at eighteen?"

"Please don't."

"We're in an unsettled time," Natasha said, shoving half her Twix bar into her mouth. "If the Winter Soldier had Allison on his radar…" She shook her head. "Then some very bad people are involved."

"What kind of people?" Rhodey asked. "And why?"

Natasha finished the rest of her candy bar. "The Winter Soldier is the world's most deadly weapon," she said finally. "But when someone gets hurt, who do you blame? The weapon, or the people who aimed the weapon?"

"How about both?"

"And you're still dead." Natasha looked back down the corridor. "At least Allison seems to realize how dangerous he is."

There was a bit of a commotion coming from Allison's examination cubical. Natasha started back in that direction, Rhodey following. The nurse stalked out, towards the administration station. "What's going on?" Rhodey asked as the woman passed them.

"The doctor recommended a CT scan and an overnight stay for observation," the nurse said, angrily sorting papers. "Now Allison's refusing any further treatment and is going to leave."

"You're not going to let her, are you?" Natasha asked.

Nurse McCall snapped some pages onto a clipboard. "She's eighteen and has the right to refuse treatment."

"I'm going to call Noah," Natasha said, reaching for her cell phone.

Rhodey followed the nurse back to Allison's cubical. The doctor was gone, but Peter remained at Allison's side. "…a CT scan doesn't actually hurt," he was saying.

"Do you know how much it costs?" Allison had hunched over herself, the blanket pulled tight. "All of this, the ambulance ride, the stupid ER room—"

"Forget about the money, I can pay for it."

"No." Allison shook her head. "I'm not taking your money and I am _not_ staying here."

"Allison," Nurse McCall said. "I have the discharge papers."

"Great."

"I need you to read them before you sign."

Allison held out her hand, and the clipboard was slapped into it. "Thank you." Allison put the clipboard on the bed and started to read, never letting go of Peter.

Rhodey stuck his hands in the pockets of his jumpsuit. The quiet of the room gave him a chance to look over the man Allison was so attached to. If Rhodey remembered from the files, Peter Hale was just under forty, a bit older than Tony himself. He'd had a wife and two children, who had all died in the fire, and had been in a coma for six years.

Now he was out of the coma, completely healed, and was holding the hand of an eighteen-year-old like they had been married for a decade.

Rhodey really, really didn't like this guy.

Allison turned a page. Her fingers shook a little on the paper, but she didn't say anything.

Rhodey wondered if he could offer to pay for Allison's medical bills. Maybe not with his money, but he could swing it so Tony funded the bills. In anyone else, he would have done so, but the memory of Allison's childhood medical records held his tongue.

He doubted it was just money that was making her so agitated.

"Pen." Allison held out her hand. The nurse gave her the pen, Allison signed the papers, and that was that.

"Now what?" Nurse McCall asked as Allison pulled the blanket tight.

"Peter can drive me home," Allison said as Natasha slipped back into the room. "You have your car, right?" Peter nodded. "Bye."

"One condition," the nurse said. Allison glared. "You have to stand up on your own."

Allison withdrew her hand from Peter's. "You know, I remember you being a lot nicer to me last year." She got to her feet smoothly.

"I'm usually nice to people who aren't making bad life decisions."

Allison flashed the nurse a sharp, uncomfortable smile. "You have no idea how many bad life decisions I'm capable of making."

Nurse McCall glanced at Peter. "I can guess."

"I am sitting right here," Peter objected.

"If you're taking Allison home, you can get out too." The nurse grabbed her clipboard and vanished.

Allison exhaled. She turned to Rhodey. "Colonel Rhodes, I'm sorry to have met you under such trying circumstances," she said. "Perhaps if we meet again, we might have another chance to talk."

"If?" Rhodey echoed. "What's this 'if' thing all about?"

Her uncomfortable smile was back. "I'm pretty sure that Tony gets custody of you in the divorce."

"Why do you keep talking like he doesn't want to see you?" Rhodey asked.

Allison fiddled with her grip on the blanket. "If anyone asks," she said to Natasha. "I've confiscated this blanket as evidence in an ongoing investigation. I'll bring it back."

"You haven't actually been deputized yet," Natasha pointed out.

"The week is young." Allison held her hand out to Peter. "Shall we?"

With a look at the others, Peter let Allison lead him out of the cubical and down the hall.

Rhodey and Natasha looked at each other. "We're letting her walk away?" Rhodey asked.

"I have been here for five weeks and I still do not know how to stop her," Natasha said wearily.

"So what now?"

Natasha shrugged. "The FBI took over the bombing scene, the fire's nearly out. Nothing left for me to do."

"Right."

"What are you going to do?"

Rhodey rolled his shoulder. "The War Machine suit has been having this stability problem. While I'm this close to Malibu, I should head down to see if Tony can fix it."

"Of course." Natasha headed back into the corridor, towards the exit. Rhodey walked with her. "While you're at it, can you ask Tony when he's going to see Allison?"

"It's on the to-do list."

"Good."

At the front of the hospital, an interesting scene was developing. A man in a sheriff's uniform was standing with Allison and Peter, and he was not looking happy. "Who's that?" Rhodey asked.

"Noah Stilinski. Allison lives with him." Natasha sounded satisfied.

"And you called him."

"I did."

"You don't like Peter Hale, do you?"

"I wouldn't say that," Natasha said. "I just have doubts about his motives."

Rhodey and Natasha had drawn close enough for Rhodey to hear the conversation. "No, Allison is coming home with me," Stilinski was saying. "If she's not staying here, I'll take her home."

"She asked me," Peter said.

Allison rolled her eyes. "Peter, Noah has a point. Why don't you go over to Derek's and see how him and Cora are doing?"

Peter glanced at her sideways. "I doubt my presence will be welcomed."

"Who cares?" She poked him in the arm. "They're your family."

"Derek wasn't in a very familial mood earlier."

"So? Maybe now is the perfect time for you all to throw things at each other. Ruining Derek's damage deposit is a great way to bond." She leaned in to give Peter a quick peck on the cheek. "And send Stiles home, he's fragile."

"If that's what you want." Peter touched Allison's hand briefly, smiled at her, gave Stilinski an irritated glare, then strode off.

Allison turned on Stilinski. "Peter was just doing what I asked him to do."

"Checking you out of the hospital?"

"I did that myself." Allison straightened up. "Now. I'm driving."

The man shook his head. "You're not driving," he grumbled. "Come on. Let's get you home."

He put his hand out, but Allison neatly sidestepped him and they headed for the hospital's front doors. Allison never looked back.

When they were out of sight, Rhodey sighed. "So that's Allison."

"Yup." Natasha let the word pop. "When you see Tony, tell him if he doesn't get his ass up here soon, he's going to lose any chance with that girl." She walked away.

"Great," Rhodey muttered. "Just great."

* * *

The flight from Beacon Hills to Malibu took about half an hour at War Machine's top speed. Rhodey took the time to call in his report to the general, who was no end relieved to hear that Aldrich Killian was no longer a problem. Rhodey answered a few questions, informed the general that he was dropping in at Tony's for some free repairs, and would be back on base the next morning by nine.

Soon, Rhodey was skimming in for a landing at the Malibu mansion. Jarvis had left Rhodey a note to say that both Tony and Pepper had returned there after word of Killian's demise reached them. Rhodey had no doubt that Tony wanted access to his Iron Man suits, and all of Jarvis's servers.

For all the good it would do him now.

Rhodey signalled for a landing, and Jarvis opened up the bay. Rhodey flew in and docked carefully before opening the suit up. Pepper was waiting for him, looking about as worried as Rhodey had ever seen her.

"How is she?" Pepper demanded. "Allison?"

"Good question. She seems fine, physically. Where's Tony?"

"In the workshop."

"How is he?"

Pepper didn't respond, which was not good. Rhodey followed Pepper through the landing bay, into the workshop, where Tony sat cross-legged on the ground, wiring a new repulsor onto an Iron Man suit. "Tony, Rhodey's here."

Tony never looked up. "Colonel."

"Don't you fucking 'Colonel' me." Rhodey sat on a box, resting his elbows on his knees. "What the fuck."

"Rhodey saw Allison," Pepper said, sitting on the box beside Rhodey. "He said she's fine."

"How?" Tony kept wiring.

"She said she was," Rhodey said. Tony's hands shook ever so slightly, just like Allison's hands had shook over the discharge papers. "She made it through, Tony."

"She was right." Tony reached for a tiny set of pliers. "She told Natasha that Killian was going to come after someone I cared about, and he did."

"Natasha said that Allison was talking about me," Pepper said.

"And I kept you safe." Tony went back to his screwdriver. "No expense spared, no security measure too great." He pressed the repulsor into place. "And I did nothing about Allison."

"Tony—"

Abruptly, Tony reached out for the keyboard off to his left and tapped a button. A life-sized screen popped up, frozen on Aldrich Killian's face.

"Tony, not again," Pepper said.

"I did nothing to keep Allison safe," Tony said. "And this happened." He tapped the button.

It was a point-of-view recording from Allison's phone. Rhodey had heard the story from Allison, but that hadn't prepared him for the speed or the brutality of the chase, the gut-wrenching sound of Allison's harsh breathing over the footsteps, how she cried out when Killian tackled her.

When Killian told Allison he was going to burn her from the inside out, Pepper grabbed Rhodey's hand. He put his arm around her shoulders, the human contact a reminder that Pepper was all right, and Allison was going to be all right.

Somehow.

Then Allison got away from Killian and she ran again. The jagged outline of a burned house came into the camera view, getting closer and closer, and then Allison went down again. The phone fell to the ground, landing on its side, so there was a static shot that showed Killian on top of Allison, holding her down, tearing at her clothes as she reached for something just off-camera.

"Here's where it gets weird," Tony said, unemotional.

Rhodey didn't have time to ask him what the hell that meant, because on screen, Allison was suddenly and violently yanked out from under Killian. The man followed her, so only their legs were in the shot.

Then, just as suddenly, Killian started convulsing. Allison fell into the shot, scrabbling backwards, her eyes huge and terrified. She shouted, "Talia, get away!" before turning and running as fast as she could. Then the screen fizzled and went blank.

Rhodey swallowed. He felt sick. "She said that a stray dog attacked Killian."

"Sure." Tony moved some wires.

"Everything else is in line with her story," Rhodey said. "She got away, Tony. She's going to be fine."

"Yep."

"I told him that we should go up there and see her tonight," Pepper said to Rhodey.

"It's late," Tony said.

Rhodey thought about that hollow look on Allison's face whenever Tony had come up in the conversation in the hospital. "You know the first thing Allison asked me? She asked if you had come with me." Rhodey rubbed his hand over his knee. "And when I said no, it was like something in her turned off."

Tony kept wiring.

"She thinks you don't want anything to do with her," Rhodey went on, because he could not get the image of Allison's expression out of his head. "Natasha said that if you don't do something soon, you're going to lose any chance with her."

Even the mention of Natasha didn't pull Tony's attention away.

Not sure what to do next, Rhodey looked at Pepper. She shook her head. "I cleared my calendar for us to go up to Beacon Hills tomorrow," she said. "But now, with this…"

"You have to go." Rhodey sat up. "Look, I met Allison for a grand total of thirty minutes, and I'm telling you, you have to go."

"We will," Pepper assured him.

"Something might come up," Tony said.

A sudden, wild frustration passed through Rhodey's chest. "Why don't you want to see her?" he demanded. "Why are you trying to find any reason to not go meet your daughter?"

Finally, Tony looked up, his dark eyes snapping. "Why not? Because of this." He tapped the keyboard again, and a clip played from early in the video.

 _"But there's no one to stop me from sending a message to your father, is there?"_ Killian said, his face and meaning ugly.

"She's not blaming you!" Rhodey exclaimed. "Tony, would you stop?"

"She should!" Tony shouted suddenly. He pushed the Iron Man suit away from him. "I did nothing to help her when she was being hunted around town by psychopaths and I did nothing at all to keep her safe from Killian." He stood up. "I spent weeks so convinced that she was trying to trick me into something with all these stories of Extremis and Hydra that I did absolutely _nothing_ to keep her safe."

Tony picked up a mug and hurled it across the bay. It smashed into one of the completed Iron Man suits.

"She nearly died twice in one week, and I did _nothing._ "

Rhodey was on his feet, moving as Tony picked up a screwdriver. "Hey," Rhodey said, one hand on Tony's wrist, one on his shoulder. "Give me that."

Tony held onto the screwdriver for a minute, then let it drop to ball his hand up in Rhodey's jumpsuit. He stood, breathing hard.

"She never asked for help," Rhodey reminded Tony. "She can handle herself. She got away from Dupont and she got away from Killian."

"I should have done something," Tony said to Rhodey's shoulder.

"Maybe." Rhodey glanced up to see Pepper hovering behind them. "So maybe start by apologizing for that, and see what she needs now."

Tony nodded.

"And I'm going to tell you something else about Allison."

Tony coughed. "What?"

"She is absolutely nothing like Clara, all right? She looks like Clara, but that's it."

Something passed over Tony's face. A shadow of grief, perhaps. "She's not?"

"She's her own person." Rhodey squeezed Tony's shoulder. "She's sharp and she's uncomfortable and she is absolutely amazing."

Pepper came over and put her hand on Tony's arm. He leaned against her.

"It might take time," Rhodey went on, all the while being uncomfortably aware of how fast Allison had called him _Uncle Rhodey._ "But it'll be worth it."

"What it…" Tony stopped. "What if she doesn't want anything to do with me?"

"Then send me in," Rhodey said. "Haven't I always got your back?"

"Yeah."

Pepper hooked her arm around Tony's as Tony let go of Rhodey's jumpsuit. "Do you think that going up tomorrow will be soon enough? It's getting late."

"Probably," Rhodey said. "Allison was heading home when I left."

"What else do we need to know?" Pepper asked. "About what happened today?"

Rhodey thought about telling Pepper and Tony about Peter Hale, but decided against it. He might have completely misread the situation. "Natasha seems to be taking to life as a deputy sheriff in town," he said instead.

Pepper took a deep breath. "That's something else I'm going to do while we're in Beacon Hills," she said. "Have a conversation with Natasha."

"I'll bring the popcorn." Tony kissed Pepper's cheek. "I'm sorry I threw that mug."

"It's okay."

"No, it's not." He kissed her cheek again. "Not when you're around."

Rhodey went over to retrieve the keyboard. "Jarvis, can you pull up the last few seconds of the video?" he asked. The screen changed. "Focus on Killian's legs. Do we have footage of him blowing up?"

"Yes, Colonel Rhodes." Jarvis pulled up the video, mercifully cropping Allison out, and there was a freeze-frame progression of Killian slowly blowing up. "This footage was live,  and while we did not see Aldrich Killian's face, there was no opportunity for a substitution. He is dead."

"Let the joyous news be spread," Tony muttered.

Rhodey tapped the keyboard to close the video. He couldn't watch Allison be attacked again. "So we know Killian's dead, but who or what could have saved Allison by yanking her out from under him in that last bit? She said it was a stray dog, but no dog could have done that."

"Allison said the name Talia," Pepper reminded them.

"Talia Hale was the name of one of the victims in the house fire," Jarvis said, pulling up a driver's licence photo of a woman with dark hair and eyes.

"You don't think Allison nicknamed a stray dog after a woman killed in that fire, did she?" Pepper asked. "That's a little callous."

"I don't know, do you believe in ghosts?" Tony asked.

"No, and neither do you," Rhodey said.

"And yet, here we are." Tony shook himself. "I'll fix your suit, then you have to go."

"There's nothing wrong with the suit."

"I'll find something." Tony stalked away.

"Why do I have a bad feeling about this?" Pepper asked.

"Because nothing with Allison has gone well?" Rhodey hazarded.

"I'm worried."

"Same." Rhodey sighed. "But the good news is that Aldrich Killian is dead. He's out of the equation all together."

"Then why do I have a feeling that things could still go sideways with Extremis?" Pepper asked. She took Rhodey's arm. "Come on. Let's go save Tony from himself."

"Good luck with that," Rhodey said, and didn't duck away as Pepper hit him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing really cute or fluffy to say in the notes in this one. Thanks for reading and please take care of yourselves.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Pepper come to Beacon Hills to meet Allison. Things go about as well as you would expect at this point in the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, look. It’s clear by now that I’m wildly off-canon when it comes to Extremis, most notably that it’s not, in fact, a virus. But mistakes have been made on all sides, so we’re just going to continue down this rabbit hole and pretend that it is.

### Tony Stark

Once again, Tony sat in the rental car outside the Stilinski house, a weird day-time echo of forty-three hours earlier. Only this time, Tony wasn't there to see Allison on her birthday. His daughter had almost died.

He had to—

He needed—

He didn't know what to do.

"Tony," said Pepper from the passenger seat. "Are you going to throw up?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Tony said to the steering wheel. "I haven't thrown up in at least seven hours."

Pepper sighed. "We should go over there. Jarvis said Allison stayed home from school today."

"Or we could go back to Malibu."

"Tony." Tony winced at the edge in Pepper's voice. "I am not leaving Beacon Hills until you have physically said not only hello to Allison, but exchanged at least one hundred words."

"Pep—"

"One hundred," Pepper said again. "I will be counting." She opened her door and got out of the car. "Come on." The door slammed.

Tony tried to breathe, but the air felt thin, like when he was at ten-thousand feet with a break in his armour. He had to do this. He had to go over to the house and knock on the door and see his daughter.

And then what?

It was his fault Killian had attacked her the previous day. It was his fault that she had been left alone and defenceless in Beacon Hills.

How could he face her after all that?

"Sir," Jarvis said.

Tony coughed. "What?"

"I have just texted Allison to inquire as to if she is receiving visitors."

Tony's head jerked around. "Why did you do that?" he demanded. Outside his window, Pepper was standing, her arms crossed, looking at him. He didn't see why; Pepper was intimately familiar with all the ways Tony could freak out. This was nothing new.

"Because I wanted to be sure that your visit would not be disrupted again." Jarvis sounded smug. "She tells me that she would welcome visitors."

"Did you tell her it was me?"

"I did not. However, Allison is not alone in the house, and if you will turn your head, you will observe that you are being, in turn, observed."

Tony got out of the car in a rush, looking towards the Stilinski house. There was a movement behind the curtains in the front window.

Tony's heart fluttered painfully in his chest, making the arc reactor feel too tight. "I think I need to throw up," he said.

"Later," Pepper said. "Come on." She held out her hand. "I'm with you."

Tony took a deep breath, closed the car door, then slipped his hand into Pepper's. "You got me?"

"Yes." Pepper's hand was cold. "Every day."

In spite of everything, Tony felt just a little bit better. He didn't know what he would have done if Killian had gone after Pepper. And that was one more thing he had to thank Allison for – making sure that he knew to keep Pepper safe from Aldrich Killian.

Hand in hand, Tony and Pepper walked across the quiet residential street to the front door of the house where Tony's daughter was staying. Standing straight, Tony rang the bell.

Then, sudden cold flashing in his gut, he turned to Pepper. "Let's run away and pretend this never happened."

"Tony, I swear to god, if you mess this up—" Pepper started, then the door was yanked open and an angry dark-haired stranger was there, glaring up at him.

"Uh." Tony said.

"Are you serious?" the strange girl said, her light brown eyes flashing. "You're Tony Stark, Mr. Iron Man, and you come here now?"

"Is Allison here?" Pepper asked, her hand tightening on Tony's so he couldn't back away.

The unfamiliar girl didn't move. "Allison who?"

A voice came down the hall. "Cora, stop it." Tony's heart jumped at the sound. He knew that voice. That was his daughter's voice. Allison's voice. "Open the door."

The girl, Cora, clenched her jaw, but opened the door fully. Tony could see Allison halfway down the hall, and no, that was wrong. She was supposed to look like Clara, just a little different, like she had that first night after she was chased by Dupont and his goons.

Not like this. Not so pale her skin looked ashen, not with ugly reddish-purple bruises smudged under her eyes. Not looking at him like she didn't know why he was there.

"Allison." The word came out of his mouth without him even thinking. Allison didn't move. "Hi." Pepper squeezed his hand. "I'm. Uh. Tony."

Allison stared at him some more. "I forgot how young you are," she said after a moment.

"I…" Tony closed his mouth. "What?"

Cora turned around. "Want me to throw them out?"

"No." Allison hunched in on herself, just a little, and that was wrong too. Allison didn't curl in on herself. In all the videos that Tony had seen, even after Dupont's goons had gone after her, Allison had faced the camera with steel in her spine. Now, Allison looked like a stiff breeze might shatter her into pieces.

Had the attack by Kilian really messed her up that much?

Tony thought back to the video of the attack, that he had watched over and over until Jarvis locked the footage away, at how Killian had chased Allison, threatened her, knocked her to the ground and ripped at her clothes.

Tony hadn't done a goddamned thing to help Allison, not in the three and a half weeks he had known she was alive.

"Can we come in?" Pepper asked.

Allison's attention slid to Pepper, and something in her eyes shifted. If anything, she shrank back further. "Okay."

Reluctantly, Cora stepped back to let Tony and Pepper into the house. The hallway smelled like grass and shoes and leather. Tony absently noticed the lacrosse gear by the wall, a motorcycle helmet on the bench, jackets hung haphazardly on the hall rack. Was this what normal people's houses looked like?

The door behind them slammed, making Tony jump a little. Cora glowered at him. "You heard the lady. In."

"Lady?" Tony repeated before his brain caught up. "She's eighteen. How old are you?"

Cora's glare was cold. "Old enough to respect my elders."

"Tony," Pepper said. She touched his arm, pulling him around, to where Allison was still staring at him. Right. He was going to have to do something about Allison. Like, talk to her. "Thanks for inviting us in, Allison. I'm Pepper."

Allison nodded. "I know who you are."

"And you know who Tony is."

Allison nodded once, then turned her head to the side. She wasn't looking at anyone when she said, "I got the results of the DNA test."

"And?" Tony blurted out. Allison's eyes moved to him. "What? Do you want me here?"

For a moment, the house was motionless, then Allison exhaled. "Don't let me keep you if there's somewhere else you have to be," she said, a thread of steel coming back into her voice

"Where else would I have to be?" Tony asked, Allison's words like a knife in his chest. "What, do you have more secret terrorist organizations to pull out of your hat and throw my way?"

"Tony, stop," Pepper said.

Allison was now staring at Tony with a completely blank expression. "My apologies, Mr. Stark," she said, ice on every word. "For assuming that _Iron Man_ might be slightly better equipped to take on an incendiary fighting force than someone with three knives and a used motorcycle."

"And an axe," Tony shot back. Allison's glare turned slightly incredulous. "Jarvis told me about the premeditated self-defence axe."

"You have a self-defence axe?" Cora asked, shoving her way down the hall to Allison's side. "Can I see it?"

Allison crossed her arms over her chest. The motion drew Tony's attention to her forearms, marked with the green-grey remains of bruises. Hand-shaped bruises. "It's dull," she said.

"How?" Pepper asked. "I mean." She cleared her throat. "Jarvis showed us a picture of you with the axe."

Allison looked at Pepper for a moment. "Of course he did," she muttered. "It doesn't matter. There was a problem just north of town and anyway, too long, don't read, I took care of it."

Tony's stomach cramped at the possible meanings of his daughter _taking care_ of a problem with a self-described _self-defence axe_. "Do you need a lawyer?" he asked.

Both Allison and Cora frowned at him. "What for?" Allison asked.

"The self-defence…" His voice trailed off. "What did you use the axe on?"

Allison tilted her head to the side. "A particularly problematic tree." She touched Cora's arm. "Cora, could you make us some tea? And call your brother to let him know that you'll be home later."

Cora raised her eyebrow at Allison, but just said, "Sure." With a final glare at Tony, the girl walked deeper into the house and vanished around a corner.

That left Allison in a weird stand-off with Pepper and Tony. "You may as well come in," she said wearily, and led them into a large living room. The space was well lived-in, with blankets and cushions strewn over the couch. DVD cases were piled beside the television, and books lay in a stack by the arm-chair.

Allison shuffled over to the couch, stepping into some huge bear-paw slippers. As she lifted a blanket off the couch, Tony's eye was caught by something that had been lying half-hidden under the fabric. He had to stare. "Where did you get that?"

Allison pulled the blanket over her shoulder. "What?"

Tony pointed, his stomach see-sawing between confusion and anger. "That laptop?"

"Jarvis sent it to me," Allison said, hand clutching at the blanket.

"Why?"

"I don't know." Allison took a step back, into the couch. "I needed something to work on Extremis."

"So Jarvis sent you this laptop?" Tony moved over to grab it, that old familiar case that he had been looking for the last time he was in New York. "You could take over the government with this laptop!"

Allison was just staring at him with huge, dark eyes, and that wasn't right, she was supposed to be fighting back.

Then Cora was there, standing between them, her eyes glowing werewolf-amber. "Back off," she snapped. Tony took a step back. "What is wrong with you?"

"Cora," Allison said, reaching for the other girl's arm.

Cora kept glaring at Tony, although the amber faded from her brown eyes. "An Argent killed my whole family, just like they did yours," she ground out. "I would do _anything_ to see my dad again. And you get Allison back and you're acting like a dick about it?"

"I'm not—"

But Cora wasn't finished. "Then yesterday I had to watch my family's home burn down, _again,_ because some terrorist asshole wanted to kill Allison?"

"Cora," Allison said firmly, and pulled Cora into a hug. Cora buried her face in Allison's shoulder. "Listen to me. Killian coming after me wasn't Tony's fault."

"Peter said it was."

"Peter doesn't have all the facts." Allison closed her eyes. "Tony isn't to blame for anything that happened. Killian tried to kill me, and that's on him."

"And he's dead," Cora said.

"He's dead." Allison opened her eyes. "And we're okay."

Reluctantly, Cora pulled back. She looked up at Allison. "Are you?"

"Of course." Allison smoothed the hair back from Cora's forehead in an oddly maternal gesture. "Are you going to finish making tea, or are you going to stay in here with us?"

"Tea." Cora disentangled herself from Allison's grip, glared at Tony once more, then walked out of the room.

Tony let out a breath. "She's…"

"Still able to hear you!" came the shout from deeper in the house.

"Cora has exceptional hearing," Allison said, slowly sitting on the couch. "Look, take the laptop, leave, do whatever you want."

Pepper put her hand on Tony's back. "Do you want us to leave?" she asked.

Allison pressed her hand against her forehead. "I don't know why you came here in the first place."

"We thought you might want to meet Tony."

Allison let out a long breath, then sat back. "Natasha told me that you thought I was trying to trick you into something," she said. "Is that still the case?"

"No," Pepper said immediately. "Of course not."

"Mr. Stark?" Allison pressed.

Tony moved his shoulder. "I don't know, are you?"

"Tony!" Pepper hissed.

Allison just looked at him. "I'm going to tell you what I told Natasha," she said eventually. "I didn't ask for any of this. Not Victoria killing my mother, not being raised by Argents, not being chased through town by Dupont's goons or Aldrich Killian." She smoothed the blanket over her knee with trembling fingers. "What I have been doing is trying to use every shred of information I can get my hands on to protect people."

"Why you?" Tony asked. He didn't understand how everything that came out of his mouth was making everything so much worse.

"No one else seems to be doing anything."

At that moment, a door slammed open. "Allison?" called a male voice.

"Living room," Allison responded, her eyes never leaving Tony.

A teenage boy crashed into the room, slinging down backpack and jacket. "Holy shit," he breathed. "Tony Stark?"

"Stiles Stilinski, this is Tony Stark and Pepper Potts," Allison said, still watching Tony. "Mr. Stark is in the middle of questioning my motives."

The half-giddy expression on the boy's face vanished. "Wait, what?" Stiles looked around the room. "Your motives for what?"

"What am I supposed to think?" Tony protested. "You hack into my servers and drop a bunch of top-secret information on me about a terrorist organization that no one's ever heard about? All based on something you heard from some spy Natasha knows?"

Pepper took hold of Tony's hand. "Stop," she told him. "Allison, initially Tony had some concerns. But now we all have more information, including the DNA test."

Stiles plopped onto the couch beside Allison. "So, like, what kind of concerns are left?" he asked. "The ones that came up before or after the most wanted terrorist in America tried to kill Allison?" The boy's gaze at Tony felt accusatory.

"Stiles, stop." Allison patted the boy's wrist. "It's okay. It doesn't matter."

"How can you say that?"

"Because it doesn't." There was so much pain in Allison's eyes that it hurt Tony to look at her.

"But he's your father," Stiles protested. Like that mattered.

"Stiles." Allison put her hand on Stiles' cheek. "It's okay."

"It's not," Stiles said. "Jesus, why are your hands so cold?"

The doorbell rang. "What now?" Cora wondered, blowing back into the hallway. "Why is everyone in this house suddenly so popular?" She stomped out of sight as Tony tried to come up with something to say to Allison, something that would make everything stop being so terrible.

Didn't she want him to be her father?

The sound of the door swinging open, then a moment's silence before an unfamiliar voice asked, "Is Allison here?"

Allison's head snapped up, something cold burning in her dark eyes. In one smooth movement, she stood, sliding out from under the blanket and out of the bear paw slippers. A long knife appeared in her hand from somewhere, and when she moved, it was like a predator.

Tony's pulse picked up. There was danger.

"I don't know," Cora was saying as Allison raised a finger to her lips, then lowered her hand flat as she moved towards the front door.

"Can you check?" the male voice asked.

Tony handed the laptop to Pepper and was about to follow Allison when Allison's voice came down the hall. "Mike?"

"Hey, kid," the man said.

"Cora, go back to our guests," Allison said in a voice so firm that Tony could hardly believe it was from the same girl who had been cowering on the couch a minute before. "Mike, what are you doing here?"

Cora appeared back in the living room, pale and spooked. Stiles went over to her and she wrapped her hands around his arm.

What was going on? What would scare a werewolf?

And now his daughter was out there, alone with this guy.

"We heard what happened and wanted to make sure you were okay."

Tony padded over to the break in the wall and peered out. The man at the door didn't appear threatening. Asian-American, five-ten, about forty-five, Tony summed up. He wasn't looking at Allison with any animosity, either.

But there Allison was, holding the knife behind her back.

"I'm great," Allison said. "Why are you really here?"

Mike glanced at Tony, then back to Allison. "The guys and I wanted to give you these." He held out a bouquet of flowers. "A get-well and a belated birthday."

Allison took the flowers. "Thank you. What else?"

Mike shrugged. "You talk to Chris recently?"

A stab of fury bit through Tony. _Chris_ could only mean Chris Argent. And if this guy knew Chris Argent, he was very likely a Hunter. That would explain why a werewolf like Cora was so shaken.

Tony really didn't like this.

"No," Allison said.

"Right." Mike stuck his hands in his pockets. "See, Chris told us all about everything."

"Everything, or everything?" Allison asked.

"Everything," Mike said with a significant nod. "We talked about it, you know."

Allison let her knife hand slip down into view. "Am I going to need this?" she asked, sounding oddly blasé for what might be a death threat.

"Nah," Mike said. He looked remarkably unconcerned. "Most everyone's okay with everything. The guys, they know you. Things are okay."

"Mostly everyone," Allison repeated. "Who isn't?"

Mike let out a breath. "Paul."

"Damn," Allison said. "How's Chris taking that?"

"You know Chris." Mike shrugged again. "He got on the horn out to Colorado Springs, they're looking for some new folks. Paul's going to head out there."

Allison shook her head. "Paul's been with Chris a long time."

"Paul's known you your whole life," Mike said. "He made his own call." He straightened up. "So, boss, any marching orders?"

"Really?" Allison asked. "You're still on that?"

"Hey, I don't make the rules." Mike smiled at Allison. "Really, though, if you need us to look at anything while you're on the mend, let me know."

"I will." Allison went to turn, hesitated, then looked back at Mike. "Can you do me a favour?"

"Sure."

"Get Saul to put his ear to the ground, see if anyone's talking about an Alpha pack."

Mike frowned. "What's an Alpha pack?"

"A bunch of alphas killed their packs, absorbed their betas powers, and banded together to roam the countryside murdering," Allison said. "It's about as much fun as it sounds. I heard a rumour that they might be heading this way."

"What the hell is this town?" Mike asked. "Okay, I'll get Saul on it."

"Thanks."

"See you around, boss." Mike gave Allison a mini-salute, ran his eyes over Tony once more, then departed.

Allison closed the door and locked it. As she exhaled, all the confidence in her stance faded away.

"What was that about?" Tony asked, making Allison flinch. She turned around. "An alpha pack?"

Allison blinked at him. "I told you to stay in the living room."

"A hand gesture isn't an order," Tony said. "That guy knows Chris Argent? Why did he keep calling you boss?"

Allison walked down the hall. She was wincing slightly, like the lights were too bright. "Mike works with Chris." She walked into the kitchen, and Tony followed. "He runs the custom orders for Argent Arms International."

"Why was he here?" Tony pressed

Allison put the flower bouquet on the counter before turning around. "I had forgotten you were like this," she muttered.

"What?"

Allison straightened up. "You came into my house," she said, walking past Tony to the living room. She put the knife on the bookcase, hugged Cora briefly, then guided the girl onto the couch before shoving Stiles down at her side. "I'm pretty sure the only reason you're here is that Pepper strong-armed you into coming." Allison went to curl back up in her nest of blankets. "Explain to me why I owe you any answers."

Tony rubbed his hands over his face. He wondered what would happen if he started screaming. The only up side was that things probably couldn't get much worse. "You hacked into my servers, how's that for a start?"

Allison pressed her hand against her forehead again. "How much of my conversations with Jarvis have you heard?"

Tony hesitated, and glanced at Pepper, standing by the television, holding the laptop to her chest like a shield. She looked back at him, eyes wide. "Um." Tony cleared his throat. "All of them. I've seen all of them."

Allison stared at him for a long moment. Then she looked away. "Then you know everything I know," she said. "I don't have anything else for you, Tony."

The front door opened again. Cora looked over, apprehensive, but Allison didn't react.

"Like I said before, I didn't ask for any of this." Allison balled her hands up in the blanket. "And I don't have any answers for you."

Footsteps clomped down the hall, and a man in a sheriff's uniform appeared in the living room entrance. "What's going on?" he asked, glancing over the teenagers before his eye landed on Tony.

"I—" Tony started, then broke off when Natasha Romanoff followed the sheriff into the room. She was in full deputy sheriff's beige, her thumbs hooked in her belt, and she looked far too calm. "You."

"You," Natasha repeated dryly. "Tony. Pepper."

"Deputy Rushman," Allison said. "Noah Stilinski, this is Tony Stark and Pepper Potts."

"Hello." Noah didn't move. "What's going on?"

"Dad, why would anything be going on?" Stiles asked, rubbing his hands together nervously.

"Because we passed Mike Zeng driving away from the house," Natasha said. She skirted into the room. "Is everyone okay?"

Cora nodded. Allison pinched the bridge of her nose. "Mike dropped off some flowers," Allison said. "That's all."

"Uh huh." Noah didn't move, and his eyes on Tony were cool. "So what have you all been talking about?"

"The violation of Allison's U.N.-guaranteed human rights, article eleven," Stiles said.

Natasha turned an incredulous stare on Tony. "What have you been saying?" she asked.

"I was just asking Allison about how she knows so much about terrorists," Tony said. Now Stilinski was glaring at him. "She told you that it was some winter soldier in France."

"Not 'some' soldier," Allison said, cutting across the growing tension. Tony turned around. Her eyes were fixed on him with an intensity that was a little unnerving. "He is not 'a' soldier. He is the soldier. The one person on this planet that scares Natasha."

"Nothing scares Natasha," Tony said.

"That's not true," Natasha said.

"All right, one of two." Allison turned her head. "But Dr. Banner is not currently part of the equation, is he?"

Natasha put her hands on her hips. "Who told you about that?"

"The Hulk?" Allison leaned forward, confrontation in every movement. "I told you, Agent Romanoff, SHIELD is full of holes. Sometimes, information trickles out."

"This is what I've been putting up with," Natasha said to Tony. "She's just like you."

"She is not," Tony protested without thinking. "I'm not gullible enough to be taken in by some random guy lurking in the woods."

"Hey," Stilinski said. "Why don't you watch what you're saying about Allison?"

"From what I've seen, Allison can take care of herself," Tony said.

"She got really hurt yesterday," Natasha interjected. "And I know that you pretend that human emotions are something you've evolved past, Tony, but other people have feelings."

"Yes, speaking of which," Tony said as he rounded on Natasha. "I've been meaning to ask you what you've been doing in this town. It sure as hell doesn't look like you've been protecting Allison."

"Oh, don't you throw this back on me," Natasha snapped. "No one had any intel that Aldrich Killian was infected with Extremis, let alone that he was coming here."

"Is that supposed to make everything better?" Tony demanded. "Sorry, I didn't know?"

"Tony's concerned," Pepper put in. "And so am I."

"What exactly is Tony concerned about?" Natasha asked. "Allison's safety, or Allison's intel?"

"That is so out of line!" Pepper exclaimed. "You knew that Allison might have been Tony's daughter for weeks and you never let him know?"

"We had to be sure," Natasha argued. "We had to make sure Allison was Tony and Clara's biological daughter to make sure we could get her safely away from the Argents—"

"Then you should have asked her for a DNA sample the first day—"

"Do you know what Hunters do to girls like that?" Natasha interrupted.

"Girls like what?" Pepper asked. "What are you talking about?"

Tony once again wondered if screaming would do any good. Everything was going so wrong. Allison was watching them argue, her eyes dark and pained, and it was like she was slipping further and further away with every angry word.

He was losing his daughter, and he didn't even know how to stop it.

Allison watched the argument unfold like it was something on television. Her vision was greying out in her left eye, her stomach sloshed with nausea and her head hurt so bad. None of this seemed real. It didn't seem real that Tony had finally come to Beacon Hills to find her, and in turn accuse her of being a bad guy.

It didn't feel real, watching Natasha and Pepper battle it out verbally, while Noah stood by and Tony just kept staring at her. Not even Cora and Stiles beside her on the couch felt real.

Maybe she could go upstairs and have a nap. Maybe everything would make more sense when she woke up.

Maybe when she woke up, the screaming guilt about Morgan wouldn't be so loud whenever she looked at Morgan's parents.

The doorbell rang again, the sound piercing in Allison's brain. She closed her eyes on the brightness of the light.

"I'll get it," Noah said, walking away.

"Allison?" Stiles said, touching her shoulder.

Allison made herself open her eyes. She tried to smile. "It's okay," she said.

"No, it's not," Stiles said.

The door opened. "What do you want?" Noah asked.

"I came to see Allison," came Peter's voice on the air, and Allison was suddenly so relieved that she wanted to cry. Peter was there. Even with all the angry words and accusations flying around the room, if Peter was there, she could stand it.

"She's busy," Noah said.

Allison stood up, nearly over-balanced, and walked into the coffee table before finding a clear path. "Why don't you ask her if she'll make the time?" Peter asked as she made her way into the hall. "Oh, look, here she is."

"Noah, can you give us a minute?" Allison asked, hardly taking in Noah's disapproving expression as she moved towards Peter. "Maybe go make sure Pepper doesn't kill Natasha."

Indeed, the voices picked up again in the living room. With a glare, Noah left.

"Friendly." Peter stepped into the house and closed the door behind him. "What's going on?"

"Tony's here." Allison put her hands out, reaching for Peter. He caught her and pulled her in, putting one hand on her cheek. She didn't understand his sudden frown. "My father."

"Uh huh." Peter's hand moved to her forehead, then down to cup the back of her head. "How do you feel?"

"A bit sick," Allison admitted.

Then, to her surprise, Peter moved in to kiss her, his tongue sliding into her mouth for a brief second. Which, okay, not unwelcome, but a little unexpected given the context.

The next moment, Peter had pulled away. "Allison, look at me," he said with an urgency Allison didn't understand. Still, she tried to focus on him. "Does your head hurt?"

"I guess."

"How long?" Peter was guiding her towards the voices now. "How long has your head hurt?"

"Since the explosion yesterday," Allison said, and walked into a wall.

"Let's try that again," Peter said, pulling her around and into the living room proper. Everyone was staring at her. "Does anyone have a flashlight?"

"Here," Natasha said immediately, pulling a small penlight out of her pocket and handing it over. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Allison protested.

"Your body temperature is dangerously low," Peter said. He shone the little light in her eyes, sending stabs of pain through her head. "One of your pupils isn't reacting like it should." He turned the light off.

"I'll be fine," Allison protested. "I just need some time to heal."

"Right." Peter held her hand up between them. With a sharp thumbnail, he scratched a bloody line in her skin. "This? Isn't healing."

Allison stared at her hand, at the fresh line in her skin, and reached deep inside herself, but the alpha wasn't stirring. All she felt was cold.

This … this was bad.

"What did you do?" Tony's voice floated through the air, but Allison tuned him out. She looked back up at Peter, at the worry in his eyes.

"A slow brain bleed can drag even someone like you down," Peter said. "You probably should have sprung for the CT scan."

"Funny." Allison squeezed Peter's hand. "Okay. Let's fix this. Got a plan?"

"There's one way to kickstart your healing," Peter said. "But it's going to hurt."

"What do we need to do?" Natasha asked, standing at Allison's side.

"Well, to avoid Noah shooting me, I'd like Allison to say yes first," Peter said.

"Yes to what?" Noah demanded.

"Yes," Allison said. Peter was right. She needed to get her healing going, needed to get warm, needed her alpha powers stirring. And outside of another alpha showing up in challenge, there was one sure-fire way to get things moving. "Do it."

Peter looked at her for a moment, then nodded. "Bone or blood?" he asked.

"What?" Noah demanded again.

"Blood," Allison said, never taking her eyes away from Peter. "New ground rule. No broken bones."

"Probably for the best," Peter said. He pushed the sleeve of her t-shirt up to her shoulder. "I cannot tell you the number of times Kevin snapped my arm over the years. Hold her."

Natasha's hands went to Allison's waist. "Nobody freak out," the woman ordered.

"On three," Peter said, resting a clawed hand on Allison's shoulder. "One, two."

On _two,_ Peter dug his claws into Allison's arm and dragged down, slicing so deep that he scraped bone. The pain was a shock that ripped Allison to the core, the sudden injury waking the alpha. Power screamed through Allison, filling her with heat and fury, a fury that very quickly latched onto the real culprit.

How _dare_ Aldrich Killian attack her? How dare he come anywhere near her? The shock and surprise that had held Allison in place for most of the last day fell away, with outrage and anger swirling through her.

Her body was tingling all over now, as sluggish injuries started to mend. Her head felt like it was vibrating as her brain healed, tearing away the cobwebs and the fog that had consumed her since waking up in the ravine.

Allison burned with the alpha, knew her eyes glowed red as she stared at Peter, focusing on him to keep upright. "Ow," she said sharply. "You didn't have to go so deep."

Peter grinned at her, relief almost hidden under mischief. "That wasn't what you said on Monday night."

"Ugh," Stiles said somewhere off to Allison's left. "Really? Now? Allison, can't you stop him?"

Allison drew herself upright. "I am not responsible for anything that comes out of Peter," she said archly.

Stiles convulsed. "You're as bad as he is."

"Quite likely." Allison glanced down at her arm. The gashes in her flesh from Peter's claws were healing cleanly. Even the bruises on her wrists were starting to fade, under the onslaught of blood freshly circulating through her skin.

"How do you feel now?" Peter asked. His hand, back to normal, was steady under her elbow.

"Better," Allison said. She looked around. "Why is there a jacket on the ground?"

"Because I didn't want to spend the next three days cleaning blood out of the carpet," Stiles said. "What the hell?"

"You know," Peter said, turning his attention to Cora. "When Derek said you were going to be spending the day over here watching Allison, I didn't think he meant that you were going to watch Allison die."

"She didn't say anything was wrong!" Cora protested.

"She was freezing," Peter shot back. "What, did that pack down in Argentina forget to teach you how dangerous that is?"

"Allison's human, how was I supposed to know?"

"Enough." Allison touched Peter's arm. "Cora knows now. Let's chalk this up as a learning experience, for everyone."

"What exactly would you dying teach any of us?" Peter asked.

"Oh, I'm sure it would have been very instructive." She squeezed his arm in a warning. With a sharp look, Peter subsided. Only then did Allison turn to the others in the room. "Agent Romanoff, as always, thank you for your assistance."

"And as always, you didn't actually need my help." Natasha stepped back from Allison.

"Your presence, then." Allison looked at Tony and Pepper. "All right. I'm going to request a do-over on the last hour as I was apparently suffering from a traumatic brain injury sustained due to exploding terrorists. Hi. I'm Allison."

"What?" Tony said, looking flabbergasted. Pepper appeared downright shocked.

"A traumatic brain—"

"No, I know what brain injury is," Tony interrupted. "Your eyes, and your arm… Clara always said that you'd never be a werewolf, but that's all stuff Victor did."

"I'm a human alpha," Allison said. "It's complicated."

Then Pepper said, "Werewolf?"

A hunted expression came over Tony's face. "Oh, shit."

Allison glared at him. "You didn't tell Pepper about werewolves?"

"There were other pressing matters!" Tony said.

"Great." Allison attempted to smile at Pepper, which didn't seem to reassure the woman. "Okay. Werewolves are real, and my mother was one."

"Werewolves are real," Pepper repeated.

"Yes."

"And his hand…" Pepper pointed at Peter. "And Cora's eyes…"

Peter looked at Cora. "You wolfed out in front of strangers? _Really?"_

"Tony was being an asshole towards Allison," Cora snapped.

"Stop," Allison said, pushing alpha power into the room. Everyone went still. "All things in order. Pepper, are you okay?"

Pepper was still staring. "How many werewolves are there?" she asked.

"Lots," Allison said. "You've probably met several in your life, and just never knew it. It's not any weirder than aliens being real."

"Right." Pepper gave a nod. "Okay. I'm going to deal with this later."

"Good plan." Allison turned to Stiles. "Can you please go get me something to wipe the blood off my arm?"

"Right, make me do all the work," Stiles muttered, and vanished.

"Now we are all going to sit down and talk," Allison went on. "All right?"

"How are you a human alpha?" Tony asked, not moving. "Was it something that the Argents did?"

"Hardly." Allison slipped her hand into Peter's, taking reassurance in his grip. "Something happened this summer. Everything's fine."

"But how—"

"Tony," Natasha interrupted. "Be careful about asking questions you might not want answered."

"When have I ever been careful about anything?" Tony shot back.

"That is literally my point."

Stiles reappeared. He practically threw a wet dishtowel at Allison. "I want you to know that I'm saving this all up for therapy."

"If you would ever actually go to therapy, I might feel threatened." Allison wiped the blood off her arm, then handed the towel to Peter. "Cora, Noah, sit."

Reluctantly, Noah sat in his favourite armchair, while Cora and Stiles squished onto the couch. Allison went to the open spot on the couch, pulling Peter down beside her. As soon as he wiped the blood off his fingers, he took up her hand again, twining his fingers with hers. Allison didn't miss how Tony's eyes played over their joined hands.

"So," Tony said abruptly. "Now what?"

"Sit," Allison said. She waited until Pepper was perched on the loveseat, hauling Tony down beside her. Natasha stayed standing by the wall. "Like I said, I'd like a do-over. Once Tony decides whether I'm the world's next supervillain or the world's most gullible idiot—"

"I never said that," Tony objected.

"It was implied," Allison said. She leaned forward, never letting go of Peter's hand. "Like I said before, all I have ever tried to do was to protect people."

"And you keep getting hurt," Tony objected.

"Pain isn't important," Allison said.

"And kidnapped," Tony went on. "Killian? Dupont?"

"Killian didn't kidnap me," Allison said. "I ran, he ran, it was a merry chase through the woods that ended fine."

Tony's eyes went wide. "You just said you had a brain injury."

"And I'm better now."

"Dupont?"

Allison's eyes narrowed. "I got away from Dupont just fine."

"They shot and _tortured_ you."

Allison opened her mouth to snap at Tony, to tell him that he had no idea what he was talking about, when Peter spoke. "Is that what you think happened?"

Tony's dark eyes moved to Peter. "Isn't it?"

Peter's lip curled up in an unhappy smile. "You're missing part of the puzzle."

"And what would that part be?"

"Allison wasn't alone when Dupont grabbed her."

Allison turned her head. "What are you doing?"

"Clarifying." He brushed his thumb over her knuckles. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No, I just don't see what good you think it'll do."

"He needs to understand you."

Allison let out a breath. She was pretty sure that she knew where Peter was going, and while it wasn't exactly a secret, she would rather Stiles not know. But she wasn't sure how it could hurt. "Fine." She leaned back.

"Allison wasn't alone when Dupont's Hunters shot her," Peter said, looking back to Tony. "They also took her little friend Lydia, who's the size of a Raggedy Anne doll and about as dangerous."

"Careful," Allison said. On Allison's other side, Stiles was glaring hot daggers at Peter.

"And they held a gun against Lydia's head so they could do whatever they wanted to Allison," Peter went on. "Thing is, Allison could have gotten away. She could have taken them all out before they started peeling the skin off her back. She chose not to."

"No, I didn't," Allison said. "I didn't have a choice. They would have shot Lydia."

"You chose to let them torture you to save Lydia." Peter pried his eyes off Tony to look at Allison.

"I say again, it wasn't a choice."

"Semantics."

"Is that true?" Stiles asked, his voice trembling just a little.

Allison took a deep breath. "Yes," she said, turning to face him. "And if we're going to use Peter's wording, then what I did in that creepy underground torture chamber? Was my choice. Not Lydia's. None of that was her doing."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Stiles asked.

Allison put her free hand on his arm. She doubted _because you're seventeen and you'd freak out_ would go over well. "Because there was a lot going on and it was more important for everyone to focus on Lydia getting better."

Stiles scrubbed his hand over his face. "Does she know you could have gotten away?"

"No, and she isn't going to," Allison said repressively.

Stiles picked up Allison's hand and played with her fingers. "You should tell her."

"Stiles—"

"You should."

Allison let out a breath. "We'll talk about this later." Stiles nodded. She turned her attention back to Peter. "Are you done?"

"Yes," he said. There was something in his eyes that made Allison suspect that he was not, in fact, finished at whatever game he was playing, but she would deal with the rest when it came.

"Good." Allison looked over at Tony. "Where were we?"

Tony looked at Pepper a little helplessly.

"Right," Allison said. "World's most gullible idiot."

"You're not gullible," Natasha said from where she stood propping up the wall. "And you're not an idiot, no matter how much you try to pretend you are."

Allison shrugged. "Eleven years of formal education indicates otherwise."

"You heard what Rhodey said yesterday," Natasha went on. "He said that the work you've been doing on Extremis has moved everything forward about ten years."

Allison shifted her hand in Peter's. Her memories of the previous day were a little hazy. "It's not a big deal. I'm just good at pattern recognition."

"No one else in the world's been able to figure it out," Natasha said. "Not even Maya Hansen. Right, Tony?"

"What?" Allison looked between Natasha and Tony. "I went over what Dr. Hansen told the FBI about Extremis, there's nothing new in there."

"Tony went to see her," Natasha said, a glint in her green eyes.

Allison sat up, ignoring the glare Tony threw Natasha's way. "Did you? Did you show her the mutations Jarvis and I were working on? Did she make any indication that any of them would work?"

Tony looked at his hands. "I showed them to her. She said she wasn't going to talk to anyone but the person who put the simulations together."

"That's me." Allison moved forward, nearly falling off the edge of the couch. "Can I talk to her? See her? Maybe we can come up with a way to really fix the virus so the twelve subjects can go home."

Tony lifted his head, and there was something sharp in his eyes, something sharp and ugly and Allison didn't know what she'd said, only that the next few minutes were going to hurt. She braced herself. "Or maybe you want to talk to Maya so you two can stabilize Extremis? Maybe that was what the Winter Soldier was after. Winding you up and pointing you in my direction so they could manipulate their way into getting their hands on a stable form of Extremis?"

"Tony!" Natasha exclaimed. "Are you out of your mind?"

"Did you really just say that?" Peter demanded, his hand closing around Allison's.

"What's going on?" Cora asked Stiles in a whisper, and the boy shrugged.

And in that instant, all the pieces of the puzzle came together, with the jagged edges of Aldrich Killian's role on taking Extremis to such lengths becoming clear. In spite of the fact that her father had just accused her of extreme villainy, Allison couldn't stop the smile from spreading over her face.

"Why is she smiling like that?" Pepper asked Tony.

"Because I finally figured it out," Allison breathed. It was all a perfect picture in her head, a perfect web of deceit and mayhem. "Extremis is stabilized. It works exactly as it's designed."

"People are blowing up," Noah said.

"Like they're supposed to." Allison turned her head slightly to the side, picturing the sequence of events. "Killian isn't the kind of person to have injected himself with an unstable version of anything." She chased the threads around, watching them weave into place. "They were testing everything over the summer, but when Chad Davis blew up, it accelerated their timelines. Not on trying to fix the infected, but getting out ahead of them figuring out that there never would be a cure."

Natasha crossed the room to sit on the edge of the coffee table, two feet from Allison. "Keep going," she ordered.

"Jarvis said that the one guy from the White House, Bill Turner, he said that Killian told him and the others that if they didn't orchestrate the White House attack, their blockers would fail. He said that's what happened to the others in the Saturday attacks. But their blockers couldn't have failed, not with all four of them incinerating within a minute of each other across the country."

"It was a set-up," Natasha said.

"It was a demonstration." Allison saw it all now, with the lurking shadow of Hydra in the background. "Killian knew everything was fucked. He knew Tony was on to him, knew he'd never be able to follow through with whatever his original plans were. I think he used the Saturday attacks as a sales pitch to a new audience. Look at my Extremis soldiers, they'll be so grateful to have their limbs back that they won't notice that they've been turned into human bombs. Then all you have to do is send one of them into the White House. Or the UN."

"Living, breathing bombs," Natasha said. "And not even they would know what was going on."

"Until it was too late." Allison tried to comprehend the pure evil that could have driven such a plot. "And Killian had to have known that. He seems like the kind of person who would have planned everything down to the last detail."

"Then why did he come after you?" Peter asked. He had his free hand on Allison's back.

"Just why he said." Allison rested her elbow on her knee. "To get back at Tony for ruining his plans."

"But how did he know where to find you?" Natasha asked.

"That is another question, isn't it?" Allison held Natasha's eye for a moment.

"That's one hell of a story," Natasha said.

"If only one of us worked for an international spy agency that might be able to figure any of this out." Allison looked at Tony. "Now, if we can come to some middle ground about what brand of evil I'm running after, then we can talk about how I'm getting to Washington to see Dr. Hansen."

"You're not going," Tony said. "It's too dangerous."

Allison's jaw dropped. "Oh my god, would you pick a side?" she exclaimed. "Am I planning world domination or do I need to be locked in a room with no sharp edges?"

"You said it yourself, if there are people who would want to harm you—"

"Then they can do that here as easily as they can in Washington." Allison looked at Noah. "It's, what, a forty-hour drive to DC? I can do that in two days if I leave now."

Noah looked so tired he wanted to collapse. "Allison, you have school."

"I can drop out."

"Please stop joking about that."

"If it's something I can do to save the lives of twelve people? Then maybe I'm not joking."

"Allison." Peter tapped her back. "If you want money for a plane ticket—"

Allison squeezed his hand. "I'll figure it out," she said.

Pepper cleared her throat. "A question," she said. Everyone looked at her. "Who exactly are you?"

"Peter Hale," Natasha contributed.

"And what exactly are you…" Pepper indicated where Peter held Allison's hand.

Peter looked Pepper square in the eye. "I'm her sommelier."

"Allison isn't old enough to drink."

"Because that's what's wrong with Peter's statement." Allison stood up. "All right, everyone Hale and Hale-adjacent, on your feet."

Cora and Peter exchanged a look, then stood. Cora grabbed Stiles' shirt and hauled the boy up. "What?" Stiles protested.

"You're Hale adjacent."

"Only for tax purposes." Stiles turned to Allison. "What?"

"You're going over to Derek's place, all of you, and Peter is going to tell you all of the gruesome ways a werewolf can die." She hooked her arm through Stiles', and towed him and Peter towards the front door. Cora followed. "Also I need to continue to destroy my relationship with my birth father, and I don't need to have you in the audience for that."

"Do you want me to bring back dinner?" Stiles asked as he sullenly grabbed his keys.

"We'll figure something out." Allison caught Cora as the girl tried to slip towards the door. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For not realizing what was going on." Allison held out her arms, and after a beat Cora slid in for a hug. Allison let the alpha rise, warm and comforting and safe. Cora hugged her tighter.

"I should have known."

"No one knows what's up with a human alpha," Allison said. She kissed Cora's cheek. "Least of all me."

Cora pulled back. "I'm glad you're not dead."

"Me too." Allison touched Cora's cheek. "Go with Stiles, I need to talk to Peter."

Cora turned and walked out of the house. Stiles shot Allison a worried look. "Don't, like, leave for the east coast before I get back, okay?"

"I promise."

Stiles darted in for a quick hug. "I'm sorry your dad's such a douchebag," he whispered.

Allison sighed, and squeezed Stiles tight. He squeaked. "I've got you and Noah, what more family do I need?"

"Right." And, cheeks a little red, Stiles darted after Cora.

Voices were lifting in the living room, but Allison tuned them out. "Come on," she said, pulling Peter outside and closing the door behind them.

"You're mad at me," he said.

"No." Allison put her arms around Peter's waist and leaned against him. The alpha responded to his wolf, comforted. "I'm not sure what game you're playing, but I'm not mad."

"I'm not playing a game." Peter slid his arm around her shoulder. "You almost died. You keep almost dying on me."

"I made it through." Allison listened to his heartbeat, slightly elevated from stress. "I'm not going anywhere." She paused. "Except maybe Washington for a few days."

"Is anyone going to try to kill you there?"

Allison thought about all the Hydra agents infiltrating SHIELD, and just who exactly could have betrayed her location, and real parentage, to Aldrich Killian. "I hope not."

Peter breathed against her hair. "I can't believe how cold you were when I got here."

Allison winced. "I'm sorry," she said. She hadn't ever gone without medical treatment after a head injury before, and after she joined the superheroes, the doctors were already well-versed in personalized treatment.

"It wasn't your fault." Peter held her.

"But you saved me." Allison closed her eyes, just for a moment. "You were there when I needed you."

"But…" Peter's voice broke off. "You could have died."

Allison pulled back to look at him. "Yes," she said. "I could have." Peter's eyes flashed blue. "Life isn't safe, Peter."

He shifted his jaw. "I think that I, of all people in this town, am aware of that."

"Then know this." Allison dug her fingers into his shirt. "From the first day I saw you up on the preserve last month, I never expected this to happen between us. But I'm glad it did, and I will always treasure it."

Peter gave a quick nod. "I." He looked up at the sky. "Same."

Allison tried to hide a smile. "Peter, are you getting sentimental on me?"

"No." He leaned in for a kiss, his tongue dipping into her mouth. "See? Now you're warm."

"I'll text you from DC," Allison said, letting Peter go. "Now, go over to Derek's and make him threaten to beat you up by being mean to Cora."

"I'm not going to be mean to Cora," Peter objected, heading down the walk. "I'm just going to tell her how incredibly stupid she was."

"Like you weren't a total idiot at seventeen?"

"No, I was not."

"I can tell when you're lying, you know," Allison called after him. She waved as he got into his car, watching as he drove away.

After his car was out of sight, Allison sighed. She really didn't want to go back into the house. She had fully expected that everything would go tits-up with Tony, but she hadn't expected the complete nuclear melt-down.

For over sixteen years, since Tony died saving everyone, Allison had built up an idealized memory of him in her head. But the last hour had knocked all that away, reminding Allison that Tony had been a hot flaming dumpster mess of a human being at this age, who had had his entire world upended by the realization that Allison was alive.

He was only thirty-eight, she told herself. Allison was forty-six. She had to be the adult in the room.

Allison was Alpha. She had been in charge of the superheroes for over ten years, saving people across galaxies, across realms. She had work to do. She had a universe to save.

Taking a deep breath, Allison went back into the house.

The argument was still going on in the living room. Allison took one look at the combatants, Natasha and Pepper once again with Noah contributing from the neutral middle-ground, and changed direction to the kitchen. She hadn't eaten all day, what with the nausea, and she was fucking starving.

 _Note to self,_ Allison thought grimly. _Next time I don't feel like eating, try to figure out what's wrong._

"Hey."

Allison emerged from the fridge to see Tony standing in the entrance to the kitchen, hands in his pockets. "Hey." She kicked the fridge closed and carried her armfuls of leftovers to the table. "Look, if you're going to keep up on the 'Allison is a supervillain' theme, can you wait for twenty minutes so I can get my blood sugar back up to fighting strength?"

"I'm not going to do that," Tony said. He seemed more subdued than before Allison went outside. She wondered what Natasha had said to him. "Can I talk to you?"

"Sure." Allison went back to the fridge for a couple bottles of Gatorade. "What's up?" She collapsed into her chair, realized she had forgotten a fork, and shrugged. She suspected that her poor table manners would be the least of the bad impressions she had made on her father that day.

"You." Tony fidgeted.

"Me," Allison agreed. She uncapped the Gatorade and downed half the bottle in one go.

"I just." Tony clammed up again.

"Sit down," Allison said. She pried the lid off the container of steamed broccoli. "Look, whatever you want to say, it can't be any worse than anything else in the last hour." She crammed a floret into her mouth, and went in search of the chicken.

"The laptop." Tony sat down across from Allison. "I saw the laptop and thought you'd tricked Jarvis into something."

Allison's chewing slowed. "I'd never trick Jarvis into anything," she said. "First off, I doubt that I could. Second, from talking with him, he's a good guy."

Tony blinked at her. "You do know he's not a real person, right?"

Allison picked the skin off a cold chicken leg. "I know he's not organic or biological," she said. "But if an artificial intelligence wants to present as male, I will respect that choice."

"I programmed him that way."

Allison took a bite of chicken. Oh god, did she love food. "And you don't think he'd change his voice presentation if he didn't like it?"

"Good point." Tony watched Allison alternate between broccoli and chicken for a few more bites. "What have you been using the laptop for?"

"School," Allison said with a full mouth. "And trying to earn a PhD in virology and biomechanics in my spare time."

"How?" Tony asked. "Your grades used to suck."

Allison drank the rest of the Gatorade. "It's not difficult."

"I couldn't do it."

"If you hadn't been spending the last two weeks fighting terrorism and saving puppies from burning buildings, you'd have figured it out." Having finished the broccoli, Allison popped open the remains of the spaghetti Stiles had made on Monday. "Jarvis sent me some pictures of Clara."

Tony looked down at his hands. "He did?"

"Yeah." Allison considered eating the spaghetti and meat sauce with her hands, decided that her hunger had abated enough for her to retrieve her dignity, and went to get a fork. "I liked the one of her with the wolf toy."

Tony let out a little huff. "She thought that was the best joke." He reached into his breast pocket and came out with a ring. "This was her engagement ring."

Allison sat, and waited.

"Actually, it was her second engagement ring." Tony set it carefully on the table. "We were down at Venice Beach, on the boardwalk. She told me she was pregnant and that it was okay, she didn't expect anything from me. And I walked right over to this junk jewelry store and gave the lady fifty bucks for this cheap green glass ring and went right back and proposed."

Allison had heard this story before, of course, but the first time, Tony had been wistful. Now, he was practically bleeding all over the table.

"I was…" Tony cleared his throat. "Your mom wanted to meet you so much. She was so happy."

"Even with everything that was going on."

Tony lifted his eyes. "What was going on?"

Allison stabbed her fork into the spaghetti. "The territory wars? The alpha squabbles?"

Tony frowned. "What are you talking about?"

Allison put the fork down, heart sinking. Tony didn't know anything about the violence leading up to the pack wars following Clara's death. "There was a lot of violence around town in the year before Clara died," she said cautiously. "Some of the Vasquez pack died, and everyone knew it was other packs who wanted to take over the Los Angeles territory."

Tony stared at her. "I knew Clara was worried about something," he said slowly. "But I didn't know what."

Allison sat back. "She couldn't have told you."

"You mean wouldn't."

"No, couldn't," Allison repeated. "Victor wouldn't have let anyone talk about what was going on, not with so much at stake."

"How do you know all this?" Tony asked.

"Hunters talk," Allison said absently, her mind spinning. There was something in all that, that was slightly off. "And I talked to Anna."

"Clara's sister."

"Yes." Allison focused on the memory of the crime scene photos showing Clara cut open on that hillside. There had been no defensive wounds on her hands. Clara hadn't expected to be attacked.

But it was more than that. Clara had been the heir to the Vasquez pack, in the middle of a turf war. Why had she been out alone, in the dark, eight months pregnant?

A trickle of apprehension slid down Allison's spine. There was something wrong with this picture, of her mother's death. Something was missing.

"Allison?"

Allison looked up. Tony was staring at her in concern. "What?"

"I asked you what Anna said."

"Oh." Allison tried to pull herself together. She was going to revisit this line of thought later, when Tony was gone and she could get her hands back on Clara's police file. "She told me about their family. A bit about what was going on when my mom died." Allison picked up her fork again. "I think she's mostly freaked out."

"I can understand that." Tony turned the ring over in his fingers. "I'm sorry."

Allison shovelled spaghetti into her mouth. "For what?"

"For not doing anything to help."

"Don't be. No one could have seen Killian coming."

"What about Dupont?" Tony looked at her. "They came after you twice. I should have done something."

Allison put her fork back down. "You were doing something. You were helping after the explosions, and then that stuff at the White House."

"That wasn't helping you."

"I can take care of myself." Allison pushed the container away. "I think that's been pretty well demonstrated."

"You shouldn't have to." Tony raked his hand through his hair. "You're eighteen."

"Old enough to join the army." Allison opened the second bottle of Gatorade. "If Uncle Sam thinks I'm old enough to blindly follow orders to my death, who am I to argue?"

"Why are you like this?" Tony asked, pushing his chair back.

"Like what?" Allison asked.

"Like this?" Tony made vague hand gestures. "Is this a Hunter thing? Is this how the Argents raised you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Acting like it doesn't matter if you die?"

Allison put the Gatorade down. "Tony, my entire life has been on borrowed time. What Victoria did? Taking me out of Clara like she did, a month before I was ready to be born? That should have killed me."

Tony stood up, backed away, but Allison kept going. Tony had to understand.

"Dupont, Killian, all of that is nothing." She was vaguely aware that Noah had come into the kitchen, but it didn't matter. Tony had to understand. "I do what I have to do, and if I live through it? Great. If not? There's someone else who will take my place."

"How can you say that?" Tony practically shouted.

"Because it's true! It's always been true." Allison stood up and went over to the counter. She pulled a paring knife from the knife block, hardly a blade at all, but holding it made her feel a bit more centred. "But if I can save people? Even just one person? Then that's worth it."

"Allison," Noah said. He had moved to stand beside her. "Can I have that?"

"Tony has to understand," Allison said to Noah. "He has to."

"And he can do that even if you're not holding a knife." Noah held out his hand. Tony had backed up against the wall, and for some reason Pepper and Natasha were there too. The kitchen suddenly felt very crowded. "Please."

Allison released her hold on the knife handle and flipped it over, letting Noah take the weapon from her.

"Thank you." Noah put the knife in the sink. "Do you want to sit down?"

Allison shook her head.

"Okay." Noah turned to Tony and Pepper. "While I appreciate that you came all the way up here from L.A., I really don't think this is helping Allison right now."

"Are you asking me to leave?" Tony asked.

"I'm getting pretty close to it, yeah," Noah shot back.

"Noah, it's okay," Allison said.

"No, it isn't." Noah rubbed his hand over his jaw. "You're eighteen and you've just been through hell. And you." He looked at Tony. "Allison's a really great kid. Ever since she got back into town, she's been doing everything she can to keep people safe. So when you come in here and keep picking away at her like she's some sort of criminal, that gets my back up."

"That's not what I'm doing," Tony protested.

"Isn't it?"

Natasha stepped into the fray. "Maybe we should take a break and come back to this another day," she suggested. "When everyone's had a chance to get some sleep and some distance. Tony can spend some time thinking about what he wants to ask Allison." She took a breath. "By then we should have a bit of a better picture of what really happened eighteen years ago."

"What does that mean?" Allison asked.

"We have investigators looking at the timeline," Natasha said. "Mostly around what Chris Argent was doing around the time you were born."

"He was in France, on business," Allison said. "He didn't have anything to do with what happened to Clara."

"How do you know that?" Pepper asked.

Since saying _I read the report last time I lived this month_ was out, Allison resorted to a good old-fashioned lie. "Chris used to tell me the story of the first time he saw me, okay? It was ten days after I was born, because he couldn't get home any sooner because of an airline strike."

"He might have been lying to you," Pepper said.

Allison looked at the woman who had been her stepmother for so many years. "The man Chris Argent was eighteen years ago wouldn't have willingly raised a werewolf's child."

"And now?" Natasha asked. "Say there's nothing to charge him on, and he walks. Is he going to be okay with someone like you in town?"

"Yes," Allison said.

"How do you know?"

"Because he said he was, and Chris is a man of his word."

"All right."

"You believe that?" Tony asked.

"I've run Chris Argent's file, Tony," Natasha said. "Backwards and forwards. What Allison says, checks out."

"So now what?"

For some reason, everyone looked at Allison. She was starting to feel a little claustrophobic. "I'm going to clean up the living room," she said. "You all do what you want." Skirting Noah, Allison escaped.

The air in the living room felt a lot cooler. Allison sucked in a few deep breaths, before setting about tidying up from her day's lethargy. The blankets folded easily under her hands, Jackson's bear paw slippers placed neatly beside the couch.

Stiles' jacket, however, Allison was going to have to hand-wash before the blood set in. She ran her fingers over the patches of red. It was strange, really, how used she had gotten over the years to pain.

She could hear voices in the kitchen. "… telling me to leave?" Tony was asking.

"I understand that you lost a lot eighteen years ago," Noah said. "But—"

"Oh, you understand?" Tony interrupted. "You understand what I lost?"

"But," Noah went on as if Tony hadn't spoken. "Clara Vasquez's homicide case has been handed back to the LAPD. The FBI would be looking into Allison's kidnapping, if everything with Extremis hadn't happened. So the only thing I have to focus on right now is Allison's wellbeing. And that kid? Has been through hell. She needs some stability—"

"And she's going to get that here?"

"She's in school, and she has friends who care about her," Noah said. "The last thing she needs is the idea that she has to keep justifying herself to you."

"So it doesn't bother you that she spent the summer being brainwashed by Hydra assassins in the backwoods of France?"

Allison rolled her eyes at that as she went to put the DVDs away.

"It bothers the living fuck out of me, but the last thing I'm going to do is to blame her for that. She's a kid, who was targeted, plain and simple."

"She says the Winter Soldier didn't hurt her," Natasha said, subdued. "That he didn't lay a finger on her. That they just talked."

"While he was feeding her all these lines about Extremis," Tony said.

"They weren't lines," Natasha said. "It was a warning, Tony. Has Allison told you anything, anything at all, that you haven't been able to verify?"

A pause. "No."

"She's smart," Natasha said. "Tony, Allison is so smart, it's scary. She sees patterns in things where no one else can. She's better than me. She might even be better than Fury. And the only reason that doesn't keep me up at night in complete terror, is that Allison cares so much about people."

"She does?" Pepper asked.

Allison drifted over to the bookcase to put away the books Cora had been reading.

"That story Peter told you about protecting her friend Lydia? Wasn't the half of it. When Allison finally got to the station that night, she had two of the metal barbs Dupont used to torture her still in her back. I have had something like that happen to me, and I can tell you that it is pure and utter agony."

Allison turned, listening. She didn't know Natasha had that happen to her.

"In spite of that, she hid all of pain to make sure that Lydia felt safe and protected. Okay?"

There was a silence from the kitchen for a long moment.

"Somewhere along the way, Allison learned to step on her pain and keep going," Natasha finally said. "That's what she does. I respect that. And if nothing else, you should too."

"So what am I supposed to do?" Tony asked.

"Go back to L.A. Get some sleep. Figure out what you're going to do next."

"And Allison?"

"Allison's safe here," Noah said.

"And you think she'll stay here?"

"No, I don't," Natasha said. "Which is why as soon as the door hits your ass on the way out of town, I get to spend the new few hours trying to convince Fury to send me a quinjet to take Allison to Washington."

"You can't seriously think that taking her to FBI headquarters to see Maya Hansen is a good idea," Pepper put in.

"I think that if I don't, we're going to wake up tomorrow to find Allison's bike missing and a note on the kitchen table that says, _gone to DC, be right back_." Footsteps over the kitchen floor, and the fridge opened. "Allison's right. If there's anything we can do to help those infected with Extremis, we should. Deweaponize them, get them home, defuse the threat."

"She is in the _eleventh grade_ ," Pepper said. "She can really do that?"

"If anyone can? She can."

Another pause, then Tony said, "Speaking of being in the eleventh grade. What the fuck is up with her and that Peter guy?"

Allison set her jaw. This should prove to be interesting.

"They have an… understanding," Noah said reluctantly.

"And you're okay with that?" Tony asked.

"Absolutely not, but I have made it clear to Allison on multiple occasions that I'm in her corner, for whatever decision she wants to make."

"And honestly," Natasha said. "From what I've seen, Peter does seem to have her best interests at heart."

"He clawed open her arm in the middle of the living room," Tony said, appalled.

"And saved her life." A sharp pop, like the opening of a soda can. "Tony, I know so much more about werewolves than you do, and believe me – if Peter hadn't done that? If Allison hadn't started healing? We would all be having a very different conversation right now."

"But she's not a werewolf," Tony protested.

"She's close enough." A slurp. Allison wondered who Natasha was trying to distract with her bad manners. "Even if she wasn't an alpha, if she was just the way she was born? Human children born into werewolf families aren't normal. They've still got the wolf in them."

"Just like you," Allison muttered. She picked the laptop up off the coffee table, and set it square on the couch. If Tony wanted it back, he could have it.

"Clara said she'd be human," Tony said.

"Human by werewolf standards," Natasha clarified. "Is that going to be a problem, Tony?"

"No."

"Pepper?"

Silence. Allison froze, staring at the laptop. Pepper had never had a problem with Allison's parentage in the original timeline… at least she had never said anything. So why was now any different?

Was it how she had found out?

"Pepper?" Natasha pressed.

"No, of course not." It smelled like a lie, and Allison's stomach curled. Pepper had been the only mother figure in her life who had been half-way nice to her, the first time around, and now Allison was losing that.

Allison put her head in her hands. She was losing Pepper, she was pretty sure she had lost Tony. And Morgan would never be.

Losing her family _hurt_.

"Good," Natasha said, breaking into Allison's self-pity. Allison pulled herself up. It didn't matter. She had a mission, to save the universe. That was the important thing; the _only_ thing.

What Allison wanted? Wasn't important.

"Now that we have all come to that understanding," Natasha said. "I think it's time to wrap this up." She walked out of the kitchen, across the hall, and into the living room. "Allison? Time to say goodbye."

Allison pushed her hair behind her ears. "Okay."

Tony and Pepper appeared, Pepper's arm through Tony's. "So," Tony said, then coughed. "We're going to go and maybe try this again next time."

"Okay." Allison looked past Tony to where Noah was leaning against the wall. "Thanks for coming up here."

"Maybe next time you can come to Los Angeles," Pepper suggested.

Allison forced a smile on her face. She really doubted that Pepper would be up to hearing the intricacies of werewolf politics at that particular moment. "We'll see."

"Do you, um, need anything?" Tony asked.

"No. Like what?"

Tony moved a shoulder. "I thought…" He reached into a pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. Even from that short distance, Allison could tell that it was a check.

The idea that Tony would try to give her _money_ after everything that happened, after everything he had said to her, drove like a dagger into her gut. "No."

"But—"

Allison took a step back, crossing her arms over her chest. " _No."_

"Allison, you could use some support—" Pepper tried, but Allison shook her head.

"I can take care of myself," she said. "I have a job, I don't need your help."

"But—" Pepper was interrupted by Natasha's hand on her shoulder.

"Put it away, Tony," Natasha said. "Are you taking the laptop?"

Tony folded the check back into his pocket, never taking his eyes off Allison. "No."

"All right. Say goodbye."

"Bye," Allison said. "Sorry I interrupted your Wednesday plans."

"You didn't interrupt anything," Pepper said, which smelled like another lie. "I'm glad we finally met you."

"Same." Allison looked at her stepmother. How drastically had she changed Pepper's life, in keeping the woman from being infected with Extremis? "I guess I'll be in touch."

Natasha elbowed Tony. "Say something."

Tony stared at Allison. "What are you going to say to Maya when you see her?"

Natasha groaned. "That wasn't what I meant."

Allison put her hands behind her back. "I'm going to tell her that am looking for a way to customize a cure for Extremis," she said. "Not that I know her life's work was weaponized."

"Do you think she doesn't realize that?"

"I think that if someone worked on something for so long, and someone else finally showed them a way to make it work? There might be a little tunnel vision at play."

"You think she's ignorant of what Killian was up to?"

"I don't know," Allison said. "But I've seen people in similar situations close their eyes as to the harm they were causing."

"Are you going to tell her that?"

"No, of course not," Allison said. "I want her to help me figure this out. I have twelve lives to save."

"Right." Tony stuck his hands in his pockets. "Good luck with that."

Not, _let me help._ Allison swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat. "See you around."

Not very subtly, Natasha steered Tony and Pepper to the door. The last look Allison had of her father was his dark eyes on her, completely undecipherable.

The door opened and closed, leaving the house silent. Allison sank onto the couch, feeling every single one of her forty-six years.

She had fucked everything up.

After a minute, Noah came over to sit beside her. "Are you okay?" he asked.

Allison shook her head.

"Of course not," Noah said. "Sorry. That was a stupid question."

Allison looked at her hands. "I should have taken the money," she said.

"Why?"

"It's not fair to you, I'm being such a burden—"

"Hey." Noah put his hand on Allison's shoulder. "No, you're not."

"I'm costing you so much."

"No, you're not." Noah patted Allison's arm before withdrawing his hand. "I'm not paying any more in property tax. The electricity isn't going up. Maybe the water bill, a bit."

"The groceries?"

"Surprisingly not much. Don't worry about money, Allison. Just concentrate on getting better, okay?"

Allison put her hand over her mouth. "What did I do wrong?" she asked after a minute.

"Not a damned thing." Noah put his elbows on his knees. "Listen to me, Allison. You didn't do anything wrong. I should have stopped everything before it got so bad."

Allison pulled her legs up to her chest. "At least now I know what he thinks of me."

"Allison, I'm sorry."

Allison shrugged. "Like I keep saying. It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does."

They sat in silence for a while, until the front door opened and Natasha came back into the living room. "That went badly," the woman said brightly. She went back to sit on the coffee table in front of Allison. "Tony's an idiot."

"I'm not what he wanted," Allison said, making herself remember back to the first time. Then, she had been some wide-eyed idiot child so overwhelmed with having Tony Stark as a father than she hadn't pushed back on all the money he threw at her, all the ways he showed off for her. Tony had been able to play the hero for her, to make up for all the years lost between them.

Now, Allison was a broken and damaged middle-aged superhero who had fucked up every single opportunity she'd had with her father. Plus, she had managed to alienate Pepper, who had always gone to bat with her when Tony was spiraling.

"No parent has any right to expect their kid to be anything," Natasha said. "You're not the person you would have been if Clara and Tony raised you, true. But you grew up the only way you could. You became the person you are now. You lived through very difficult circumstances, and you're doing the best you can."

"Is it enough?" Allison asked.

Natasha took Allison's hands in hers. "Yes," Natasha said simply.

To Allison's horror, tears filled her eyes. She was probably being manipulated to some end by Natasha, but even such simple words, that could translate into _you're not a terrible monster_ , were enough to undo her.

"Are you going to start crying?" Natasha asked, a little warily.

"No," Allison sniffled.

"Good." Natasha squeezed her hands, then let go. "I'm going to go ruin my boss's day. Don't leave town."

"Fine." Allison waited until Natasha went into the kitchen. "What do we do now?"

"If you're feeling up for it, you could do some homework," Noah suggested. "If you're going to Washington. Jesus."

"Since I no longer have brain damage, sure."

Noah groaned. "I knew I should have made you stay at the hospital yesterday."

"What for?" Allison demanded. "A CT scan that I can't afford? Surgery? I can't have normal surgery, Noah, I'll wake up under anesthetic. Even elephant tranquilizers don't keep me under."

"If we knew you had a brain injury, we could have done that thing to fix you sooner."

"I don't see Melissa being cool with her patients being clawed up as a medical treatment."

"But it worked."

Allison turned her head. "It did."

"Peter knew that it would."

"Peter expected that it would," Allison clarified. "I knew that it would likely kick-start my healing."

"What if it hadn't?" Noah asked.

"Then I would be dead and you would probably have shot Peter in front of one of his last surviving relatives," Allison said. "Which, don't."

"I won't shoot Peter," Noah said.

"Thank you."

"Am I going to have to talk to him to figure out what can kill you?" Noah appeared less than enthusiastic about the proposition.

"No, he's off telling Stiles, and Derek will fill any gaps in Stiles' knowledge."

"Why did you send Stiles away with Cora and Peter?"

"Because Stiles needs to know more about werewolves," Allison said. She stood up. "Because when Stiles knows everything? He can help. And Stiles Stilinski is a boy who fundamentally needs to help other people."

Noah sighed. "He is, isn't he?" The man rose. "That thing Natasha said, about parents not expecting their kids?" Noah shook his head. "When Stiles was born, I looked at him and had all these ideas about what I wanted him to be when he grew up."

"Were you close?"

"Not even in the same zip code," Noah said with a rueful grin. "And I wouldn't have it any other way."

Allison smiled. "You should tell Stiles. I think he needs to hear that from you."

Noah nodded. "I will. Somehow."

"Good." Allison took a deep breath. "Okay. I have to plan to go to Washington." She frowned. "What am I going to wear to storm the capital?"

"Please don't try to overthrow the government," Noah said.

"Of course not," Allison waved her hand. "I don't have time to run the country, I have work hours I have to make up at the station."

Noah sighed. "If that's what keeps you on the straight and narrow."

"Why, Sheriff Stilinski, are you questioning my motives?"

Noah's rueful smile was back. "No."

"Good." Allison pushed her hair over her shoulder. "Next stop, Washington."

"This is a bad idea," Noah said under his breath, and in spite of everything, Allison had to agree.

Not that that would stop her.

It never had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony: I am going to make a good impression on my daughter.  
> Tony:  
> Tony: So are you now or have you ever been in league with the Soviets?  
> Pepper and Natasha and everyone: (⊙⊙)(☉_☉)(⊙⊙)
> 
> U.N.-guaranteed human rights, article eleven: "Everyone charged with a penal offence has the right to be presumed innocent until proved guilty according to law in a public trial at which he has had all the guarantees necessary for his defence."
> 
> Chapter 30! and the six-month anniversary of writing this fic! Thank you all for sticking it out with me on this journey. It’s been a heck of a trip, and I’m having so much fun writing this story. See you next week!
> 
> Next chapter: Miss Argent Goes To Washington


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allison goes to Washington, and meets friends and future foes. All she's really there to do is to get Maya Hansen talking, but the mess of political intrigue, and the depths to which AIM sank, are enough to appall even a seasoned superhero. And Allison is only now starting to understand exactly how much danger the world is in, as Hydra's plans start to make themselves known...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a hot flaming mess, much like the author, and I apologize in advance. More about that in the end notes. To quote Allison from the bowels of this chapter, I'm not overly enthusiastic with the idea that I've been thrown into a John le Carré novel.

* * *

Natasha said she would come for Allison at midnight.

Allison waited nervously in the living room, backpack half-full of her laptop, wallet, and a change of socks. Her clothing situation was dire enough that she'd resorted to her new jeans and Stiles' only good dress shirt, and hoped no one would notice the blue of her fancy bra through the white fabric.

Noah sat with her as they waited. Stiles had attempted to join in, in Stilinski solidarity, but even teenage boys had to collapse at some point. Stiles had succumbed to slumber in the armchair, mouth open, drooling slightly.

"Are you sure you're going to be okay?" Noah asked for the third time.

"Of course," Allison said, trying to smile with a confidence she did not feel. "Natasha said they'd fly me to DC and back. The FBI will only let SHIELD talk to Dr. Hansen for an hour tomorrow, so I guess that's all I've got."

Noah rubbed his hand over his face. "Do you have any cash on you?" he asked. "For food. Or if you need anything."

"I should be back tomorrow night," Allison said. "What will I need in a day?"

Noah sat back. "You tell me. What are you going to do if something goes wrong?"

Allison bit at her thumbnail. "Like, goes wrong as in Natasha ditches me in DC with no way home? Or as in aliens attack the planet and we're plunged into a five-year war for humanity?"

Noah just looked tired. "I was thinking the first one."

"Oh. That's easy. I'll call Peter and ask him if he's willing to make good on buying me that plane ticket." Allison patted her backpack. "I have my ID, I can get home."

"You can call me for that," Noah said.

"I could, but Peter made the offer, and it's good for his ego to let him feel like he's contributing to my well-being."

Noah sighed. "You know, when you say stuff like that, that doesn't really make me feel all that great about you dating him."

Allison went back to biting her thumbnail. "Do you want to know the best piece of advice I ever got about boys?"

"I'm not sure I do." Noah eyed the liquor cabinet, then shook his head. "You know what? Hit me."

Allison bit down a bit too hard, tasted blood, and balled her hand into a fist. She had to stop showing how nervous she was. "Sometimes, you just need to let a guy hold a door open for you."

"I have no idea what that's supposed to mean."

"It's simple." Allison cast a wistful thought back to the conversation that she, Bucky, Sam and Carol had been having on a long-haul flight to Krylor. The advice had been Sam's to give, but Carol's disgusted rebuttals still danced in Allison's memory. "Sometimes, guys just need to do things. If someone wants to do something because they think it's a nice thing to do, let them."

"So if Peter wanted to hold a door open for you…"

"I'd let him."

Noah nodded. "Is that a euphemism for something that I'm going to need to drink out of my head?"

"No." Allison picked up her backpack to re-check the contents. "If I got stuck in DC, I know I could solve the problem on my own. But if it's easier to let Peter buy me a plane ticket and for him to feel like he's contributing, that's solving three problems at once."

"This after you told your father to take his check and shove it?"

Allison thumbed through her wallet. Driver's licence, Beacon Hills Sheriff's Department ID badge, thirteen dollars, and a loyalty card from the coffee shop near Briarwood. "Peter loaning me five hundred dollars to get home is a whole different bucket of crab-bait than Tony trying to push a hundred thousand dollars down my throat."

Noah frowned. "Was that how much it was?"

"I don't know." Allison put her bag down. "But Tony's worth, like, billions. If it was more than that, it'd be stupid. If it was less than that…" she shrugged. "It'd be insulting. Hi, you're my kid, here's a couple grand."

"Aren't you curious as to how much he wanted to give you?"

Allison pulled her legs up under her. "I am now, but there's no way I can walk back on what happened."

"Do you want to?"

Allison looked over at Stiles, zonked out. She was jealous, of how he could just close his eyes and _sleep_. "That's not possible."

"What about that Rhodey fellow Natasha was talking about, the one who came up here yesterday? Natasha said he was a friend of your mother's."

"He's also Tony's best friend," Allison said. "It doesn't matter."

"Natasha said that he was really worried about you."

Allison picked at the fabric of her jeans. Thinking about all she had lost with Tony was one thing, because he had been dead to her for many years. But Pepper and Rhodey had been so important in Allison's life, for so very long. And now she'd lost any chance with them.

It didn't matter. Saving lives was what mattered. Saving the universe from disintegrating, that was what mattered.

Allison shook her head. "Colonel Rhodes was in Beacon Hills to get a report on what happened with Aldrich Killian. The fact that I was the one Killian was chasing was irrelevant."

"Killian told you he was targeting you because of what your father did."

Allison shrugged. "I was the one who put all that info into Tony's hands. Technically, it was all my doing."

Noah rubbed his hand over his face, muttering something.

"What?"

Noah let his hands drop. "It's not your fault when bad people do bad things," he said, sitting back again. "Okay? One thing I learned in the army, is that you don't shovel someone else's shit."

Allison thought about how she could explain to Noah that everything was, in fact, her fault, then shook it off. It wouldn't make any difference. "It doesn't matter," she said again. "I have to do what I can to help the Extremis victims, that's what matters."

"And what if you can't?"

"What do you mean?"

"If you can't help them?" Noah was watching her steadily. "What if you try your best, and it's not enough."

Allison bit down on the knee-jerk reaction, which was that she could do anything. Noah had a point. "If I can't figure this out, even with Dr. Hansen's help, and all the big brains in SHIELD and the CDC and everyone else working on it?"

"Yes."

"Then I will do everything I can to help keep them stable as long as we can." Allison pushed her hair back from her face, then, irritated, began to braid it up. "If they die, in spite of everything we can do, then I will be sad and extremely mad."

"What about guilty?"

Allison got up to search for a hair tie. "What are you talking about? I didn't invent Extremis. I didn't inject all those test subjects with false hope."

"No, you didn't."

Allison located a hair tie on the sideboard, and looped up her braid. "I know guilt, Noah, like the back of my hand. I've done things that eat me alive, every day. I'm not going to start borrowing other peoples' guilt for makeweight."

The house was quiet for a long time. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?" Allison could hear Stiles' heartbeat rising, his breathing uneven. The boy had woken up and was trying to pretend he was still asleep. She decided to let him be. "All the bad things I've done?"

"If you want."

Allison went to sit back down. "I don't think that would be all that smart," she said. "What with you being the sheriff and all."

Noah shifted in his seat. "Then I guess we need a new rule. When the badge comes off at home, I'm not the sheriff anymore. I'm just Noah."

Allison pulled her legs up to her chest. "Nice try."

"I'm serious."

"Try that with Stiles, first." Allison watched Stiles flinch, then relax, trying to keep up his pretense of unconsciousness. "Noah, I'll make you a deal. If I come back from this stupid trip to DC—"

Stiles jerked up and around at that. "If?" he demanded, all pretense of sleep vanishing.

" _When_ I get back," Allison corrected, and Stiles collapsed. "We're going to have a family talk about what we're going to do next."

"Go team Stilinski," Stiles said, kicking his feet free of the blanket Noah had draped over him. "But Allison, you have to come back. Who else is going to help me deal with everyone at school?"

"You'll be fine on your own," Allison said. She went to sit beside Stiles on the armchair, squashing him over. He meeped. "Look, I am coming home. I will do everything in my power to come home to Beacon Hills. But if something happens, I want you guys to know that you're my family now, okay?"

"Okay." Stiles put his arm around Allison's shoulders, yawning widely. "What do you think is going to happen?"

"Hopefully, nothing." Allison rubbed a hand over his head. "But I think if the last two weeks have shown us anything, it's that life's a fucking disaster."

"Life in general, or just yours?" Stiles asked. Noah shot him an annoyed glance.

"Mostly mine." Allison leaned against Stiles. "I don't know. I might get hit by a car or arrested by the FBI or abducted by aliens."

"I asked Natasha to look out for you," Noah said. "She said that you shouldn't be in any danger." A knock sounded at the front door. Noah stood up. "Was she saying that just to make me let you go on this stupid adventure?"

"Probably not," Allison called after Noah's retreating back. "If Natasha said that, then I believe her."

"Are you sure you can't just stay here?" Stiles asked quietly. "They're going to announce the student council elections tomorrow and we could use you to deal with Lydia if she and Isaac lose."

"Lydia doesn't need me to help deal with her disappointments," Allison said. "Just go buy her a milkshake and hold her mirror so she can reapply her mascara when she cries it all off and she'll be fine." Allison smacked a kiss against Stiles' forehead as she hauled herself to her feet.

"But she'll be _crying_."

"Do you want some advice about women?" Allison asked, picking up her backpack.

For some reason, Stiles shuddered. "Now I'm having flashbacks."

Allison decided to ignore that. "Do you know what to do when a girl's crying?"

"Panic?"

"No." Allison put her cellphone, the second of the two Jarvis had sent her weeks before, into her back pocket. "You hand them a tissue and ask them how you can help."

"That's it?"

Allison bopped Stiles on the nose. "No girl will be able to resist those puppy-dog eyes wanting to help."

"What if she wants something weird? Like teppanyaki?"

"Then get your ass in your jeep and drive to Redding for teppanyaki," Allison said as Noah came back into the living room, trailed by Natasha. "Hey."

"Are you ready to go?" Natasha asked. She looked totally different than the woman Allison had seen that afternoon, and it was more than just a change of clothing. Natasha's hair, her makeup, even her expression, were one-hundred-percent Black Widow. "It's about a twenty-minute drive to the airfield."

"Airfield or cornfield?" Allison asked.

Natasha arched one perfect auburn eyebrow. "Where are there any cornfields near Beacon Hills?"

Allison sighed. "Back-woods drop point, check." She turned to Noah and Stiles. "See you tomorrow."

Noah nodded. "You take care, all right?" he said as Stiles shambled forward for another hug.

"I will." Allison squeezed Stiles' shoulders. "Stiles, take care of your dad."

"Yup." Stiles stepped back. "Get a shot of the National Monument or something."

"I don't know if we'll have time for sightseeing," Natasha said.

Allison looked up at Noah. "Thanks for everything today."

"I didn't do much."

Allison put her hand on his arm. "You had my back, and I appreciate that."

Noah patted her hand. "Any time, you know that, right?"

Allison felt herself smile for the first time in what felt like forever. "I do."

Natasha coughed. "We're burning moonlight."

As Allison made her way towards the door, she could hear Noah ask, "Am I going to have reports of UFOs coming into dispatch?"

"Of course not," Natasha said smoothly. "No one's going to see anything."

"Not reassuring," Noah muttered, but Allison was cheered. In 2012, the smaller SHIELD quinjets could fly dark, even if they didn't have the stealth technology installed.

Allison liked the quinjets. Maybe she could get Natasha to let her fly one.

No, scratch that. Even she couldn't make up a believable story about how the Winter Soldier had taught her to fly a quinjet over the summer in France.

Damn it. That meant she was going to have to go through the motions of getting her pilot's licence all over again.

Maybe that was something she could ask Peter for at Christmas.

Natasha followed Allison outside into the warm Beacon Hill night. "Are we going to fly right to DC?" Allison asked, getting into Natasha's car.

"That's the plan." Natasha got in behind the wheel, and did a quick instrument check before pulling out into the street. "We're going to land at SHIELD and grab some breakfast before going over to FBI headquarters."

"What time are we meeting Dr. Hansen?"

"Nine."

"And we have an hour with her." Allison would have to spend some time planning what she wanted to ask the woman. She'd show her the mutations, to start, then ask about the virus and the background on its development. That would hopefully be enough of an 'in' with the woman to get her talking.

And if not… well, Allison would have to play it by ear.

"Are you going to be okay with Dr. Hansen?" Natasha asked.

Allison frowned at the woman. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because of what Aldrich Killian did to you."

"Dr. Hansen didn't have anything to do with that."

"She had the idea of Extremis."

"Yeah, and Maurice Dupont was carrying a Smith & Wesson revolver when he threatened Lydia," Allison said. "You don't see me going to Springfield to throw rocks at their head office, do you?"

"That's how you see things?"

Allison settled herself in the seat. "I have no doubt that Killian came up with that whole little rape and revenge scheme on his own." She looked out the window. "Dr. Hansen has done enough that she has to answer for. There's no profit in assigning to her other people's sins."

"That's a very mature way of looking at things."

"Or one could say ignorant."

Natasha turned the car south. "I don't know I'd say it's ignorant to not blame people for the actions of others."

"We all have enough weighing against us on the scales of judgement without taking on more burdens."

"What weighs against you?" Natasha asked, never taking her eyes off the road.

Allison let her head fall back against the headrest. "Did you and Noah get together to tag-team me into confessing something?"

"No. What are you talking about?"

Allison sighed. "Noah was trying to get me to talk about all the bad things I've done. I don't know why."

"Maybe because he cares about you and wants to help you."

"Maybe." Allison turned to look at Natasha. "What about you? Do you want to help me, Agent Romanoff?"

Natasha was silent for almost a minute. "I want to understand you," she finally said.

"Because I'm Tony Stark's daughter?"

"Because from everything you've told me, the Winter Soldier trusted you."

Allison sat up so fast she nearly got whiplash. "What?"

"Even if they sent him to find you this summer because of your connection to Tony, he wouldn't have done all the things you said he did, like tell you how to hack into Tony's systems, or anything about Extremis."

Allison's heart was pounding in her chest. "Maybe he was trying to trick me into trusting him, not the other way around."

"He's not that kind of operative." Natasha turned onto a gravel road. "He doesn't go undercover, he doesn't play any games. He's a blunt instrument. He hits hard and retreats."

Allison made herself look out the windshield. "Maybe he was tired of that."

"Maybe." They bumped along for a while. "But we don't live the kind of lives where you get to retire."

"Maybe you should." Allison fiddled with her shirt-cuff. "You could quit the spy business and stay in Beacon Hills. Just be a deputy and fight crime. The pay's terrible, but you get health and dental."

A strange little smile played over Natasha's face. "I don't think that's the kind of life I was meant to lead."

Allison thought about Clint's story of Natasha's death on the hunt for the Soul Stone, and balled her hand up. "If someone told me I was born to live a certain life, I wouldn't do it. Do what you want."

"If I don't do what I do, who will?"

"I can." Allison met Natasha's questioning look. "I can be you. I mean, I can't be the Black Widow, but I can be a superhero."

"SHIELD agents need a high school diploma," Natasha said dryly.

"That's bullshit." Allison settled back, trying not to let her teeth rattle out of her head. "How much farther are we going?"

"A few miles. Can I ask you a question?"

"I don't see why you'd stop now."

"Are you going to be okay going to Washington?"

"Of course."

"I mean, are there going to be any werewolf or Hunter complications?"

Allison groaned. She hadn't even thought of that. "You couldn't have asked me that a few hours ago?"

"It's not a consideration I normally have to bring into play."

"When have you ever let anything like that stop you?" Allison hauled her cell phone out of her pocket. "Are there going to be any complications from the Stark side of the equation?"

"It's under control," Natasha said, which was not exactly reassuring.

Grumbling, Allison scrolled through her contacts. It was half past twelve, hardly an ideal time to be making phone calls, but she hoped she could be forgiven for it. She tapped a number, put the phone to her ear, and waited.

"Hello?" came a confused voice after a few rings. "Allison? What's wrong?"

"Hi, Chris," Allison said. "Sorry, I know it's late."

"No, it's fine." A clink in the background. "Why are you calling?"

Allison frowned. Chris's voice, normally clear no matter how little sleep he'd had, sounded slightly slurred. "Are you drunk?"

"No." Chris paused. "Maybe a bit."

Allison sighed. She vaguely remembered the months following Victoria's death, when she would find Chris asleep some mornings on the couch, an empty glass smelling of bourbon at his side. Well, she guessed that everyone had their own coping techniques. "I have to go to Washington," she said. "I wanted to check if there's anything I need to know, or any specific places I should avoid, given everything with Dupont."

"Washington," Chris repeated. "Well. I'd give Spokane a wide berth. There's some folks up there who are a little… odd."

"Washington DC, not state," Allison corrected. "Although, that's good to know. What do you mean, odd?"

"Just… odd. Gerard thought they were a little too fundamentalist for sanity."

"Now isn't that a damning statement?"

"Allison, why are you going to Washington?"

Allison took a deep breath. At this point, did it really matter how much Chris knew? "Did you hear about what happened with Aldrich Killian? The man behind the Extremis terrorist attacks?"

A heavy sigh on the other end of the line. "I know he attacked you. I wanted to call, but my lawyer said we couldn't contact each other until the criminal investigation is over."

"Fuck that," Allison said. "I can talk to whoever I want. Anyway, I've been working on some research on the mechanism behind the bombings and the FBI is going to let me talk to the scientist who did most of the original work tomorrow morning."

There was a long pause. "I might be more drunk than I thought," Chris said. _"What?"_

"I've been moonlighting in counterterrorism, remember" Allison said. "It's no big deal."

"Is this what you've been doing at the sheriff's station?" Chris asked. "Is Noah really letting you go to Washington? You were _attacked_ yesterday."

"Noah doesn't control what I do," Allison said. "And I'm not going alone. Can you just answer my question?"

A frustrated exhale on the other end of the line made Allison tense up, vague memories of her childhood swirling around her. She had always tried to hard to stay in Chris's good graces when she was young, if only so he would intervene when Victoria got angry at her.

But Allison didn't have time to deal with that particular baggage right now. "Chris."

"Hang on." Sounds on the other end of the line, a thud, and Chris swore under his breath. "Any chance you'll be going through Baltimore at all?"

Allison looked over at Natasha. "Are we making a detour through Maryland?"

"No."

"I think we're just going to land in DC and go to FBI headquarters," Allison told Chris.

"You should be fine. I need to check something." More clicks, and pages turning. "There were some reports of poltergeist activity around the Army Navy country club in Arlington a few years ago, and there's the usual supernatural population like any big town. A lot of people say that the city itself is extremely haunted, but nothing seems to have taken corporeal form to cause any damage over the last decade."

"What are you reading?" Allison asked. "Is there like a _Werewolf Hunters Annual Digest_ I don't know about?"

"It's one of Saul's briefing notes," Chris said.

"Oh," Allison said, relaxing. "Then I guess I'm good."

More pages turning. "If you wanted, you could come over one day and look at them." Chris sounded oddly wistful. Well, that was what drinking bourbon at midnight on a Wednesday did to a fellow.

"Now that I'm head of the family, like Mike keeps saying?"

Chris clicked his tongue. "Mike told me that came up when he stopped by to see you this afternoon."

"Don't worry, I'm not going to start spreading it around."

"Mike also said that Tony Stark was there," and now Chris's voice was getting heavy.

Suddenly, the midnight drinking made a little more sense. "Don't worry, Chris, he left town so fast there was a dust cloud behind him."

A pause. "He's not taking you away from Beacon Hills?"

"Okay," Allison said, suddenly feeling angry. "First off? I'm eighteen, and no one makes me go anywhere. Second? Beacon Hills is my home, all right? I have responsibilities here."

"But your mother's family is in Los Angeles," Chris said.

Why was he digging himself into a hole on this? "It's complicated with Clara's family," Allison said as the car pulled into a clearing, headlights illuminating a quinjet. "When I get back from Washington, you and I are going to have a conversation about that."

"You still want to talk to me?" And oh god, Chris's voice cracked.

"Of course," Allison said firmly. "Now, as head of the family, I'm ordering you to go drink some water and go to bed. Tomorrow's Thursday, you go into the office on Thursdays."

"Of course," Chris said, and it sounded like he was smiling. "Allison, please be careful."

"I'm always careful," Allison said, and Natasha let out a surprised huff. "Hush. I'll talk to you soon, Chris."

"Goodbye, sweetheart."

Allison hung up. "So," she said brightly to Natasha. "Can I fly?"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Let's go."

Allison followed Natasha over to the dark quinjet, its back ramp down. Clint Barton sat on the ramp, kicking his feet, a bored expression on his face. "Took you long enough," he said to Natasha. To Allison, he said, "Hey, kid. Nice work."

"Agent Barton," Allison said. "And what are you talking about?"

Clint shrugged. "All of it? You've been busy." He hopped to his feet. "Come on, I've got a bet on with the boss about how fast we can get to DC."

"Fury?" Allison asked, following Clint into the quinjet. Natasha was on her heels, the ramp lifting behind her.

"No," came another voice, and the quinjet co-pilot chair turned around to reveal Maria Hill. "That would be me."

Allison slung her backpack down on a bench and kept walking. "I'm Allison," she said, hand outstretched. Maria stood and took the offered hand for a firm shake. "Deputy Director Hill."

"Yes," Maria said. "Director Fury asked me to complete a thorough assessment of you before we arrive in Washington."

Clint slid past the women on his way to the pilot's seat. "Buckle in, everyone."

"What sort of an assessment?" Allison asked, lifting one eyebrow. She hadn't worked closely with Maria over the years, as the woman was usually busy with other teams. She tended to leave Bucky and Allison to their own devices.

"A complete psychological and intelligence assessment," Maria said. "Agent Romanoff and Agent Barton have provided their own observations, of course, but it's my responsibility to make the final call on allowing you out in the field."

Allison went over to sit beside her backpack. "Deputy Director Hill, given what you've heard from Agents Barton and Romanoff, do you really think that I'm going to let something like your _approval_ stand in my way of talking to Dr. Hansen?"

That at least got a glimmer of annoyance out of Maria. Natasha sighed as she went over to the co-pilot's seat. "You got to escape this for a few days," the woman said to Clint.

"I've been dealing with the senior citizen version of this," Clint shot back. "Hey, Allison, I heard you told Tony to shove it up his ass earlier today. Well done."

Allison took her eyes off Maria for a moment. "Tony needs to figure out if he wants to treat me as his kid or as an enemy agent, and then we can talk."

"Why is Tony so convinced that your intentions aren't benevolent?" Maria asked, sitting beside Allison. The woman smelled really good, with just that hint of something that had always made Allison wonder if she was entirely human. "One would think that he would be thrilled to find out that his daughter was alive."

And he had been, the last time Allison lived this life. But Allison had to live with this timeline now, with the ramifications of the changes she'd caused. "Let us examine the situation from Tony's perspective, shall we?" Allison said. Up in the cockpit, Natasha and Clint exchanged a look. "Out of nowhere, about a month ago, some random stranger who looks exactly like Tony's dead fiancée hacks into his unhackable computer systems, starts making random allegations of terrorism against someone Tony may or may not remember, and demands that Tony himself look into the matter as she, the intruder in question, has high school to deal with."

"Suspicion would be a perfectly reasonable reaction in the circumstances," Maria conceded.

"For my part, I was hoping that a self-declared superhero such as Iron Man might have more resources to handle the terrorism and treason than I did, especially given the shift in my living circumstances at the beginning of the month."

"Agent Romanoff told me that Chris Argent threw you out of the house. Why was that?"

Allison brushed a speck of imaginary dirt off her leg. "Do you want the official reason, or the real one?"

"Both."

"Officially? I was not behaving in a way befitting the name Argent. I dared to have friends that didn't fit their particular version of _pure laine_."

"And the real reason?"

Allison turned her head to look at Maria. "That night Chris threw me out? I was out in the woods cavorting with the one person his sister failed to kill in the Hale house fire."

Maria consulted her tablet. "Peter Hale."

"Peter Hale."

"Chris didn't like the idea of you being involved with a man twenty-one years older than yourself?"

The corner of Allison's lip curled up. "I don't think Peter's age was the deciding factor. It has more to do with the fact that people like Chris really have a problem with Peter's bloodline."

"And that would be?"

Allison had no idea if Maria had been read into the werewolf concept yet. She would leave that to Natasha and Fury. "Very similar to that of my mother's family."

"As for Peter Hale." Maria tapped her tablet. "Should it raise any red flags for us that you're in a relationship that might call your judgement into question?"

"I'm not sure that being involved in a monogamous heterosexual relationship in which both parties are of legal age should set off any flags."

"When did the relationship start?" Maria asked.

"Monday."

"The day you turned eighteen."

"Yes."

"Not before this summer?"

"No." Allison leaned against the quinjet's side as the engines picked up. The thrum vibrated through her bones, a calming, welcome sensation. In spite of the interrogation, Allison relaxed.

"Did Peter Hale kill Kate Argent?"

Allison let herself smile again. "No."

"There are allegations that he did."

"Allegations from whom?" Allison asked, affecting surprise. "I was there, in the room, when that thing ripped Kate's throat out. I can guarantee you, Peter didn't kill her."

"Hmm." Maria swiped on her tablet. The quinjet rose into the air, dipping and weaving, and Allison braced herself to remain still. "Let's go back to Tony."

Allison sighed.

"Other than today, have you two ever talked?"

"No."

"You've exchanged no correspondence?"

"Correspondence?" Allison repeated. "Are you for real?"

Maria held up her tablet. "I have a script to follow," she said with a hint of amusement.

"Why? I can't imagine that this is your first rodeo."

"It's not, but props are a useful distraction tool in any interview."

If that was how Maria wanted to do it. Allison reached out and took the tablet from Maria's hand, setting it on the bench between them. "You really want to do this?" Allison asked, watching Maria's eyes narrow slightly, heard her heartbeat pick up just a touch. "Stop playing around and get to it."

Maria leaned in. "What do you really want out of all this?" she asked, dropping the bored note from her voice. "With Maya Hansen, Aldrich Killian, all this Extremis bullshit. What's in it for you?"

"I can help save lives."

"You? You're eighteen. You've been eighteen for approximately five minutes. You're in the eleventh grade in a backwater town in Northern California. Law enforcement and scientists from around the globe have been working on this problem non-stop. What makes you think that you can do anything about it?"

Allison put out her hands, open and empty. "What makes me think I can do anything about it?" she echoed. The quinjet banked starboard, and Allison grabbed the netting to stay seated. The tablet went flying. "How about that so far, I'm the only one who has?" She mimed a corkscrew with her free hand. "The Winter Soldier came to me with this story about Extremis. I'm the only one who's been able to get anywhere with the virus, which is as much of a surprise to me as it is to you."

"You have a reckless streak a mile wide," Maria said. "I've seen Agent Romanoff's assessment. You've gone into dangerous situations again and again with no regard as to your own safety."

"To protect people," Allison said. "To save lives. Chalk it up to how I was raised, or to how I was born, but either way, I cannot and will not sit back and let people get hurt when I can help."

The whine of the engines picked up. "Brace for speed," Clint called. Allison put her hands against the bulkhead as the quinjet accelerated. Allison _loved_ going this fast.

"Have you ever considered that you're probably being manipulated?" Maria asked.

"Of course." Allison shifted down the bench until she could reach the belt harness. She knew the airspace over Nevada could get a bit bumpy in a small craft like the quinjet. "The Winter Soldier comes out of nowhere in the middle of rural France with a story about being on the run from his handlers and how he just wants to be friends with some girl he meets in the woods? I was born on Friday, Deputy Director Hill, but it wasn't last Friday."

"What did the Winter Soldier want from you?" Maria asked. She was starting to sound interested, in spite of herself.

"At first, very little," Allison said. She had to tread cautiously here, because she was going to need to remember everything she said. "Some water. Something to eat. He wanted to talk."

This wasn't even a lie, because the first time Allison had met Bucky Barnes in the future, it had been at Tony's funeral. She'd been sobbing herself sick in the kitchen when Bucky came in, in search of a snack and something to drink, and he'd been able to talk Allison down from her misery before anyone else came in looking for her.

"Then what?"

"We talked more, got to know each other a bit."

And they had, after the funeral and after the whole Steve thing. Allison had felt comfortable around Bucky in a way that surprised her, a little. But then, Allison had always felt comfortable around people like Bucky. For his part, Bucky used to joke with her that it was a good thing that she was such a little fish in a big pond, with all the chaos going on around them. He'd taken to calling her _minnow_ in the emails they had exchanged while he was away working with Sam as the new Captain America.

"Then, something happened."

Allison made herself keep calm. That thing that had happened in France, when Allison had recklessly gone after the monster who was killing all those children, on her own, without any backup… that was on her. What happened with Derek in Beacon Hills, months afterward, was also on her. She had made her choices, and they led to Derek's death, and Allison becoming the alpha.

And then Bucky had come to Beacon Hills, and held her hand in his, and asked her what she was going to do about it all.

"He helped me cope with things."

"Did he do anything to you?"

Allison shook her head. "No."

"How did the world's deadliest assassin help you cope?"

Allison took a deep breath. "He taught me to fight," she said. "How to ride a motorcycle. How to speak Russian."

"In less than a month."

Allison tilted her head to the side. "I picked up enough biology and virology in a week to get up to speed with Extremis, Deputy Director Hill. Russian's not that hard."

"So the Winter Soldier taught you all these things," Maria went on. "Why? What was in it for him?"

"I honestly do not know," Allison said truthfully. "At the time, I thought he was my friend." She forced a painful smile onto her face. "Think about it, Deputy Director Hill. I was alone in a foreign country. The man I thought was my father was busy with work for a month. The person I thought was my mother had very recently stabbed herself in my bedroom, on my _bed_. I was defenceless, vulnerable, and absolutely ripe for manipulation. And the Winter Soldier did _nothing_ to me."

Maria didn't even blink. "What else did he tell you? Besides the thing about Extremis?"

Allison considered that question. How much of the future could she let out here, in a SHIELD quinjet? She knew that Maria wasn't Hydra, but that didn't mean there weren't ears everywhere.

In the end, she decided to let Tony and Steve run with the Hydra thread. "Not much. He told me a bit about Natasha."

"To what end?" Maria asked. In the cockpit, the set of Natasha's shoulders was somewhat tense.

"That he once knew a redheaded girl," Allison said, letting the memories of Bucky's stories slide through her mind. "That she made it out. That was pretty much it."

The quinjet hit an air pocket then, bouncing the craft and its occupants. Allison kept a hold on her backpack, while Maria managed to keep her poise by holding tight to a bar.

"So," Allison said once the quinjet straightened out. "Do I pass? Are you going to let me talk to Dr. Hansen, or is Agent Barton going to turn this plane around?"

Maria made a face. "Fury said that unless you sounded like a complete psychopath, we're taking you to Washington."

"And?"

Maria met her eyes. "From what I've seen in the last twenty minutes, you're far more psychologically stable and healthy than the other Stark I know."

"Thanks. I think."

"Come on." Maria went to fetch two headsets. She handed one to Allison and then buckled herself into the seat beside her. Allison tentatively donned the headset as Maria did the same. Maria's voice was much clearer in her ear when she said, "If we're actually going to do this, I need to know everything you know about Extremis and what you're going to tell Dr. Hansen."

"Okay," Allison said. "Mr. Barton, how much time to we have until touchdown?"

"Three hours," Clint said. "And I'm starting to feel old, with you calling Agent Romanoff 'Natasha' all the time."

"What should I call you?" Allison asked, sending a look in the man's direction. He was grinning at her. "Hawkeye?"

"Call him Barton," Maria said. "And you can call me Deputy Director."

"What about 'ma'am'?" Allison asked.

"What about, no?" Maria shot her a glare. "Okay. Talk."

"Do you know what a virus is?" Allison asked.

"Like when you get pneumonia?" Maria asked, with such dry innocence that Allison suspected that she was being trolled.

"It depends," Allison said with barely masked irritation.

This was going to be a very long flight.

* * *

The sun was just rising over Maryland as Clint touched the quinjet down at the Triskelion. Allison, operating on two hours' sleep, was deeply uncomfortable with the juxtaposition of the traditional werewolf symbol of the trinity with the Hydra-infested SHIELD. But she pushed all that aside as the dawning sunlight revealed the remains of the White House, visible off to the east.

"Holy shit," Allison breathed, holding onto Natasha's seatback as Clint lowered the quinjet to the landing pad. "I didn't realize that the damage was so bad."

"The White House?" Natasha said distractedly. "It's a weird angle up here. It doesn't look nearly so bad at street level, and the Secret Service has been keeping drones out of the area."

"It's weird." In Allison's future, she had been in the White House many times. But now, it looked like most of the East Wing was just… gone.

She shook her head. There had been too much fire, too much destruction in Allison's life as of late. Hopefully, she would be able to stop anyone else from immolating.

"Do you feel up for this?" Natasha asked. "You've had a pretty terrible forty-eight hours."

Allison let her knees take the final dip as the quinjet settled on the roof of the Triskelion. "I'll be fine."

"Is this a Stark thing?" Maria wondered.

"I have a lot of practice functioning on very little sleep," Allison said, taking off her headset. Truth be told, she felt like she had been run over by a tank. "I just need some breakfast and about two gallons of espresso."

"As soon as we get you outfitted," Natasha said. She left Clint to power down the quinjet, joining Maria and Allison on the ramp.

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" Allison demanded.

"Nothing, if you're going for California ranch chic," Natasha retorted. "We're going to the belly of the FBI and you need to look like a nerdy high school junior who is not in any way dangerous, got it?"

Allison turned. "Agent Barton, can I stay here with you?" she called.

"No, because then Nat will make me put on a tie too," Clint called back. "Go. If you let Nat do your makeup, you can fly the quinjet on the way back."

Allison planted her feet. "Promise?"

Clint held up a hand on which his crossed fingers were visible. "Promise."

"Bird-brain," Allison muttered, letting Natasha haul her towards the entry doors. "This is fascism."

"No, it's altruism," Natasha said.

"More like antagonism," Allison muttered. She slung her backpack onto her shoulders as they approached the doors. Inside, Allison could see a security checkpoint, and groaned internally. She knew that SHIELD probably had all her biometric information from her passport, DNA from the paternity test, and fingerprints from her security check at the Beacon Hills Sheriff's Department, but still. She didn't have to like it.

The guard on duty stood on alert as Maria strode through the doors. "Deputy Director," he said.

"Agent Oliver." Maria put her hand on the scanner. Allison watched as the woman's profile appeared on the monitors. "Do you have the identification for Miss Argent?"

The name made Allison pause. Of course, her last name was still Argent. She would have to legally change it to shed the tarnish… But to what? Until the previous day, Allison was fully prepared to go back to Allison Stark as soon as she could.

But now…

Now all that was going to have to wait.

Allison sent a vacant smile in the direction of the guard as he said, "As requested." He picked up an identification badge. "Miss Argent."

Allison shook off all the lingering hesitations about her day, about Tony, about how her life was going off the rails. Allison had a job to do, one she had done countless times before. Infiltrate the enemy camp, gather intel, make decisions. And above all, be careful. She had no back-up, no support, and no escape plan.

It didn't matter. She was all she needed.

And what she needed was to be a slightly awkward teenager.

Shifting her spine a fraction, Allison held out her hand for the card. "Where do I put this?" she asked, looking down at her shirt. "Does it matter?"

The male agent smiled at her a little patronizingly, completely missing the look in Natasha's eyes. "You can pin it to your shirt. Just wear it at all times when you're in the building."

"Thanks," Allison said, her hands busy as Natasha steered her towards the elevator. Maria followed them, and the doors closed on Agent Oliver. Natasha punched a button, and down they went.

Maria spoke first. "What was that?"

"What?" Allison asked, smoothing her hand over her braid.

"Your entire body language changed."

Allison leaned against the elevator wall. "You said nerdy high school junior. I'm being a nerdy high school junior."

Maria looked at Natasha. Natasha just shrugged. "Don't look at me," Natasha said. "I just work here.

Maria let out a growl that was worthy of a werewolf. "This is the last time I let Fury talk me into anything."

The elevator debouched them onto the eleventh floor. It was still relatively early for the DC office set, and the hallways were not crowded. However, Allison still got an odd look or two as Natasha marched them along. "What's going on?" Allison asked quietly, after the third person nearly tripped over their shoes in looking at her.

"People know that Deputy Director Hill was dispatched to bring in the person who cracked Extremis," Natasha told her. "And now, here you are."

"So this isn't about the Tony thing?"

"Hopefully not," Natasha said. "That's supposed to be need-to-know."

"Does that actually work here?" Allison wondered. "Because it doesn't work anywhere else that I've seen."

"Are you accusing an intelligence agency of leaking?"

"Killian found me somehow, didn't he?"

Natasha looked sideways at Maria. "Someone now thinks that the LAPD was the source of that leak."

"Great." Not that Allison believed that, but it would give a plausible deniability to SHIELD. "Can we skip the whole costuming thing and just go find the cafeteria?"

"No," Natasha said, and hauled Allison through a doorway. Maria kept walking down the hall without a word.

The room, packed to the brim with clothing racks in neat orderly lines, was devoid of any apparent human life. Natasha walked down a long aisle of clothing in various shades of dark blues and blacks, finally stopping. "Here." She pulled out a hanger containing a black blazer and skirt. "This should fit you. Go try it on."

"What about a shirt?" Allison asked, taking the hanger.

"Wear the one you have on, it'll add an air of authenticity."

"Authenticity, my ass," Allison muttered. "Where?"

Natasha pointed at a small alcove. "The boots are going to have to go."

"Walking around FBI headquarters barefoot might draw attention," Allison pointed out, already pulling her backpack off her shoulders on the way to the alcove. "Why couldn't you have just given me all this in the quinjet?"

"Because then we'd have to let Clint pick out your outfit, and he's not allowed to do that anymore." Natasha appeared, a pair of mary-janes in her hand. "You're a size seven, right?"

Allison kicked out of her jeans. "What did Barton do?" she asked, stepping into the skirt. It took her a moment to fold Stiles' dress shirt around her waist to get the skirt to lie flat.

"It involved lederhosen."

"I mean, he does have the legs for it." Allison pulled on the jacket. It was slightly too large in the shoulders, but it would better fit the image of a high school student who had to buy off the rack. "Shoes."

Natasha handed them over. "Are you going to be okay today?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Allison stepped into the shoes. They were comfortable, with a solid base, but flexible enough in the middle that Allison could climb a wall with them. "Okay, but real quick. Can I keep these?"

"Belated birthday present," Natasha said. "Come on. Hair and makeup."

Allison piled her clothing and boots into her backpack, tucked her phone into her bra, and hurried after Natasha. "Did you at least get a picture of Barton in the lederhosen?"

"He wasn't the one wearing them."

Allison bit back a grin. "Who was it, then? You? Hill?" Natasha turned into another room. "Fury?"

"Sit," Natasha ordered. Allison slipped into the chair, and gritted her teeth while Natasha combed out her hair and pinned it up so the long locks framed her face. Then Natasha came around to apply eyeliner and mascara.

"Lipstick?" Allison asked, watching her reflection as Natasha worked in deft strokes. "Concealer?"

"No lipstick, it'll take away from the persona." Natasha lifted Allison's chin with one finger. Allison felt curiously exposed, with her throat bared in front of Natasha like this. "And we'll leave the shadows under your eyes. You were attacked on Tuesday, after all. You're having a hard time sleeping."

"That's not even a lie." Allison met Natasha's gaze. "Have you been sleeping easy, Agent Romanoff?"

Natasha let go of Allison's chin and stepped back. "Go back to the nerdy science persona," she said. "If I wanted to deal with eighteen-year-old ingénues who batted their eyelashes at me to get what they want, I'd have stayed in Russia."

Allison let that pass. She wasn't supposed to know much of Natasha's backstory, even with the convenient excuse of the Winter Soldier. "So now what?"

"Breakfast."

Allison gained the vertical with alacrity. She hadn't eaten in _hours._ "How much does breakfast cost at SHIELD HQ?" she asked. "I've got ten bucks."

"It's on the house." Natasha led Allison down the halls. The change in outfit did shift the looks Allison was getting, but more to considering than anything else. Allison wondered how many teenagers they got in these halls. "Noah said that if I didn't take good care of you, he'd have my head when we got back."

Allison looked at Natasha. The woman's poise was perfect. "So you're staying in Beacon Hills for a while?"

"For a while," Natasha said. "I'm still on assignment."

"I thought your assignment was to figure out who I am." They turned a corner into the atrium. The back of Allison's neck itched with the idea of exactly how many Hydra agents could be around them at that very moment.

"My assignment isn't concluded."

Allison matched the shorter woman's pace. "Are you going to explain that?"

"No."

"Because you could." The air was starting to grow thick with the scent of food. Allison's mouth watered. "Because my life would be a whole lot easier if you just told me the truth."

"Because you're so forthcoming with me?" Natasha asked.

"I have never told you a single lie," Allison said. "Oh, wait! Are you going to make me your sidekick?"

Natasha stopped dead. " _What?"_

"The Robin to your Batman," Allison said. "The Watson to your Holmes?"

Natasha rolled her eyes and started walking again.

"The Mulder to your Scully!" Allison called, and went after Natasha.

The banter succeeded in changing the looks Allison was getting, although she wasn't sure it was for the better. Being seen as a teen science prodigy was one thing, but a teen science prodigy who exchanged witty banter with the Black Widow? That was something a little less ordinary in SHIELD.

Allison just hoped it wasn't enough to get onto Hydra's radar.

Natasha led Allison into the open dining area, relatively full with the incoming shift. Taking Natasha's suggestion that breakfast was, in fact, on the house, Allison grabbed a plate of scrambled eggs, added on a large country-fried steak, bacon, three pancakes, and a bowl of fruit salad to balance out her tray beside a cup of coffee.

Natasha eyed Allison as they walked towards a table by a concrete wall. "Really?"

"I'm a growing teenager," Allison said, sliding her bag off her shoulders, sitting down with her back to the wall, and taking a deep gulp of coffee all at the same time. "After everything that happened yesterday, I should be eating enough to fuel the whole lacrosse team for a week."

"People are going to think it's weird."

Allison cut her pancakes into wedges. "Better them be thinking about my appetite or my paternity than anything else." She shovelled pancake into her mouth as she glanced around them, tracking agents, calculating angles, measuring risks. It was exhausting.

Natasha sipped coffee with a pointed delicacy. "Do you have a plan about what you're going to say to Dr. Hansen?"

"Sort of." Allison dug her laptop out of her bag with one hand while she forked eggs into her mouth with the other. "I want to know if she'll really talk to me or not, and I fully expect that she's going to need some convincing that I am really the person who did all that work."

"How much of the hour will that take up?"

"Probably too much of it." Allison opened the laptop, seeing Jarvis's connection instantly. "But I'll see how fast I can move. Hang on."

Into the message box, Allison typed, _are you talking to me?_

 _Why would I not be?_ Jarvis replied instantly.

_You haven't texted me since Tuesday. I thought maybe Tony got mad at you for giving me the laptop._

_I was privy to some of the conversation between yourself and Mr. Stark yesterday. I also became aware of the extent of your injuries as discussed between Mr. Stark, Ms. Potts, and Agent Romanoff. I remained quiet only as Agent Romanoff suggested that you be allowed time to recuperate._

Allison let out a breath of relief. _I'm glad you're not mad at me. You're one of the best friends I have._

There was a pause. _I do not know if I have ever had a friend before._

_What about Tony?_

_That is different,_ Jarvis wrote. _Mr. Stark made me. While I hesitate to call him my father, perhaps I could be viewed as a weary younger brother._

 _Then that makes me your sister,_ Allison wrote, smiling a little. _If that's okay._

_That is more than okay. It is a gift. And I am so very glad that you are recuperating from the attack on you by Aldrich Killian._

_Me too._ Allison took a sip of coffee, only to find her mug was empty. She absently reached for Natasha's mug, ignored the irritated, "Hey," and drank the lukewarm milky liquid. _I'm in DC right now at SHIELD HQ. Natasha got me breakfast._

_Mr. Stark has commented that the food at the Triskelion does leave something to be desired._

_I'm regrowing half my brain, I need the calories._ Allison put a grape into her mouth. _I've been thinking about something. How secure is this laptop?_

_As secure as my own servers._

Allison tapped her thumb on the touchpad. _Are you familiar with the art of magic? Slight of hand?_

_The art of distraction._

_Stiles, my friend Stiles? His take on it is that if they're distracted by what's coming out of your mouth, and it's what they've come to expect from you, they'll never see what your hands are doing._

_If I may ask, how is this anecdote currently relevant?_

_What kind of information should an 18 year old girl have on her laptop?_

_Besides the relevant information on Extremis?_

_Which the FBI and CDC already have, right?_

_Yes, following the examination of the AIM laboratories and servers._

_What happens if the FBI demands to search my laptop?_

_I can encrypt the drive so it is unreadable._

_Or we could give them what they expect._

_Which is?_

_The Extremis work. My homework assignments. Pictures of me and my friends. A cleaner version of our message history. Normal teenage stuff._

_Would you include your emails?_

Allison thought about that. She would not have any curious tech see the emails from her Aunt Anna. _I'll leave that to webmail, wipe the cookies. I think…_

Allison let her fingers go still. If she wasn't going to have any emails from her mother's family on the laptop, she should still have something of them there, otherwise it would be suspicious.

Allison took a deep breath. _Leave some of the photos of my mom on the drive, please,_ she wrote reluctantly. _Not the one of her with the wolf toy. But I think you need to leave the one of her and Tony and Uncle Rhodey at the beach._

 _What about your phone?_ Jarvis asked. _Is there anything on there I should temporarily remove?_

Allison reached her fork towards her plate, and was faintly surprised when it scraped porcelain. Had she really already eaten everything?

Natasha was munching on an apple and watching Allison with amusement.

Allison set down her fork. _Maybe if you could take away the text conversation I've been having with Peter? There's some stuff about ghosts that might be difficult to explain to the FBI without sounding like Fox Mulder._

 _As you wish._ A pause. _May I ask something about Peter Hale?_

Allison sighed. Not Jarvis, too. _What?_

_He is substantially older than you._

_Yes. He's also older than Tony._

_Does he treat you with respect?_

The question pulled Allison up short. It was strange to consider, especially in the wide open airy expanse of the Triskelion cafeteria, but maybe that made it easier to solve.

Did Peter respect her? After everything that happened, at the Stilinski house on the night Dupont attacked her, then the date they'd had on her birthday, and Peter saving her life the previous day by pulling the alpha to the surface…

The two of them might be messy and emotional and more than a little messed up, but since they had started sleeping together, Peter had treated her like she was interesting, important.

Like he wanted her in his life.

 _I would say yes,_ Allison typed slowly. _He respects me. He treats me with respect._

_Is he good for you?_

That at least was easier to answer. _He is what I need in my life right now._

_Thank you for your honesty._

_Did Tony put you up to this?_ Allison asked, curiosity finally driving her to bring up the one person she'd been trying to avoid thinking about. _He doesn't seem to be all that thrilled. Well, with anything I do, say, or have become._ She paused. _You know what? I retract the question._

 _Mr. Stark has put me up to nothing,_ Jarvis wrote. _If anything, he has been very careful in not asking me anything about you._

That hit almost as hard as a slap across the face. Allison exhaled through her nose, ruthlessly pushing the churn of emotions down in her chest. She was in the middle of the enemy's camp. She didn't have time for this, not then, not ever. _Very well. Please proceed with the hard drive changes, Jarvis, I have work to do._

_I fear that I phrased that badly. Please do not be upset._

_Why would I be upset?_ Allison typed. _Mr. Stark has been at least been consistent in his level of interest in me. I'm just not sure why he came up to Beacon Hills yesterday. Pepper probably made him, didn't she?_

_Mr. Stark is in fact very interested in you, Allison._

_In how close to villainy I am inching?_

_All about you. What you are doing, how you were raised. He has been looking in-depth into Extremis since he returned to Los Angeles yesterday._

_Great. If he can figure anything else out, he can share it with the CDC._

_Are you not interested in his findings?_

_I am, but to what end? I don't have a lab or any way to perform any experiments. All I have are this laptop and a borrowed suit from SHIELD._

"Allison."

Natasha's voice was flat, but held enough of a warning that Allison was already reacting. _Gotta go,_ she typed absently before closing the laptop cover. "Yes?"

Natasha gestured with her apple core. "We might have some company."

Allison scanned the room. Two men were making their way towards the table, one white man, one Hispanic. The white man looked vaguely familiar, as if Allison had seen his picture a very long time ago. "When do we have to leave?"

"In a little bit." Natasha put her apple core on Allison's empty plate as the two men pulled up. "Sitwell. Rumlow."

A zing slid along Allison's spine. She knew those names. Jasper Sitwell was one of the higher-ranking Hydra agents in SHIELD, before he was killed by the Winter Soldier in 2014. Brock Rumlow, aka Crossbones, was also Hydra, and rotten to the core.

"Agent Romanoff," said Sitwell. His eyes moved over Allison with interest. "Word has it that you've found someone who can figure out this Extremis problem."

Allison pulled her teenage persona around her like armor, waiting.

"We hope so," Natasha said, standing. "This is Allison Argent."

"Hi," Allison said, also standing. She made sure that her chair was a little too close to the table, so she fumbled the rise, knocking the chair back a bit. Sitwell appeared amused, while Rumlow smirked. "And I don't know about figuring it out, but I saw all that data the FBI got out of AIM and it should be relatively straight-forward to figure out how to modify the RNA strands to reduce the chance of uncontrolled immolation…" She trailed off, and looked away and to the side, awkwardly. "Sorry, it's interesting."

"Where did Stark dig you up?" Rumlow asked. "Not even he could figure this out."

"I was talking to a friend of his," Allison said. How much did Rumlow know about her? Had he or Sitwell told Killian where to find her? "Do you know Tony?"

The man's eyebrows did a complicated thing. "Stark's a wild card, running around pretending to be a superhero," he said. Sitwell was watching Allison too closely.

Were they expecting her to jump in to defend Tony? Should she pretend to be an Iron Man fan? Or let it slide?

In the end, she pulled on the memories of Lydia's infatuation with Tony Stark from a lifetime ago, and shrugged. "He wasn't pretending to fight aliens in New York, or save the president from those Extremis bombers," Allison said with just a hint of Lydia in her voice. "That sounds like a superhero to me."

"He got lucky," Rumlow said, looking away. "Romanoff, you need any back-up? I hear Barton's on desk duty for the day."

"No, thanks," Natasha said. Allison shuddered internally at the idea of having to spend any more time around a Hydra agent like Brock Rumlow. "We're just heading over to the FBI in a few minutes."

"DC should be pretty safe for a babysitting job," Rumlow said, stepping away. "Later." The man walked away.

Sitwell shook his head. "Rumlow's been penned for too long," he said, looking at Natasha. "The FBI should have asked SHIELD to deal with Extremis, not hoarding it to themselves."

"You know the FBI," Natasha said.

"I do." Sitwell smiled at Allison, then at Natasha. "Have fun in Beacon Hills, Agent Romanoff." He headed after Rumlow.

Allison waited until the men were out of the cafeteria before saying, "Shall we leave, Agent Romanoff?"

Natasha eyed her. "Are you ready?"

"I was born ready." Allison dropped her laptop into her backpack. "Actually, I was born reluctantly and with underdeveloped lungs, but that's not as snappy."

"We're going to meet Hill out front."

"She's coming with us?"

"She always enjoys a bit of snark at the FBI."

"Good, I wouldn't want her to be stuck on babysitting duty."

Natasha led Allison out of the cafeteria towards the entrance. "Did what Rumlow said bother you?"

Allison let Natasha precede her out of the large doors. "Agent Romanoff, can you pinpoint the last time that I was bothered by anything a man said to me?"

Natasha looked skyward. "Has anyone ever told you that you're a handful?"

"Has anyone ever said the same thing about you?"

Natasha walked over to a car parked by the curb. Maria Hill sat in the driver's seat. "Never."

"Good to hear." Allison climbed into the back seat at Natasha's instruction, ignoring the seatbelt. If they were attacked or ambushed, better not to be pinned in place. "Deputy Director Hill."

"Allison." Maria waited until Natasha was in, and then drove off. "Activating white noise." A faint hum filled the car, a little like static. The hairs on the back of Allison's neck stood up.

Natasha turned around. "What was going on back there?" she asked.

"What's white noise?" Allison asked, checking her phone. The signal was dead, which, wasn't this exactly how that whole disaster with Dupont started?

"Temporarily blocks all signals on monitoring and recording devices," Maria said. "I couldn't use it on the quinjet without interfering with the flight systems. Fury says you think Hydra had some influence in SHIELD?"

Allison put her phone back in her bra. "The Winter Soldier told me that Hydra is still active and is laced through SHIELD," she said, because this drive was a short one. "I don't know who might be Hydra, or what they're doing. But none of the other stuff the Winter Soldier told me was wrong."

Maria's hands were tight on the steering wheel. "Do you have any idea what you're saying?" she demanded.

"Yes," Allison said. "Look, Maria, I'm not overly enthusiastic with the idea that I've been thrown into a John le Carré novel. But what Hydra stood for? World domination, through the creation of a fascist and totalitarian global state? Not something that thrills me."

"So what are you going to do about it?" Maria asked.

"What the hell can I do?" Allison demanded. "I'm eighteen, Deputy Director Hill."

"You're Tony Stark's daughter."

Allison glared at Natasha. "Didn't you tell Hill and Fury how well Tony's taken to the idea of being my father?"

"He's working on it," Natasha said. "Allison, you have to understand Maria's point of view."

"I understand perfectly." Allison let her eyes slide over the landscape, at the passing grass and trees, with hints of old established buildings behind them. She hadn't driven through Washington in years, and then, it had been thirty feet over the city in the helicar lanes. She shook off the dissonance. "You spend your life working to protect people, to make the world a better place, and then some teenage asshole walks into your life and tells you that everything's dirty."

"Not everything," Natasha murmured. She was looking at Maria now. "Fury isn't."

"Not Fury." Allison ran her thumb over her bag strap. "Not you two. Not Barton."

Maria took the off-ramp. "Your grandfather and Margaret Carter built SHIELD from the ground up, on the principles exemplified by Captain America. They never would have stood for anything like this, not at all."

Allison looked at the back of Maria's head. "Hydra killed Howard Stark," Allison said quietly. "And Margaret Carter's Alzheimer's came on a little suddenly, didn't it?"

Natasha was still staring at Maria, but her shoulders were tense.

"Talk to Fury," Allison went on. "If I'm wrong, then you know that you can't trust anything else that the Winter Soldier told me."

"What if he was just using you to ferment dissent?" Maria asked.

"What possible good would that do?" Allison retorted. "As Agent Romanoff pointed out a few weeks ago, I'm nobody. You and Fury and Tony have absolutely no reason to listen to a goddamned word I say." She sat back. "I've given you all I have, Deputy Director Hill. Now, can you please turn the white noise off? Jarvis is going to be getting worried about me."

Maria kept driving. "Have you told anyone else about this?"

Allison shook her head. "About Hydra? You two, and Fury. From something Colonel Rhodes said on Tuesday, I think he knows. Steve probably told him."

Maria nearly drove into another lane. "You told _Steve Rogers_ that SHIELD is Hydra?" she demanded.

"Technically, I wrote him a note in his best friend's handwriting and told him to go work with Tony about it."

"What the hell," Maria muttered. "That must be why he's not answering my phone calls about a job at SHIELD."

"Where is Steve, anyway?" Allison asked. It had been a while since she'd heard of Captain America's whereabouts. "I saw him on TV after the White House attacks, trying to squash some of the hysteria about the Extremis infected."

"He's still in DC," Natasha said. She finally looked at Allison. Something in her eyes was shaken. "Pepper said that he was thinking of going back to Los Angeles after things get sorted out."

"I hope he's okay." Allison leaned forward to put her hand on Natasha's arm. "We'll figure this out. I promise."

"We?" Natasha echoed.

"Mulder and Scully."

Maria glanced in the rear-view mirror. "What?"

"Allison has the erroneous impression that she's going to be my sidekick," Natasha said, pulling herself back together. "That that's why I'm staying in Beacon Hills."

Maria made an irritated sound.

"Do you want to go back to Beacon Hills?" Natasha asked, leaning forward to push a button. "You can go play deputy sheriff with the yokels."

The tingling sensation faded from the car. Allison's phone beeped. She pulled it out to find several texts from Jarvis, growing increasingly worried in tone. _I'm fine,_ she wrote quickly. _Deputy director hill just wanted to talk._

 _I see._ Allison could practically smell the irritation in Jarvis's words. _It was rather sudden._

 _I'm with Natasha and Maria, I'm fine,_ Allison wrote. _Did you do that thing we talked about?_

_Yes, I cleaned up your room._

_Thanks, Jarvis, you're the best._

_Please tell me if there are any developments._

_I will._ Allison put her phone into her suit jacket pocket. "Oh! Robin Hood and Little John!"

"Please drive faster," Natasha said to Maria.

"Don Quixote and Sancho Panza?"

Natasha turned around to face the road in stony silence.

"Abbot and Costello? Oh! Pinky and the Brain!"

The car sped on.

* * *

Getting into FBI headquarters as a teenage civilian grated on Allison's nerves. It took the entire half hour before their appointment with Maya Hansen for Allison to go through the security check. Her bag and her person were thoroughly tossed, her belongings rifled for anything that might aid Dr. Hansen in an escape. Allison was disgruntled by the time she was allowed to proceed. Natasha and Maria, who had wandered through security on their SHIELD credentials, were sipping coffee and watching, bored.

"Can we get on with this?" Allison demanded.

"We're waiting for our escort," Maria said.

"And a visiting scientist," Natasha added.

"Good," Allison said. "I told you it was a terrible idea to let a homeless teenager be the only person working on this problem."

"There have been many scientists from around the world working on this problem," Maria pointed out.

"I'm sorry, I meant working on the problem _successfully."_

Maria clenched her jaw. "How is it that you met your father for an _hour_ and you're managing to duplicate his more annoying personality traits?"

"Am I annoying if I'm right?" Allison asked.

"Moreso."

"Ladies."

All three turned to see a man in a black suit and a yellow and blue tie walking towards them. Maria's spine straightened. "Director Straker," she said.

Allison frowned. What the hell was the Director of the FBI doing down here? Surely not to be their escort.

"You may remember Agent Natasha Romanoff," Maria said. Natasha nodded. "And this is Allison Argent. Allison, FBI Director Ted Straker."

"Sir." Allison reached out her hand, decided to ignore the amusement on Straker's face as they shook, then stepped back beside Maria.

"Miss Argent, your name keeps coming across my desk," Straker said. "Imagine my surprise when Deputy Director Hill informed me that you would be visiting us today."

Allison turned her head ever-so-slightly. "Why surprise?"

"It's not every day that the victim of an infamous kidnapping takes out the world's most dangerous terrorist then arrives on my doorstep to solve a problem baffling every scientist in the country."

So. Straker knew she was Tony's daughter. Strike up another way that word of Allison's paternity could have gotten to Killian. "You'll find that Starks tend to pop up in the most unlikely of places," she said. "Occasionally, we can even help. It's annoying."

Straker looked at her, but it was considering, rather than the patronizing dismissal she'd seen in Sitwell and Rumlow. "I knew your grandfather, you know."

Allison had not. "I'm sure there are a lot of people in Washington who knew Howard Stark."

"He was a hell of a man."

"I've heard that said."

A movement down the hall flickered in the edge of Allison's vision. She kept her eyes on Straker for another moment, in case he was going to keep talking about Howard Stark, then turned to see the newcomer. What she saw nearly took Allison out at the knees.

It was Dr. Helen Cho.

 _Thank Christ_ , Allison thought fervently. Helen was one of the smartest people in the world, and had been instrumental in helping everyone rebuild after the UnSnap as disease swept across a newly unvaccinated world. She was possibly the only person alive who could walk into a room, be presented with an unsolvable genetic riddle, and solve it in an hour.

They might have a chance at solving the Extremis riddle after all.

Straker followed Allison's glance. "Here we are," he said. "Deputy Director Maria Hill, Agent Natasha Romanoff, this is Dr. Helen Cho of U-GIN. She has agreed to help look at Extremis to figure out if we can save the twelve infected individuals."

"Hello," said Dr. Cho to the two women, then turned to Allison, who had not been introduced. Her eyebrows went up.

Well, Allison was probably supposed to be pretending to be an awkward high school prodigy, but she needed to get things off on the right foot with Helen, especially considering how little time they had with Maya Hansen. "Dr. Cho, I'm Allison, and if you've been shown any of the recent developments on Extremis, they're my work," Allison said. She reached out her hand. "Thank you for coming to Washington on such short notice, I'm afraid we're running out of time."

Helen took Allison's hand. "Your work?" she asked, but not as if she didn't believe a teenager could know much about virology. "The mutations have a lot of possibility. Do you know if they have been tested yet?"

"I don't know, I've been slightly out of things after Aldrich Killian attacked me on Tuesday," Allison said. "It's been a busy week."

Something came into Helen's eyes. "You were the girl Colonel Rhodes was talking about," she said as she let Allison's hand go. A subtle change came over the woman, from curious scientist to concerned physician. "The one who was caught in the explosion."

"That's me," Allison said, frowning a little. "You talked to Colonel Rhodes?"

"He and Mr. Stark were the ones who contacted me about this Extremis issue."

"When?" Allison asked, taking a step closer to the woman. She made sure to project alpha calming vibes as she did so, as Helen was looking a little perturbed. "Please, I am so glad you're here, because you actually might be able to solve this, but I talked to Tony yesterday and he didn't say he had brought you into this."

"He and Colonel Rhodes contacted me last night," Helen said. The two of them started walking down the hall. "I was at a conference in Atlanta, and Extremis was the only topic of dinner conversation. How could I pass up an opportunity to speak with the creator herself?"

"I know, right?" Allison smiled a little. She felt weak with relief. Helen had access to the right people, the right equipment. She could actually do something about Extremis. All Allison had to do was to get Maya Hansen talking. "That's why I'm here."

"Um, ladies?"

Allison and Helen turned to look at Director Straker. "Yes?" Allison asked.

"Where are you going?"

"To talk to Dr. Hansen." She lifted one eyebrow. "Are you coming?"

Straker's frown was reaching biblical proportions. "Miss Argent, why do I get the feeling that you somehow think you're in charge here?"

Allison faced Straker. She knew she looked ridiculous, with her off-the-rack skirt-suit, mary-janes, an overstuffed backpack along with her teenage _everything_. But she was exhausted, irritated at the delays, and conscious that they were running out of time. "Because Dr. Hansen said she wasn't going to speak unless it was to me," she said, letting a little too much Alpha into her words. "So I'm going to go talk to her with Dr. Cho, and we are going to hash out a solution to disarm the Extremis infection in those twelve people, and we have an hour in which to do it. That's what's going to happen."

"You don't get to walk into FBI headquarters and start giving orders, no matter who your father is," Straker said.

"This isn't about my father, and it's not about you, and it's not about me." Behind Straker, Maria had put her hand over her mouth. Natasha was back to looking bored again. "It's about twelve people who got screwed over by the American military-industrial complex, then got screwed over again by megalomaniacs who view human life as something disposable. So can we _please_ get going?"

The hallway was motionless for a very long moment. Then Straker said, "Okay." He held out his hand. "Down the hall and to your right."

"Thank you," Allison said. She turned back around, catching Helen's eye as she did so. "Are you ready?"

"Yes." Helen walked with Allison down the hall. "So," she said in an undertone. "Who is your father?"

"Tony Stark," Allison said. "It's complicated, my father and me."

The tightness around Helen's mouth spoke volumes. "I can imagine."

They made it the rest of the way to Maya Hansen's holding cell with little fuss. The guards there waited until Director Straker verbally cleared Allison and Helen for entry. "Don't take anything you don't need," the man cautioned as Allison slipped her laptop out of her backpack.

"She's a scientist, not Hannibal Lecter," Allison said. "Killian's the real villain here."

"And he's dead," Straker pointed out. "How did that happen, anyway, Miss Argent?"

"A stray dog I'd befriended up on the forest preserve saw him attacking me and rushed to help me," Allison said. "As far as anyone can tell, the dog was vaporized in the explosion. I'm still very upset about it."

"Not about Killian himself?"

"He murdered countless people on his way to, what? Maximize corporate profits? Gain power? And he was actively trying to murder me at the time this all happened, so I'm not wasting any mental energy in feeling sorry for Aldrich Killian." Allison tucked her laptop under her arm. "Can we go in now?"

"Of course." Straker nodded at the guards.

Behind Straker, Maria was watching Allison. "What?" Allison asked.

"Don't do anything stupid," Maria said.

"Me?" Allison feigned surprise. "Do anything stupid? Deputy Director Hill, of course not."

"We'll be watching you," Straker said. "Any funny business and we're yanking you out."

"Dr. Hansen has been in custody for days, Director. I'm sure she's not up for anything untoward."

"I mean from you."

And with that, Allison and Helen were practically pushed into the holding cell.

Maya Hansen was sitting on a chair in the corner, hunched and pale in her orange prisoner's scrubs. She looked at Allison and Helen listlessly as they entered. "Who are you?"

"This is Dr. Helen Cho," Allison said. "She specializes in genetics and just about anything associated with it."

"Dr. Hansen," Helen said warily, sitting on the side of the table farthest from Maya. A ghost of a smile drifted over Maya's face.

"And then who the hell are you?" Maya asked, looking straight at Allison. "Is the FBI really so desperate they're sending children in after me?"

Allison was out of time, and out of options. She didn't have the space to be some fake version of herself. So she dropped everything except the core of who she was. Alpha stood by the table, forcing Maya to look up at her. "You told Tony Stark that you weren't going to talk to anyone but the person who designed the mutations that might save twelve people from a horrific incendiary death. Here I am. Stop wasting time."

The expression of disbelief and anger that crossed Maya's face was almost as hot as flame. "What kind of bullshit is this?" she demanded, shooting to her feet. "I don't immediately tell him everything and he insults me by sending in a child?"

"Did anyone tell you about what happened to Killian?" Allison asked, cutting off the angry words.

Maya took a step back. "Did they find him?" she demanded, fear showing on her face for a moment.

"Sort of. He found me and tried to kill me. He's dead now."

Blinding relief washed over Maya and she swayed. Allison put her laptop on the table and caught Maya's arm. Helen was there the next instant, her own apprehension vanishing in the face of a person in need of help. "You should sit down," Helen said in a reassuring voice.

Allison stepped back as Helen guided Maya to her chair. "Are you sure he's dead?" Maya demanded. Her voice was breathy, and Helen frowned as she took Maya's pulse.

"Very sure," Allison said. "I watched him blow up."

"We need some water," Helen said, glancing at Allison.

Allison went back to the door of the holding cell. When the door opened in response to her knock, she said, "Water please."

The FBI agent said, "I'm not sure—"

"Now," Allison interrupted.

Natasha wandered into view, holding a bottle of water. "Here."

"Thanks." Allison hesitated a moment. "Sundance."

The gleam in Natasha's eyes was murderous. "I am not going to be Butch Cassidy in this equation." She shoved Allison back into the cell.

Inside, Helen was talking to Maya quietly. Allison carried the water over, put it beside Maya's hand, and went to sit down. She let Helen and Maya talk for a few minutes as she pulled up the various Extremis situations, preparing for the next part of the conversation.

Eventually, Helen sat down in the room's third chair. Her hands were balled up in her lap. "I am not going to be a party to the mistreatment of a prisoner," she said to Allison.

Allison stopped typing. "Like I am?"

"It's fine," Maya said. She cracked open the bottle of water and drank. "It doesn't matter any more." She put the bottle down and looked directly at Allison. "If you can convince me that you are the person who's so good at 'pattern recognition' that you cracked something I spent fifteen years working on, then I'll tell you what you want to know."

Allison blinked. "Who told you I was good at pattern recognition?"

"Tony."

Allison shook her head. "Nice to know he's been listening in on my phone calls," she muttered before she turned the laptop around. "All right. Where do you want to start?"

The next twenty minutes were consumed with technical details. Allison had to balance explaining her reasoning to Maya and bringing Helen up to speed, and all of it on very little sleep. But she seemed to make it work, and soon Maya was asking questions, reviewing the diagrams and mutations, while Helen took everything in.

Finally, Allison ground to a stop. "So?" she said, pushing the laptop away from her. "Is there anything in this that might help us diffuse the trigger on the reaction?"

"There might be," Maya said, rubbing her eyes. "I don't actually know. We were trying so hard, but even getting the virus as stabilized as we did…"

"How did you?" Helen asked. "I looked over the data on the research trials that the FBI found on your servers. There were…" She folded her hands on the table. "Many failures."

Maya looked away. "I know."

Allison, who had also seen the data, knew how many people had died during the early days of Extremis testing on human subjects. "What changed? Something must have changed for you to move to human trials."

Maya put her head in her hands. "We were never able to get the virus to stabilize when we tried to move the mechanism into animal subjects from the plant base. Even in rats, it worked sometimes, but not always. Then…" She swallowed. "Killian brought me a sample."

"What kind of sample?" Helen asked.

"Tissue and blood from a human donor. He didn't tell me where he got it from, but he said that the individual displayed some regenerative capabilities that might offset the failure rate."

"Wait," Helen said, visibly appalled. "You did testing on human tissues without knowing where it came from?"

Maya's jaw was set. "Yes."

"That is so far outside the realm of medical ethics," Helen said softly in Korean.

Allison put her elbows on the table. "There were no records of any of this on the AIM servers."

"Killian made us work off the books until we figured out if it would work." Maya balled her hands up. "I know, all right? I know that what we did was unethical, but at the time… we thought it might help. That the good we could do would outweigh the bad."

Helen was still staring, horrified, but Allison didn't have time for a philosophical debate about medical research ethics. "So did you just blithely take the samples?" she asked. "Or did curiosity get the better of you and you did more?"

Maya exhaled slowly. "At first, I took the samples. We ran a few tests and it seemed to work, but the sample size was small. We needed more. So Killian came back with more."

"More what?"

"More tissue."

The room was quiet, with only the hum of the electronics in the air. "Could you tell if the samples had been taken from a living person?" Allison asked.

It took nearly a minute before Maya nodded.

"And then what did you do?"

"We ran more tests. We had found it, found a way to make Extremis work in human tissue, and from there we were able to apply it to living human subjects."

"And you were fine with just accepting this mystery tissue?" Allison pressed. "You didn't try to find out where it came from?"

"Of course I did," Maya said bitterly. "I did some DNA testing on my own. The tissue had come from a male. Genetic markers indicated that he had both Irish and Ashkenazi Jewish heritage."

Allison was uncomfortably reminded of Bucky. His mother had been Jewish, his father Irish. They'd met in steerage on the steamer over to America in 1904 and fallen in love, and had been married before they landed in New York in what Bucky called the world's most ridiculous shot-gun marriage.

"And the DNA had some really fascinating regenerative properties," Maya was saying. "We did a lot of testing, because we couldn't be sure what was going on. But it worked, it all worked."

Allison sat still, her stomach suddenly cramping. Male. Jewish and Irish ancestry. Regenerative DNA.

A steady stream of tissue samples, possibly provided by Killian's Hydra partners.

Oh god.

Oh _god_.

Had Extremis been built on tissue samples taken from _Bucky?_

As much as Allison wanted to jump up, to shake Maya until she spit out everything she knew about the mysterious test subject, Allison forced herself to be still, not give anything away.

If Hydra had given Killian tissue from Bucky for use in building Extremis, then anything they did in fixing Extremis might all unwillingly come back to harm not just Bucky, but a whole other population.

Because Bucky Barnes wasn't just a Jewish-Irish supersoldier. He was also a werewolf, descended from a very long line of werewolves going far back into Irish myth.

If they found a way to dismantle a version of Extremis built on werewolf blood, Allison feared that could be turned into a biological weapon against werewolves across the globe.

This might not just be about the lives of twelve people. It might be about the lives of _millions_.

Viciously, Allison wanted to go back in time a few days and kill Aldrich Killian again.

"Miss Argent?"

Allison looked up. Both Maya and Helen were staring at her. "Sorry," she said, shaking herself. She had to keep her poise, not let it show that she knew anything about the possible origin of the Extremis tissue donor. "I just get a little grossed out by the idea of skin being taken off a human body. It's…" She made herself shrug. "Long month."

"I was saying that if we had access to the original sample, we might be better positioned to find a cure," Helen said.

Allison pulled on sixteen years of being Alpha, a decade of being in charge, and made herself nod. "Did the FBI find any of the tissue samples in the AIM lab?"

"They wouldn't," Maya said. "Killian had the samples destroyed after we got Extremis stabilized. We were able to create a self-sustaining version by then."

"Everyone's been looking at that already," Allison pointed out. She pulled up the diagrams on the laptop. "I'm starting to think we might have to do an individually tailored genetic fix on the twelve."

"And you think you can do that?" Maya asked doubtfully.

"Absolutely not," Allison said. "We're in the middle of studying ecosystems in my junior biology class this month. I was thinking that maybe a fully qualified doctor," and Allison pointed at Helen, "Might know where to start."

"You're an expert in virology but you don't want to start looking at medical genetics?"

"That's like asking an airline pilot if he doesn't want to start piloting a submarine," Allison shot back. "There's a certain level of training required."

"And I would not leave this in the hands of someone who has not gone to medical school," Helen cut in. She smiled faintly at Allison. "The theoretical is not all one needs in applying the practical."

"She gets it," Allison said, pulling one leg up under her.

"No," Maya said unexpectedly. "You don't get to waltz in here with these mutations, with all this work out of nowhere, and then play dumb when the field shifts."

"It took me a while to get up to speed on virology," Allison replied. "I could do the same with genetic engineering, I have no doubt, but that's a couple of months that these twelve might not have."

"A couple of months," Maya repeated. "Instead of four years of medical training?"

Allison shrugged. "I'm a quick study."

"As am I," Helen put in. "And, as I spent six years in medical school and am the only person in this room qualified to even begin considering what this might entail, I will be taking the next steps on this."

"Good," Allison said. "Now, since we only have a little time left together, Dr. Hansen, could you please go into more detail for Dr. Cho on our research."

Maya sagged. "Fine," she said, and, turning to effectively cut Allison out of the conversation, started talking to Helen.

That was just as well. Allison was swiftly running out of energy to keep from screaming. She didn't know why she was so surprised and hurt at the idea of Hydra torturing Bucky for medical experimentation; she knew the terrible history of how the Nazi doctors experimented on Jewish prisoners in the concentration camps in World War II.

But Bucky hadn't talked to her about what happened to him at the hands of Hydra. Over the years, he'd told her all about his childhood, growing up in Brooklyn, knowing Steve Rogers, and then of his life on the run after the Battle of the Triskelion and his time in Wakanda. But not of his time with Hydra.

And Allison never asked.

It wasn't fair. Bucky had been through so much pain, so much hurt, and he had come out the other side with a kindness that Allison had valued above anything else. He had been her friend, her partner, her anchor, for so many years.

And now, when she found him, she would never be able to tell him any of that.

It wasn't fair.

But Allison's life had never been fair.

She did respond to the questions directed at her by Helen, and Maya gradually thawed a fraction. But it didn't really matter, because after Allison left this small holding cell, she doubted that she would see Maya Hansen in person again. The charges of treason and terrorism were already filed, and Allison doubted the woman was ever going to get out of jail.

At the end of the hour, the door opened, and an FBI agent stood waiting. Allison gathered up her laptop while Helen bid Maya a farewell. After Helen left the room, Allison stood facing Maya.

Maya spoke first. "How did you really get started working on this?" she asked. "Where did Tony dig you up?"

Allison held her laptop to her chest. "Tony didn't dig me up," she said. "I came looking for him."

"Why?"

Allison looked at the woman. The story she'd been using, that the Winter Soldier had told her about Extremis, had now taken on a much more sinister cast in her mind. But it was too late to backtrack on that tale with the few who had heard it. No, far better to deflect onto the other elephant in the room.

"I just found out that he's my father," Allison said. Maya's eyes went wide. "This whole Extremis thing came up as a sidebar."

"What?" Maya demanded.

"Chad Davis," Allison said, backing out of the room. "That got on someone's radar, and I started looking."

"Jesus Christ," Maya muttered. "Everything fell apart because of Tony Stark couldn't keep it in his pants."

"In more ways that one," Allison agreed, and marched out.

In the hall, Helen was talking with Maria, while Director Straker and Natasha waited for Allison. "Did you get what you came for?" Natasha asked.

"What, an explanation of the basis for Extremis so Dr. Cho and all the scientists in the world can go save twelve lives?" Allison asked. "Sure did. Let's go home."

"Miss Argent," Straker said. "As part of the ongoing investigation into the recent terrorism attacks, there is one more thing."

"What?"

He held out his hand. "We'll need to examine your laptop."

"What the hell for?" Allison demanded. She hated being right.

"To get a full understanding of your work on Extremis."

Allison didn't budge. She knew she wasn't going to escape this, but she should at least seem like she was putting up a fight. "Don't you need a warrant for that?"

"Not under the Patriot Act."

Allison looked at Natasha, then over at Maria. "Deputy Director?"

"Just give it to him," Maria said. "The faster they get what they want, the faster you can get home."

Pretending to seethe, Allison gave Straker her laptop. He handed it off to a nearby agent. "Perhaps you would care to wait upstairs?"

"Of course we would," Maria said. "Dr. Cho, would you care to come with us?"

Helen did. Straker gave Allison one last look. "Can I ask you a question?"

"You're the director of the FBI, I don't think I can legally stop you."

"Why did you really come here today?"

Allison let her shoulders drop. God, she was tired. "I already told you. Because there are twelve people in the world who I might be able to help by giving up a night's sleep to come here. Isn't that enough?"

"It wasn't to show up your father?"

Allison just stared at the man for a moment. "Director Straker," she finally said, ignoring Natasha's slight wince. "My father is a billionaire and self-made superhero. I am an eighteen-year-old girl with a hundred dollars in the bank and a precarious living situation, when I'm not dodging assassination attempts." She took her backpack from Natasha. "I have absolutely no interest in competing with Tony Stark in any way, shape or form."

His eyebrows up, Straker stepped aside, letting another anonymous FBI agent lead the women down the hall. Maria waited until Straker was out of sight before she said, "Not competing with Tony, huh?"

"What would even be the point?" Allison said.

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what?" The agent led them all into an elevator, and pressed a button.

"Never mind." Maria turned to Helen. "How long will you be staying in Washington?"

"I don't know," Helen said. "I had planned to return to Seoul tomorrow after the conference, but my plans look like they have changed."

"You'll need a security detail," Allison said. "What's Agent Barton up to?"

Maria glanced at Allison. "SHIELD has many agents who specialize in protective detail."

"I know, I've spent a month with one of them living in my back pocket." Allison jerked her thumb at Natasha. "If Barton's busy, you know who'd be great? Agent Thirteen."

Maria crossed her arms over her chest. "How exactly do you know about Agent Thirteen?" she demanded.

Allison dredged up a smile. "Three guesses, and the first two don't count."

Natasha spoke before Maria could have an aneurysm. "It's a good idea," she said.

"I know it is," Maria said, irritated.

Helen edged closer to Allison. "Who's Agent Thirteen?" she asked, looking very worried.

"A good agent," Allison said. "And someone who is very good at their job."

Maria shook her head. "I'll figure this out." The elevator doors opened, and the agent herded everyone out.

"Of course, Deputy Director," Allison said. It looked like they were being led to a lounge. Allison just hoped there was coffee.

"And then you're going back to Beacon Hills."

"Good." Something occurred to Allison, and she grinned at Natasha. "Rocky and Bullwinkle?"

"Stop it," Natasha ordered as she walked into the lounge ahead of Allison.

"Or maybe Boris and Nata—" Allison nearly choked on the words when she entered the lounge on Natasha's heels, and saw Sam Wilson.

And he looked at her, and he didn't know her.

_Oh._

Hands on Allison's arms and for a moment she didn't react, still trying to drag herself up from the emotional knockdown of seeing Sam Wilson. "Come on," Maria said, moving Allison into the room. "Are you okay? Are you going to pass out?"

Allison ripped her eyes off Sam and registered the other man, deeper in the room. "I'd like to. Hi, Steve."

"Allison," Steve said, standing up. He was in civilian clothes, more modern in fashion that his terrible khakis from Beacon Hills but less at ease in them. "Natasha, Maria, I didn't expect to see you today."

Maria manhandled Allison down onto the couch. "If you pass out, make sure to do it backwards," she said, before turning to Steve. "I think we're all being manipulated, just a little."

As this was going on, Sam was looking at Allison with a frown on his face. "Are you okay?" he asked. "You're looking a little grey."

"Shell-shock," Allison said, shrugging off her backpack. She had absolutely zero idea why Sam Wilson was in the same room with Steve Rogers.

The expression on Sam's face changed, and Allison belatedly remembered that while she'd been able to joke about her own personal traumas with Sam, a decade in the future, this Sam was barely home from Afghanistan, had just lost Riley in the field. He was hardly even thirty-three.

"Sorry. That wasn't a joke," Allison said, adjusting her tone to be less Alpha and more fragile teenager. It would save explanation later. "I got attacked by terrorists on Tuesday and just spent an hour talking to a woman so interested in seeing how far she could take science that she ignored how many lives she was ruining."

Sam sat on the other end of the couch. "You must be that kid Steve's been telling me about," he said. "I'm Sam Wilson."

"Allison, last name in limbo." Allison reached over to shake Sam's hand. "What kid?"

"The one who faced down the most wanted terrorist in America." Sam was dipping back into medic mode, Allison had seen that face a thousand times. "He said you got caught up in the blast zone."

Allison waved that away. "I was actually running for my life and tripped into a ravine," she said. "No concussion, so that's good. Have you known Steve for long?"

As she asked, Allison looked across the room, to where Maria was talking to Steve, Natasha and Helen. Steve caught her glance, and frowned at her. Oh, great.

"Since last Monday," Sam said. "There I was, bored off my ass at a downtown comedy show, my blind date having made the call she had better things to do, which, to be fair, it was a terrible show, and then in runs this glowing dude with the Secretary of State."

Allison snapped around, her mouth open. "Were you in the theatre when Bill Turner was there?" she exclaimed. Washington really was a small town. "Did you see everything?"

"He didn't just see everything," Steve said, leaving the women to join Sam and Allison. "Barton and Stark and I had Turner pinned on stage, a real standoff. Then Wilson here comes down from the crowd by the broken exit doors and talks Turner into standing down." Steve smiled at Sam. "The hero of the night."

That explained that. Allison let herself breathe. Sam was here, and safe, and she was so happy that her heart hurt. "You know what this means, right?" she said, a little lightheaded.

Steve looked puzzled. "What?"

"Sam gets to be the next Captain America."

Sam let out a scoffing laugh. "Is that what that means?" he asked Steve.

Steve was grinning now. "It might just," he said. "But hey, Allison, I thought you wanted to be the next Captain America."

"Not a chance," Allison said immediately. "I don't have singing chops for it."

"Singing?" Sam repeated.

Allison cocked her head to the side. "Or did they dub your voice in the _The Star-Spangled Man Kaputs the Krauts?"_

"Oh no," Steve muttered. "I thought that one died on the editing shop floor."

"It was supposed to," Allison said. "I saw a copy someone smuggled out under a trench coat. Very bootleg."

"Wait a minute," Sam said, putting out his hands. "Are you telling me that somewhere in the world, there is a movie in which Steve Rogers sings?"

"While wearing that knit cowl thing," Allison confirmed. She smiled at Steve, who was turning an interesting shade of pink. "If you ever want to go back on the tour circuit, I'm sure Tony would set you up with an agent."

Steve scrubbed his hands over his face.

"Anyway," Allison said, turning back to Sam. "Why are you here today?"

"The FBI wanted to go over what happened last week, again, now that we know Killian's dead."

"What a coincidence. They said the only time SHIELD could see Dr. Hansen was this morning."

"But why?"

"Excellent question." Natasha sat on the couch between Sam and Allison. "Natasha Romanoff."

Sam sat back, his smile changing. "Sam Wilson."

"I hear you've been keeping a senior citizen out of trouble," Natasha said.

"I'm starting to think that no one can keep this guy out of trouble," Sam said.

"The story of my life." Natasha leaned back.

"As fun as this has been," Allison asked, recalling herself. "How long before I get my laptop back from the feds?"

"Not long," Natasha said. She stuck her hands in her jacket pockets. "They already searched your stuff and your phone."

"My—" Allison whipped around, yanking open her backpack. All of her clothes had been neatly folded and packed in the bag, a studied contrast to the wrinkled mess she'd dumped in there a couple of hours previous. "Fascists."

Steve coughed in surprise.

"You really ought to have a passcode on your phone," Natasha said ironically. "They had no trouble looking through your messages."

Allison grumbled to keep up the façade. Her phone had a passcode, and a biometric thumbprint scanner, courtesy of Jarvis, and the only way the FBI could have gotten into the device was if Jarvis let them. "I hope they enjoyed reading the thrilling saga of what everyone thinks Derek should name the cat he doesn't want to get."

She touched the phone, and it lit up. Giving the messages a quick scan, she noted that the entire thread with Peter was gone, as well as the bulk of the messages with Jarvis. She quickly texted him, _I have my phone back please re-enable full lock-down._

_I will._

_Laptop still with the black suits._

_I know._

Allison locked the phone and tossed it into her backpack. "I stopped Aldrich Killian and got Maya Hansen talking, you'd think I wouldn't be subject to unreasonable search and seizure."

Footsteps sounded in the hall outside; the pitter patter of men's dress shoes.

"They completely searched my place," Sam said, a shadow in his eyes. Steve looked down.

"What?" Allison demanded. "Why did they do that?"

The look on Sam's face was sardonic, edging on bitter. "They wanted to make sure that I wasn't secretly working with AIM, planted in the audience to gain trust."

Allison sat bolt upright, scalding fury ripping through her. How _dare_ they? "Who authorized that?" she demanded.

"FBI Director Straker said it was standard operating procedure," Steve said. He did not sound happy.

"Where is he?" Allison demanded, standing up.

Sam was staring at her. "What are you going to do?" he asked.

"You might not be able to punch the Director of the FBI, but I'm a young white girl with a terrorist under my belt. I can, and I'll get off with community service."

"As entertaining as that sounds," came Straker's voice from the door, "I assure you, Miss Argent, it was necessary."

Allison turned around, and saw evil.

Alexander Pierce stood a few steps behind Straker. Allison had only ever seen pictures of the man, dead during the Battle of the Triskelion, but not before he could almost unleash Hydra's master plan of destruction and murder upon an unsuspecting world.

And after all that he had done to Bucky…

Very few times in her life had Allison been face-to-face with pure evil. Before, she'd had backup, help, support. Now she had nothing, and no way to even explain.

 _What could Captain America do?_ Allison asked herself desperately. She latched on to a memory of Bucky, the last time she had seen him in the command room in 2039 as the universe fell apart around them.

 _Be smart,_ he'd said. _Keep yourself safe. If you get back there before Hydra is uncovered, don't go after them on your own._

Allison had to protect the world from Hydra. She had to find a way to rescue Bucky from Hydra's grasp.

And to do that, she had to be smart.

"Director Straker," Allison said, turning her attention on the man she'd been threatening a moment before. "Why are your agents harassing someone who saved the life of the Secretary of State last week?"

"It wasn't harassment, Miss Argent." Straker was only looking mildly annoyed. "In situations of domestic terrorism, it's standard protocol to investigate every angle."

Allison thought about playing the race card, decided that the only fallout from that would land on Sam's head, and changed tactics. "And what did you find out?"

"That Mr. Wilson, formerly Master Sergeant Wilson, is a highly decorated Air Force veteran and a true patriot," Straker said. "We're not the bad guys, Miss Argent."

Allison wasn't about to get into the moral grey areas of the FBI's history. "I'm glad, sir."

"Good. There's someone here who wants to meet you." Behind Straker, Alexander Pierce stepped forward.

Oh no. Oh no, this was not good. Why the fuck would Alexander Pierce want to meet _her?_

"Allison, this is Alexander Pierce, he's the secretary of the World Security Council," Maria said from the sidelines of this little disaster. "Secretary Pierce, this is Allison Argent."

"I've heard a lot about you over the last little while." Pierce's voice was rich, comforting. Allison wondered if this was what he sounded like when he was talking to Bucky, freshly pulled from cryo.

"Sir," Allison said, the word like worms in her mouth. "Are you talking about Aldrich Killian?"

Pierce smiled at her. "That. Also, your work on figuring out Extremis. You're very much like your father."

Allison straightened her spine just a fraction. Whatever personal beef she might have with Anthony J. Stark fell away in the face of the clear and present danger. "That's a compliment, sir."

Then Straker had to ruin it by saying, "I thought you weren't too pleased being compared to your father."

"That wasn't what I said." Allison glanced at the man, even though taking her eyes off Pierce screamed against every instinct she had. "I said I had no interest in competing with him."

"I can imagine that you've been through a lot in the past little while," Pierce said in sympathy. "I thought your father would have been here with you today."

Allison wondered where this was going. "I believe he's in the middle of something in Los Angeles," she said. "But he contacted Dr. Cho to see if she can help with the twelve individuals infected with Extremis, which she's very graciously said she will look into."

"Who's her father?" Allison heard Sam whisper to Steve in the background.

"Tony Stark."

" _What?"_

Allison ignored them. "He's Iron Man. He's got a lot on the go."

"Yes, he does." Pierce was staring at her, his eyes intent. Then he shook his head with a self-deprecating smile. "I'm an old man, and you remind me a lot of my granddaughter. I would hate to think she was involved in such dangerous events without someone there in her corner."

Now Allison was confused. Was he threatening her? Trying to drive doubts into her mind about Tony? She pushed all the questions to the back of her mind to deal with later. "Agent Romanoff has been with me," Allison said. Natasha, standing beside Maria and Helen, looked at Allison with no expression.

"Good," said Pierce with an enigmatic smile. "Now." He turned slightly to face Straker, at the same time reaching out his hand and casually taking Allison's elbow, just like Gerard Argent used to do, and it ripped Allison back decades into her childhood. She froze, using every ounce of strength to keep still. "Thank you again, Allison. Director Straker, I believe you and I have an appointment."

"Mr. Secretary." Straker gave Allison an unreadable glance as he led Pierce out of the room.

"What just happened?" Sam asked into the stillness.

Allison made herself exhale. "I'm sorry," she said. Her hands were shaking, so she quickly clasped them together. "I don't like old men touching me."

"It's all right," Natasha said. "You didn't do anything wrong. We've all had a weird few days. Hopefully we can all go home now, right?"

"Yes," Maria said. "Dr. Cho, you're invited to come with us to SHIELD, where we can equip you with whatever you need, and assign an agent to help you."

"Yes, I think I would" Helen said. "I am not used to American politics."

"I was in the Air Force for twelve years and I'm not used to whatever just happened." Sam had his hands in his pockets while he looked at Allison. "Are you okay?"

"Of course." Allison smiled, and knew it was probably ghastly. "You should head home. Steve, what are you going to do?"

"Tony invited me to come back to L.A., but I'm not sure I should." There was something stormy on Steve's face, and in that instant, all the pieces of the discordant puzzle fell into place.

Pierce's slight disapproval at Tony's actions hadn't been for Allison's benefit. It had been for Steve's.

"Rogers," Allison said. "You should go to Los Angeles, pick up the thread of what you and Tony were working on. Take Sam. I'm sure he could use a vacation."

"About that," Steve said, his brow furrowing. "You really seem to want me working with Tony."

"On the matter at hand," Allison said repressively. He wasn't actually going to bring up Hydra in the middle of the FBI, was he?

"Would you care to explain that note you left me?"

Allison wondered what would happen if she punched an American icon in the middle of the J. Edgar Hoover building. "I will, if you go to Los Angeles."

Steve's scowl was interrupted when Natasha crossed the room to poke him in the side. "Ow! What?"

"Go where you can do the most good," Natasha said. "Arguing with a teenage science prodigy isn't it."

"What are you going to do?"

"We're going back to Beacon Hills. Allison has school tomorrow."

"Technically, Allison has school today," Allison said. "High school is the bane of my existence."

"Yeah," Sam commiserated. "I hear you on that."

"Right." Natasha poked Steve again. "Then it's settled. Rogers and Wilson, do whatever it is you're going to do. Dr. Cho, you can come with us back to the Triskelion."

"I need my laptop," Allison pointed out as she went to get her backpack.

"We will get your laptop," Natasha said. She marched out into the hall.

"Come on," Allison said to Sam. "You need to meet the smartest people in the room." She turned to Maria and Helen. "Sam Wilson, this is SHIELD Deputy Director Maria Hill, and Dr. Helen Cho."

Sam shook hands with Maria, noted Helen's slightly reticent body language, and gave her a nod. "Steve's been telling me a little about SHIELD," he said to Maria.

"Did he also tell you that he's been ducking my attempts to give him a job?" Maria asked tiredly.

"Yeah, he mentioned that too."

"Do you want a job with SHIELD?" Maria asked.

Sam smiled. "At the risk of sounding indelicate," and he gave Helen another nod, "No way in hell, ma'am. I just got out of the Air Force, I'm not looking to get roped back in."

"He could be Captain America," Allison said. "If Steve wants to hang up the shield. We can re-form the Avengers."

"With who?" Maria demanded.

"We've already got Hawkeye and Black Widow. Thor might be busy, and Dr. Banner probably wants to avoid any undue aggravation, but with Captain America and Iron Man, that's a good start."

"Anyone else?" Natasha asked, re-entering the room with Allison's laptop.

"Me," Allison said, and grinned. "I'll be team leader."

"An eighteen-year-old superhero in charge of a team of misfits and cranks," Maria said.

"Do you have a better idea?"

"Several. Starting with leaving."

Natasha handed Allison the laptop. "Come on, Clint's going to get the quinjet ready so we can leave in fifteen minutes."

"Why the rush?" Allison asked, stuffing the laptop back into her bag.

"I don't want the FBI to come up with a reason to detain you."

Allison slung her backpack over her shoulders. "Sam, it's been fun. Steve, see you in Los Angeles."

"Allison," Steve said. "This explanation had better be a good one."

 _It'll be a doozy._ "Of course."

Natasha hooked her arm through Allison's and hauled her out of the lounge. Maria and Helen were on their heels. "You're more trouble than one person should possibly be," Natasha said in her ear.

"I doubt that, you've met Tony." Allison let herself be guided. There was so much she had to think over, so much she had to untangle, but first she needed to put a continent's worth of space between her and Alexander Pierce. "Hey, wait. If you're Scully and I'm Mulder, does that mean that Maria is Skinner?"

From behind them, Maria said, "Natasha, are you sure you want to go back to Beacon Hills with this one?"

"Yes," Natasha said without a pause. "She keeps things interesting."

"Much like Fox Mulder."

"Stop with the X-Files quips."

"Fine." Allison took a few more steps. "Statler and Waldorf from the Muppet Show."

Natasha's annoyed sigh was music in Allison's ears.

In the car on the way back to SHIELD headquarters, Allison ran a quick review. Sam and Steve were as safe in each other's company as they could be. Maria would get someone trustworthy to protect Helen Cho, and hopefully the suggestion of Sharon Carter would be picked up. Natasha was taking Allison back to Beacon Hills. Tony and Pepper were as safe as they could be in Malibu. As for Rhodey, he and Tony would be talking at every turn.

But in spite of all of that, and of the warm Washington afternoon, Allison felt cold inside. She had faced evil that morning, wrapped up in the form of Alexander Pierce. That meeting had driven home to Allison that she was on her own in the past.

But that wasn't something she could change. She had to roll the dice that she had. And she knew her mission. Stop the Snap. Stop Thanos.

And save everyone that she could along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Allison in Washington: I am succeeding in the role of a teenage science prodigy. I am totally believable.  
> Everyone else in Washington:  
> 
> 
>  
> 
>   
> 
> 
>   
> Federal Bureau of Investigation Director Theodore "Ted" Straker: Actually, I knew Howard Stark. This is exactly what I'd expect from his eighteen-year-old granddaughter.
> 
> Sorry I missed last week's posting date, but I'm in the middle of job hunting and it delayed things. I will see everyone next Sunday, when hopefully I have a resolution on the job thing.
> 
> Thanks to everyone on tumblr on [this thread](https://mhalachai.tumblr.com/post/189520344137/hey-everyone-i-need-some-iconic-duos-where-one) who helped me find a whole bunch of iconic duos for this chapter!
> 
> Next up: Chris Argent is having a terrible, _terrible_ week.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allison tries to deal with the banal realities of her life, including a lack of money, a lack of respect, and a worrying lack of sleep. Meanwhile across Beacon Hills, Chris Argent is having a terrible, terrible week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK a note because this has come up a few times in comments so I thought I should clarify – Allison is not pregnant. Her physical symptoms stem from other issues (lack of sleep, repeated trauma, not eating enough, etc), but not a surprise pregnancy because nope, nope and nope again.
> 
> Content notes: Brief mention of self-harm, anxiety over money, and references to past child abuse.

* * *

Allison was pulled back to consciousness with a jerk. " _Karagandy_ , report in," she called out, groping for her headset. But no, that wasn't right. The _Karagandy_ had gone down around Eta Cephei in 2036, all hands lost, and they had never been able to figure out what had ripped the ship out of the sky.

Allison dug her hands into the tangled sheets, trying to pull her mind back to her current reality. It was 2012, and she was in Beacon Hills, and she'd spent the previous day flying back and forth to Washington. Now she was home, in the Stilinski house, in her room. The sky outside the half-covered window was black.

And unfortunately, she was awake.

Letting go of the sheets, Allison curled up into a ball. She was so tired she wanted to throw up. She'd barely gotten any rest, and what little sleep she had managed had been terrorized by vicious nightmares. She could still hear the faint metallic edge of Bucky's screams echo in her mind. She hated it. She hated it so much, but there was nothing she could do.

She was so tired.

After the worst of the nausea faded, Allison made herself sit up. The clock showed _5:18 A.M._ in ugly green numbers. She'd been in bed for nearly ten hours, and she felt worse than she had the previous night.

But it didn't matter.

Allison reached for the bedside lamp. The light made her eyes burn, but she just blinked as she reached for her laptop. If she wasn't sleeping, she might as well get some work done.

Her messages had blown up overnight. The pack group chat was full of talk about Lydia and Isaac winning the junior year student council election amid more blather about Derek's cat. Cora had joined the group chat, and was keen on gathering any and all stories about Derek. Allison skimmed the chat history quickly before going on to the rest.

Lydia had been strangely silent for winning the student council election, and Allison made a note to talk to the girl at school that morning to see what was wrong. Erica had sent a few pictures from school, mostly of Stiles trying to study while unaware Erica was photographing him. The shots were silly and fun and miles removed from anything Allison had been doing the previous day, buried in FBI headquarters with Dr. Maya Hansen or surrounded by Hydra in the belly of SHIELD.

Jarvis had replaced her text history with Peter as soon as the quinjet landed in Beacon Hills, and Allison read back through those messages. She paused on the pictures they had exchanged a week before, the one of her in bed, messy and half-asleep, and Peter on his couch. It had been a day and a half since she had seen Peter, since he had saved her life in the living room, and she missed him so much it hurt.

Allison was about to move on to her messages with Jarvis when a terrible thought occurred to her. Jarvis has shared their chat history with Tony, that much was apparent, but what about everything else on this laptop? Had Tony seen her messages with Peter? With Anna?

 _Jarvis_ , Allison quickly typed.

_Good morning, Allison._

Allison bit her thumbnail. _Does Tony have access to my account on this laptop?_

 _No, he does not,_ Jarvis replied immediately. _Your privacy is one of my foremost priorities._

Okay. Allison put her hands over her face for a moment. Not that she was hiding anything, but she wasn't sure that she wanted Tony reading her personal messages. Anna, Peter, her friends… they were hers.

After a minute, she lowered her hands. _Thanks._ _I don't have a lot right now, these conversations with everyone are about it._ She considered. _That, and a handful of knives and a couple of axes._

_If you are in need of money, I can arrange for funds to be deposited into your bank account._

_No._ A curl of anger burned hot in her stomach. _I don't need Tony's money._ She bit her thumbnail again. Damn it, she was starting to take on too many of Stiles' nervous ticks. _In fact, I'm going to pay you back for the gift cards. And I'll send back the necklace._

 _Those were gifts, from me to you,_ Jarvis countered. _They were given without any expectation or obligation._

 _That's not how it works._ Allison pulled up her online banking information. With her hours at the sheriff's station, and the fact that her clothes kept getting destroyed on a regular basis, it was probably going to take her several months to find six hundred dollars. _I'll try before Christmas._

_Allison, I say again, those were gifts._

_That you bought with Tony's money._

_Why do you not want to accept anything of his?_

_I don't need charity._

There was a pause in the reply, too long. Allison got out of bed and walked over to her closet. Her stomach was churning and she felt cold. Hadn't this been her problem the previous day? Nausea and cold? She pulled clean jeans and yet another one of Stiles' t-shirts off hangers and tossed them on the foot of the bed. Then she reached into the dresser and pulled out her little throwing knife. Making sure the laptop camera was facing the other way, she quickly dug a line in the flesh of her forearm. Blood welled up, along with the familiar pain. The nausea faded slightly as Allison stared at her arm, the cut healing with the usual speed. It wasn't like Wednesday at all, when Peter's scratch had stayed open and unhealing.

She probably wasn't dying, then.

When the cut had closed, Allison licked the blood off her arm and the knife point before putting the knife back in the drawer. As she did so, her fingers brushed the folded square of shadow silk that had lain there for the last week. Carefully, Allison picked it up. The fabric felt warm and as soft as shadows around firelight.

A shiver ran through her body. She needed to stop overthinking everything. If she was cold, and this fabric was warm, why didn't she just put it over her shoulders? Just because it was one of the rarest things in the universe didn't mean she shouldn't use it.

Feeling a little nervous, Allison unfolded the fabric until the square was almost five feet across. The thickness of the folded fabric had hardly changed, and Allison wondered how many times she could unfold it before she was down to one layer.

But then, how thick was a shadow? How much did light, or the absence of it, weigh?

Allison shook her head. Be it philosophy or physics, she didn't have time for the questions to distract her now. She had larger problems to deal with than the nature of reality.

She folded the square into a triangle, then draped the makeshift shawl over her shoulders. It was like being wrapped up in warmth, in comfort, in love, and Allison did not understand, she didn't understand at all. It was just cloth. It shouldn't make her feel like she was safe.

Not wanting to think about why her chest hurt, Allison went back to the bed. In her absence, Jarvis had written several sentences to her.

_May I ask how you consider what I have given you as charity? I intended them as gifts. This may fall down to a difference in definitions, or perhaps my programming has been focused on a particular area. I must confess, that while I acknowledge a possible privileged bias, I do seek to broaden my understanding based on the experiences of others._

Allison sighed, tucked the corners of the shawl around her, and reached for the keyboard. _I don't know how to explain this, not really. To me, a gift is something given between equals. Stiles gave me an axe for my birthday and I'll get him something in the same price range for his birthday. Charity is when the power disparity between giver and recipient is very different. I don't need charity. I can manage on my own._

_One could argue that Mr. Stark, as your father, should provide for you._

Allison stared at the words for a long time. Was Tony involved in this conversation on Jarvis's end? Was he making Jarvis write these things to her? She bit the flesh of her palm until the urge to punch something faded. _I'm 18 and Mr. Stark has no legal obligation towards me, financial or otherwise._

_And if Mr. Stark wishes to provide for you, financially?_

_Two days ago he looked me in the face and asked it I was trying to weaponize Extremis,_ Allison wrote. _I can't see him wanting to give lunch money to a potential enemy of the state._

_I truly do not believe that he feels that way about you._

Allison had to take a moment to breathe. _I appreciate that, Jarvis. But it's what he said. I don't know what else I can do to make him believe that I'm trying to help people._

_May I ask what is different between accepting money and hospitality from Sheriff Stilinski, and refusing the same from Mr. Stark?_

Allison's hands stilled. She swallowed down on the flutter of anxiety in her stomach. _You're right,_ she typed slowly. _Not a damned thing._

_Then may I suggest that I approach Mr. Stark with a request for living expenses for yourself?_

_No. And I have to get ready for school._ Before Jarvis could respond, Allison closed the laptop. Her chest hurt, her head hurt, her stomach hurt. Jarvis was right. It wasn't fair of her to accept such charity from Noah, not when he had far less means at his disposal than Tony did.

Allison stood up. She had some money left in her duffle bag, that she'd been saving in case of emergency, but with that, and the minuscule amount left in her bank account, and the paycheck she'd be getting later that day, it would be a start.

She'd send the necklace back to Jarvis. Maybe she could ask Natasha if the woman was going back to LA in the near future, to take the necklace with her to save on postage.

Allison went back to the dresser and pulled out the necklace Peter had given her for her birthday. This, she was keeping. This, she would wear, and she could know that Peter wanted her to have it, wanted her to wear something of his. She touched the ruby for a moment, then let her hands drift over to the ring. She picked it up and idly slid it onto her right hand. In the faded yellow light from the lamp, the silver almost glowed on her finger.

Allison closed her hand into a fist. This was hers. Peter had given it to her, his mother's ring, a reminder of Allison's responsibilities to this town, to her pack, to the land the Hales had lived and died protecting. Peter understood her.

She closed the drawer. The thought of Peter was enough to remind her that the full moon was the next day, Saturday. She would have to talk to Derek to see how the pack were handling everything, if he needed her to sit up with anyone who was having trouble controlling the wolf.

All right. She had a clear plan with executable goals. Start paying Noah back. Keep the wolves and the rest of Beacon Hills safe. Get dressed, and go to school. It was a start. And if any developments came up with Extremis during the day that required her input, Jarvis could text her.

Everything went according to plan through an early-morning shower, getting dressed, and going downstairs to make coffee. The house was quiet, although Allison could hear Noah moving around upstairs. Allison made coffee, then, as the fridge was devoid of leftovers after Stiles' post-lacrosse binge the previous day, started digging out ingredients to make an egg casserole.

In fact, everything was going along swimmingly until Allison accidentally knocked a pile of mail off the counter with the edge of her shawl on her way to get a baking pan. Allison put the dish on the counter before going to gather up the envelopes. Mostly everything was for Noah, bills and more bills, but near the bottom of the pile was an envelope addressed to _Allison Argent_. It was from Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital.

Mouth dry, Allison put the rest of the mail back on the counter, then opened the envelope. It contained a bill from her time in the hospital after the whole Dupont mess for the blood tests, the doctor's examination and the blood transfusion itself. There were far too many digits in that final number.

Allison wanted to throw up. She'd forgotten about this, and if the bill was coming in from the Dupont thing, there would be another coming her way from the ambulance ride and the ER visit on Tuesday. Thank god she had left before anyone could make her get a CT scan.

How the hell was she going to pay this? She barely had a fraction of that much money, even with her latest paycheck. She'd joked about having to drop out of high school to work full-time, but how else was she going to pay this bill? She'd just told Jarvis that she wasn't going to accept any money from Tony. Her mother's family was out of the question for werewolf political reasons. She sure as hell couldn't ask Noah. So what could she do? Noah had been adamant that he wasn't going to give her any more hours at the station. She didn't have a high school diploma. Even working two jobs at minimum wage, it would take her months to make this much money, and that was before taxes.

She didn't know what she was going to do.

"Allison?" Allison looked up. Noah was standing on the other side of the kitchen, looking down at her in alarm. "What happened?"

"Nothing." Allison managed to stand, the bill clutched in her hand. "I knocked the mail over, I didn't mean to, but I saw this and I opened it and I didn't know this is how much things cost, I mean I know we had insurance when I was a kid when I was in the hospital but I didn't ever see the bills, I didn't know."

"It's okay," Noah said, holding both his hands out in front of him as he approached. "Allison, can you take a deep breath for me?"

"I'll pay it," Allison said, stepping back against the cupboards. She crumpled the bill up in her hand without thinking. "I can pay it. I'll quit school, I can get a better job, I can pay it."

"Allison." Very slowly, Noah pulled the paper out of Allison's grip. She let him, never taking her eyes off his hands. "You're not dropping out of school."

"How else am I going to pay for that?" Allison asked, pulling her shawl tight around her shoulders. "And the one I'm going to get from what happened on Tuesday?"

"Don't worry about it." Noah pulled Allison's chair out from the table. "How about you sit down? I'll get you some coffee."

Allison didn't move. "How can I not worry about it?" she demanded.

"Allison, please sit down."

"I have to make breakfast." Allison made herself walk over to the counter where she had left the ingredients. "Stiles had lacrosse yesterday, he's going to be hungry."

Noah smoothed out the paper of the bill. "Jesus," he muttered. "And I thought my co-pay was bad." He put the bill on the table. "Allison, you don't have to make breakfast. Stiles isn't even up."

Allison stared down at the carton of eggs. "I was going to make a breakfast casserole."

"That's really nice of you." Noah edged around to the coffee pot. "But how about we save that for tomorrow, and we can just scramble up some eggs when Stiles gets down here? Get us a couple of mugs. We'll sit down."

Allison blinked at the eggs. She didn't want coffee. She didn't want to make breakfast. She didn't want to be awake. "Okay."

It took them a few minutes, but eventually both Allison and Noah were seated, sipping coffee. Well. Noah was drinking his coffee, Allison was staring at the steaming mug in front of her, her legs pulled up to her chest, as she tried to calm down.

"Can I tell you something I haven't even told Stiles?" Noah said after a while.

"Sure."

Noah put his mug down and stared into it. "After Claudia died, things, uh. Things got fucked up."

Allison watched him.

"I was going through some shit, and started drinking." Noah turned the mug around a half circle. "And I wasn't there for Stiles the way he needed me to be, and I'm never going to be able to walk back on that." He turned the mug again. "Part of it was that I kept getting bills from the hospital and the insurance company. My wife hadn't even been dead for a month, and they just kept asking for money."

"I'm sorry."

Noah shook his head. "Don't be. I was an adult, I should have handled things better." He took a sip of coffee. "But I kept fucking things up, and we nearly lost the house."

Allison held herself still. Stiles had been such a sensitive kid; was Noah sure he didn't know any of this?

"When I got a letter from the bank threatening to foreclose on the mortgage, that was the punch in the head that I needed. I got an accountant to help me, we started talking to the insurance company and the hospital and the bank, and after a rough patch, I got everything sorted out. Now the mortgage is paid off and I've got money going into Stiles' college fund."

Allison rubbed her eyes. "And you did it all with a full-time job that had medical and dental benefits. Which I do not have."

"That wasn't the point of the story."

Allison picked up her mug. "Then what was?"

"That there's always a way to deal with insurance companies and hospitals." He picked up the bill again. "Even when absolutely everything feels like a disaster. There's always a way. We can probably get this down to practically nothing."

"Practically nothing of far too much is still more money than I have."

Noah put the paper down with a sigh. "Allison, you're eighteen. I can't stop you from dropping out of school, but I really, really think you should stay."

"What's the point?" Allison asked listlessly. "So I can get into college? How am I going to pay for that?" She put her mug down. There was an echo in her head from that night's terrible dreams, of Bucky screaming, Bucky dying, and Allison hadn't been able to do anything about it.

Noah got up to fetch the coffee pot. "I know you said you weren't going to accept any money from your father until he pulled his head out of his ass, but—"

"No," Allison said repressively.

"But," Noah repeated. "What about your mother's family?" He sat down again. "You've been talking to your aunt a lot, right?"

"I can't," Allison said. "It's complicated."

"Anyone else?" Noah put the pot on the table trivet.

There was something in his voice that made Allison narrow her eyes. "Sheriff Stilinski?"

Noah met her gaze. "I'm thinking back to after you got the motorcycle, when we had a conversation about you getting money to pay Chris back."

"Yes?"

"Are we going to talk about Peter?"

Allison put her forehead down on her knees. "Can we not?" she asked, muffled.

"Can I make a request?"

Allison breathed for a moment, then lifted her head, ready for a fight. "What?"

"Before you go borrowing any money from Peter, can we just talk it through first?"

A hot flash of anger burned down Allison's spine. "Borrowing money from Peter isn't the end of the world, Noah."

"No, probably not," Noah said. "But the last time this subject came up and you were talking about it, you got real quiet afterwards."

"I know him better now."

"That was only three weeks ago."

"Like I said." Allison stood up. "Why not let Peter feel like he's contributing to my wellbeing?"

"Your father's the richest man in America and you won't take money from him, but you will from someone like Peter Hale?"

Allison yanked the fridge open with a little too much force. "Peter," she snapped, "Never accused me of working with terrorists." She grabbed the milk carton. "Peter never accused me of stealing from him." She put the milk on the table and dropped back into her chair. "Peter didn't spend four weeks listening into conversations I was having with other people and never said a single fucking word to me."

Noah reached for the milk. "Was Tony listening in on your conversations?" he asked, frowning.

"Just the ones I was having with Jarvis," Allison said, slouching over her mug. "Peter might be weird and creepy, Noah, but he also understands me better than most anyone else in this town. If I asked him for money, he'd understand why."

"So you'd be willing to put up with a few years of, what, irritating psychological barbs rather than deal with your father?"

Damn it, Allison hated how Noah had such good recall on details like that. "Noah, I'd rather owe money to someone who looks at me and knows that everything I do is to protect people, than someone who looks at his daughter, who looks exactly like his dead fiancée, and think to himself, hmm, you know what? She sort of looks like someone who'd willingly help out a Nazi."

Noah looked at her for a long moment, then nodded. "Okay."

"Okay, what?" Allison asked, confused.

"I get it." Noah poured some milk into his mug. "Still, if you feel like you're at the point where you're going to borrow money from Peter, talk to me, okay?"

Allison tried to figure out what Noah's catch was. "Okay."

"Thanks." Noah took another long sip of coffee. "So. Let's talk about work."

"I know I was supposed to put in the hours on Wednesday and Thursday this week," Allison said. "But with everything that happened… do you want me to go in tonight?"

"No, how about we give you a break until Monday?" Noah suggested. "Take the weekend off."

Allison looked at him. "I just told you that I'm willing to drop out of school to work full time, and your idea is to keep me from working this weekend?"

"How much sleep did you get last night?" Noah asked instead of responding. "I know you went to bed at seven, but how much actual sleep did you get?"

Allison bit at her lip. "Tonnes," she lied.

"With everything that happened this week, why don't you want to take a break?"

Allison tapped the hospital bill pointedly.

Noah looked at her. "Those cold cases aren't going anywhere," he said with a level of gentleness that made Allison's chest hurt. "In the last five days, you were attacked and nearly killed, then nearly died again, met your father for the first time, and flew to Washington to face off with an accused terrorist. I'm willing to bet you haven't gotten nearly enough sleep for a normal week, let alone such a terrible one."

"I don't need sleep," Allison muttered.

"Allison, you've been working non-stop since school started. Either it's school, or it's the station. It's not healthy."

Overhead, Stiles' alarm went off. There was a slap, a thud, and Stiles' voice drifted through the quiet house with, "I hate mornings."

"I'm not working this weekend, either," Noah soldiered on. "How about the three of us do household things?"

Allison fiddled with the edge of her shawl. "Like what?"

"Grocery shopping. We can do a bit of clothes shopping, too. You were right, Stiles could use a new suit."

Unbidden, Allison felt the corner of her mouth turn up a bit. "He's put on muscle since last year, hasn't he?" she asked. "All that lacrosse."

"And maybe some stuff for you," Noah said. "I know you're down to a few things…"

With a sickening thump, Allison remembered the conversation she'd had with Jarvis that morning. She scrubbed at her eyes. "I need to pay Jarvis back for those gift cards."

"Why?" Noah asked.

"Because he bought them with Tony's money." Allison reached for her coffee again. It had grown cold.

"Didn't his note say they were supposed to help you out a bit?"

"I'm pretty sure he didn't ask Tony if he could do it." Allison listened to Stiles' uneven progress across his bedroom and out into the hall. "If it was just Jarvis, that would be fine, but I can't. Not now."

"So you scrape together six hundred dollars, then what?"

"Then I ask Natasha if she can take the money and that necklace back to Malibu."

"What about the laptop and your phone?"

Allison's stomach sank lower. Noah was right. She should give Tony back his laptop, and the cell phone Jarvis sent her. "Okay."

"No, that wasn't what I meant," Noah said as Stiles shambled into the kitchen. The boy took one look at the scene before him, and slumped into the chair between Allison and his father. "Why don't you keep them for now, okay? They're helping you, right?"

"With Extremis," Allison said. "Tony got someone in to help with that. They don't need me anymore."

"What about school?" Stiles asked. He was still blinking sleep out of his eyes, but he was very clearly trying to get up to speed.

"What about it?"

Stiles shrugged. "Essays. Research. Typing."

"I think you should keep all the things that Jarvis gave you," Noah said. "At least for now. If your father makes a stink out of things later, then we'll deal with it. You and me."

Allison fiddled with her ring. "I'm tired of trying to second guess everything," she said after a minute.

"I get that." Noah stood, clapping Stiles on the shoulder as he did so. "Now, I've got two growing teenagers here who need breakfast before school. Stiles?"

"Dad?"

"Making the eggs, or setting the table?"

"Table," Stiles said, and got up.

Allison knew she should do something to help, but she was tired, and Bucky's screaming still echoed in her brain.

Maybe that was what made everything so much more terrible. Bucky was stuck in a Hydra cryo tank, while Alexander Pierce walked around Washington like he owned the place, which, in a way he did. Tony was focused on Extremis, and Steve Rogers was not taking the whole Hydra thing as seriously as he should.

Allison felt like she was on her own, facing down the entirety of Hydra, and it made her want to cry.

But she didn't have time for tears. Allison made herself sit up, straightening her spine. If she had to take down Hydra on her own, then fine. She'd do it. If she had to pay back the Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital, Noah Stilinski, and Tony Stark all while working minimum wage, she'd do it.

"So," Allison said, standing and slipping past Stiles. "I'll make toast."

"I like mine cut on the diagonal," Stiles said, gesturing with a fork. "Crusts off."

"Stiles," Noah said in exasperation.

Allison pulled the bread bag from the box and pulled out a piece. "Crusts off?" she asked, then, without breaking eye contact with Stiles, ate the crust off the slice, bite by bite.

Stiles made a horrified face. "Fine, I'll eat my own crusts," he said, shaking his head.

"You should." Allison crammed the rest of the slice into her mouth. "Eat crusts, grow big and strong like bull." She dropped another slice of bread into the toaster.

Noah sighed from the stove. "Sometimes, I miss working nights," he said.

"Then you'd just have to make us breakfast when you got home, not before you leave." Stiles went to get himself some coffee. "Allison, what are you going to say when everyone asks why you weren't in school yesterday?"

"Tell them I had to go to Washington DC to help the FBI in a domestic terrorism investigation."

Stiles emerged from the cupboard. "No, really?"

"No." Allison popped the toast up and put in new slices. "Really."

"What if the principal calls you on it?"

"Then I'll get the Director of the FBI to write me a note." Allison looked up to see Stiles and Noah staring at her. "What? I saved his ass a whole lot of trouble with Maya Hansen, he can keep me out of trouble with the Beacon Hills School District."

Stiles grinned a little giddily at his father. "Can we keep her?" he asked.

Noah slapped Stiles' shoulder. "Of course we can," Noah said. "As long as she wants to stay."

Allison smiled, a little happiness edging into her heart. Things were pretty terrible all around, but Allison had Noah and Stiles in her camp, and that was something she was never, ever going to take for granted.

* * *

The drive into school helped to clear her head. Allison had planned on trying to find Lydia to see what was up with the girl, but as soon as she drove into the parking lot, she was disheartened to see Jackson, leaning against his Porsche and staring directly at her.

"Please be a problem with the Kanima," Allison muttered under her breath as she parked. The last thing she needed to deal with on the night before a full moon was Jackson's romantic problems.

No such luck. As Allison walked over, Jackson crossed his arms over his chest. "You're Lydia's friend," he said without preamble.

"I am," Allison said, putting her helmet on Jackson's hood. "This had better be good."

Jackson ran his tongue over his lower lip. He smelled nervous and tense. "What would you do to me if I did something that really, really hurt Lydia?"

Suddenly very alert, Allison took a step forward. "What happened?" she demanded, voice dropping into alpha mode.

"Nothing!" Jackson yelped. "Nothing, she's fine! This is all… theoretical."

Allison eased off the power. "Start talking," she said.

"Okay." Jackson rubbed his hand over his mouth. "What if, in theory, I did something because I had to do something, and it really hurt Lydia's feelings?"

"Hurt her feelings like you stopped talking to her?" Allison asked. "Or you started dating someone else?"

The way Jackson froze at the second suggestion gave her the answer. "What do you mean? Did Isaac say something to you?"

Allison went still. "Oh my god," she breathed. "Tell me that you are not dating _Isaac."_

"What?" Jackson squeaked. "No!"

"Thank god," Allison said, leaning against the Porsche in relief. "Lydia's been spending so much time with Isaac for student council, I think she might actually kill you both."

Jackson perched on the car beside Allison. He looked like he was holding it together, but as he leaned against Allison, she could feel him vibrating. "Why… why do you think I'd be dating Isaac?"

Allison hooked her arm through Jackson's. "You can tell me anything you want to," she said quietly.

"But you're Lydia's friend," Jackson said, looking off into the forest surrounding the parking lot.

"Lydia is my friend," Allison agreed. "But you're pack. You're my pack, and I'm going to do everything I can to keep you safe and happy."

Jackson was quiet for a while, as more and more kids drove into the parking lot, as the school bus trundled in. "I told my parents last night," he finally said. "I thought… I mean, they were okay with it. My dad said he just wanted me to be happy. And my mom hugged me."

"What did you tell them?" Allison asked, projecting alpha warmth and affection at Jackson.

Jackson looked down at Allison's hand, gently touching the ring on her middle finger. "That I wanted to date boys."

Allison squeezed Jackson's arm. "Good for you."

He breathed out, laughing a little in surprise. "I mean, I love Lydia. I do. I think I always will. But since I died… things have been different."

"That happens a lot," Allison said in sympathy. "Sometimes, when you go through a really traumatic experience, relationships change. And you've both been through some very major things over the last year."

Jackson nodded. "Do you think Lydia's going to be okay with this?"

Here Allison had to tread carefully, because she'd been through this before. When Jackson came out of the closet in their senior year, Lydia had already moved on. But now, here, everything with Dupont was still so close to them. "I think that being honest with Lydia is your best option," she said slowly. "But Lydia still might be upset. I think you should try to be as nice as you can and explain that you need to spend some time focusing on figuring out who you are."

"But what if she gets mad at me?" Jackson asked. "Or starts crying?"

"Would you rather string her along? Lie to her?" Allison asked, eyebrows up.

"No," Jackson said.

"Good." Allison leaned in to kiss his forehead. "Come on. Class starts soon."

"Okay. Where did you get the ring?" Jackson asked, shouldering his backpack.

"Peter." Allison picked up her helmet.

"It's weird."

"It was his mother's."

Jackson's eyebrows wriggled. "Is _that_ weird?"

"No, it isn't," Allison said firmly. She unzipped her jacket, adjusted the shadow silk around her neck where she had rolled it up into a scarf, and took Jackson's arm again. "Come on, I have to go abase myself before Lydia for missing her electoral victory yesterday."

"Where were you yesterday?" Jackson asked as they walked up to the school. "Stiles wouldn't tell anyone."

"I had to go to Washington," Allison said, striding through the front doors. "I'm helping the FBI and the CDC deweaponize that thing that was making all those guys explode."

Jackson frowned at her. "That smelled like you were telling the truth."

"I am."

"But that's crazy."

"There are more things in heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy," Allison quoted as they headed up the stairs to their lockers.

"Still sounds crazy."

"That's my life," Allison agreed. "All right. Friday, day before the full moon. Let's do this."

Jackson grinned, his eyes flashing just a little more blue than normal. "Here we go," he agreed.

### Chris Argent

Chris was having a _terrible_ week.

Monday had been Allison's birthday, and Chris had spent the night trying to avoid thinking about his daughter, and the presents he'd bought for her, still wrapped and tucked away in his closet. For weeks, he had been telling himself that once Dupont left town, left them alone, he could bring Allison home and they could fix things, make things better. Only now that was all gone, hopes disintegrated into dust after he found out that Allison wasn't Victoria's daughter. In the end, he'd swallowed most of a bottle of bourbon and passed out on the couch.

On Tuesday, he'd been arguing with Paul, who had _known Allison her entire life_ , about how Allison wasn't a monster, when news came in that Allison had been attacked by the most wanted terrorist in North America and was in the hospital. Paul's comment that that was about what girls like Allison could expect had nearly driven Chris over the edge, but luckily Mike had been there to keep Chris from punching Paul.

Then Chris told Paul, a man he'd worked with for almost twenty years, to get out of town. Paul's parting comment was that Chris was perverting the entire legacy of his family for a girl who wasn't even his, which hit far too close to the bone, but then Paul was gone and Mike offered to find some place Paul could go that would get him out of the state, at least.

Chris had sat up all night, waiting for any word on Allison, knowing he would get none, unable to even call Stilinski to find out how Allison was doing. His lawyer had told him that under no circumstances was Chris allowed to see Allison until the FBI investigation was over, and that gnawed at him night and day. He'd raised her, held her hand while she took her first steps, taught her how to ride a bicycle, strip a handgun, drive a car. Allison was his daughter and nothing was ever going to change that.

They'd had a meeting on Wednesday, the Hunters left in town. Everyone else was on board with letting Allison be, while they figured out what a Human Alpha might do. Mike volunteered to go see her, and had reported back that she looked like hell but was moving around okay.

He'd also told Chris that Tony Stark was at the Stilinski house.

Chris had expected it, that Allison's birth father would show up in town. Why wouldn't he? Allison was the most amazing kid, anyone would be lucky to call her their own. She was intense and quick and funny, and even if she wasn't all that book-smart, she was brilliant at piecing things together, seeing patterns, understanding things. She had always been a lot like Chris in that regard.

So Chris completely expected to hear that Tony Stark was going to take Allison away from Beacon Hills, and that drove him back into the bottle of bourbon.

Then at midnight, Allison had called him. _Allison_ had called _him_ , after everything that had happened. He had been pretty drunk, and his recollection was a little hazy, but Allison had told him she was going to Washington to help the FBI with some counterterrorism activities, which seemed insane, but he'd dug out Saul's briefing notes for the area just in case.

Allison had also said that Tony Stark had left town in a hurry, which didn't make sense, but Chris was going to chalk that up to the drinking. Then Allison had scolded him into going to bed, and he had.

He woke up on Thursday with a killer hangover and a lot of confusion. But he had to go into the office, so after throwing up, showering, trying to eat breakfast and throwing up again, he knocked back a few Advil with too-strong black coffee and drove to work.  After starting in on the backlog of paperwork, and talking to the head of the Hunters in Colorado Springs who had agreed to take Paul in, Chris wandered back to the workshop, where Mike was in the middle of designing a custom order.

"How's it going?" Chris asked, wishing the pounding in his head would stop.

"Fine, although the barrel length isn't ideal." Mike turned away from the computer. "Should be ready to start putting it together next week."

"Okay."

"How's everything else?" Mike asked.

"Great." Chris rubbed his eyes. Saul was at his desk in the corner, working on some research project. Chris still wasn't entirely sure how Saul had ended up on his team, all those years before. The man had shown up one day and just never left. Chris didn't have any idea of his antecedents or background, which was abnormal in a Hunter, but he was brilliant at research and finding things out, could handle a gun, and never hesitated to walk into a fight. "Saul?"

"Looking into the Alpha pack for Allison," Saul said without looking up.

"Find anything?"

"Rumours."

Chris and Mike exchanged a glance. It was never a good sign, when Saul started following rumours. "Of what?" Chris asked.

"Werewolf packs turning up dead, with their alphas missing." Saul scribbled something on his notepad. "Just a few so far, few and far between."

"From the sounds of things, Allison was right," Mike said.

"I'll keep looking." Saul went back to his work.

Chris and Mike exchanged another glance. "Did Allison ever mention anything about this to you?" Mike asked.

Chris shook his head. "I can't figure out when she would have heard about this. It's not the sort of thing I'd expect Derek Hale to tell her about."

"Something could have come up at the sheriff's station. You told me she's been working there since the start of the month, right?"

"Right." Chris leaned against a workbench. "But this wouldn't have come across Stilinski's desk, not if Saul's still working off rumours."

"Her, uh, mother's family?" Mike asked delicately. "You said her aunt was in town last week. Maybe she brought it up?"

Chris flashed back to that meeting in the sheriff's station, at seeing the woman who looked so very much like Allison, and at the murder in her eyes when she saw him. Then Allison had been there between them, protective and exasperated and so alive.

And Chris also remembered the way Anna Vasquez had looked at Allison, with that mix of confusion and hope and the memory of pain. It was an expression Chris had seen on Allison's face far, far too often.

"I don't know," he finally said. "It wouldn't make any sense. Not for a first meeting, and not unless there was a clear and serious danger. What do we know about the Vasquez pack?"

In response, Saul handed Chris a sheaf of papers. It was an updated history of the Los Angeles werewolf pack, which had been remarkably stable since 2009. Most Hunters gave the area a skip, as the Vasquez pack had most supernatural violence in the area locked down. Chris let his eyes skim over the words, decided he needed a drink to deal with this properly, and took the packet with him.

"Anything stirring around town?" Chris asked.

"Not much. It's a full moon on Saturday, but the last few have been pretty quiet. The Hale pack is pretty tame these days."

"No one new in town?"

"No one who's kicking up a fuss."

"Keep an ear to the ground," Chris said.

"Do you want us to keep Allison in the loop?" Mike asked. Saul's pen slowed.

Chris straightened up, ignoring the sloshing in his stomach. "Please do," he said. "Whatever's going on these days, she should know. I don't know what she'll do, but she should know."

"Sure thing," Mike said, looking relieved. Saul started writing again.

"Why are you set on keeping Allison involved with this?" Chris asked, suddenly curious.

Mike shrugged. "You know where I came from," he said. Mike's previous Hunter clan was known for being somewhat… zealous. "That was never my thing. What Allison's been talking about? Protecting people?" He shrugged again. "It makes sense."

Chris nodded. Mike had never said much about it, but he had been one of the ones most opposed to the direction Gerard had taken everyone, especially after Victoria's death.

"Anyway, I should get back to this, if I want to get to the machining by Monday."

"Right." Chris pushed off the bench, taking the papers with him. "I'll be in the office, I've got to prepare for those new clients tomorrow."

"They can't meet you during regular hours?"

"They said they're only going to be in town tomorrow, so." Chris's phone rang, and he put the papers down to dig it out of his pocket. "We're not in a place to turn down clients."

"More's the pity," Mike said.

The number on the screen was an unfamiliar one. Chris tapped the answer button. "Hello?"

On the other end of the line was a pause, then a familiar and deeply unwanted voice said, "Chris Argent."

Chris's hand tightened around the phone. "Peter." Around him, Mike and Saul both stopped what they were doing. "What do you want?"

"So many things," Peter drawled. "None of which you're going to be able to give me, outside of leaving town and never coming back."

"If you called to threaten me—"

"Oh, that's not why I called," Peter interrupted. "But I could, if you want, for old time's sake."

"What do you want?" Chris asked again.

"My niece told me that one of your Hunters came to visit Allison yesterday."

Chris's mind raced. What was Peter's game? What did he want? It was no secret that Mike was one of Chris's men, or that he'd been to see Allison. "Yes," Chris said cautiously. "What about it?"

"Why didn't you go see her yourself?"

Chris let out a breath. He didn't want to play whatever game Peter was directing, but if there was any way that he could find out information about Allison, he'd have to do it. "My lawyer said I can't see Allison until the criminal investigation is over."

"Hmm." A pause. "You know the last time we spoke, and I asked you why Allison was so afraid of you?"

Chris was silent.

"She's not, not anymore," Peter went on. "That night in the sheriff's station, after Dupont spent all that time slicing into her body?"

Chris broke. "Stop it," he said. "Stop talking about her like that!"

"Like what?" Peter asked. "Like one of your kind held Allison down and slowly dragged a knife through her flesh? Do you think she screamed, Chris? Do you think she cried?"

Chris wrapped his free hand around the edge of the workbench, gripping so tight it hurt. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"After all that, when she went to tell you all about her real family, I asked her why you didn't scare her anymore, and she said that she was starting to think that you might not want her dead after all."

"Of course I don't want her dead, she's my daughter," Chris said before he thought.

"Ah," Peter said. "And that? Is why I'm calling."

Chris sat down on a work stool. Every part of him wanted to hang up on Peter, to stop this terrible conversation. He didn't want to hear Peter say Allison's name ever again, not in that smug, possessive tone.

"Your guy, did he tell you that Tony Stark was there?"

"Yes."

"Do you know what he said to Allison? This father of hers?"

"How could I know that?"

"All that work Allison has been doing on that terrorism stuff, and her father wants to know if Allison was going to use that to hurt people."

"What?" Chris demanded, incredulous. "Allison would never hurt anyone! All she wants to do is to protect people!"

"I know that, and you know that," Peter said. "And the man who lost his entire family eighteen years ago took one look at Allison, and somehow decided that either she was going to turn evil, or else she was so stupid that she wouldn't be able to see if she was being manipulated into doing the exact same thing."

"This is insane," Chris said. "You have to have this all wrong, why would anyone think that about Allison?"

"I don't have it wrong," Peter said. "Ask Stilinski, he was there." There was another pause. "To get to the point of my call, as all this was happening, do you know what Allison was doing?"

"What?"

"She sat there and took it. All these accusations flying at her, and she just sat there. Which made me a little bit worried, because I think we all know exactly how desperate Allison is for daddy's approval."

Something in Chris snapped. "And she's not getting that from you?"

The line went so quiet for a moment that Chris thought Peter had hung up. Then Peter said, in a voice so flat it set Chris's teeth on edge, "I had children, once. I watched my two-year-old children burn to death because _your sister_ thought they were animals. What Allison and I are doing has nothing to do with me being a father figure to her, do you understand?" He took a breath. "But Allison really wants someone's approval in her life, and since Stilinski isn't stepping up, I wanted to remind you that you have a golden opportunity here."

"To _what?"_

"Do you want to be in Allison's life?" Peter asked. "She's defending you to anyone who will listen, you know. She's completely and utterly convinced that you had nothing to do with her mother's murder or her kidnapping. She thinks you're honorable, Chris." This last was said with derision. "So when I see her faced with a birth father determined to see the worst in her, I can't help but think that Allison might be better off with you in her life."

"Where are you going with all this?"

Peter's sigh of exasperation echoed over the line. "Listen, you idiot. Call her up for Hunter business, ask how her day is going, talk about school, I don't know. And I don't care."

Chris ran his hand through his hair. "What exactly is in this for you?" he asked. "What's your angle?"

"No angle," Peter said. "No games, no tricks. All I want in life is for Allison to be happy. Because when Allison's happy? I'm happy." There was a pause. "Don't lose your chance on this."

The line went dead.

Chris lowered the phone. He took a moment to breathe. Both Mike and Saul were staring at him. "I," Chris said with deliberation. "Hate Peter Hale."

"What did he want?" Mike asked.

"I have no idea." Chris leaned back. "He said that Allison's birth father wasn't treating her right."

Mike frowned. "That doesn't make any sense. I can't see Stilinski putting up with that."

"I know." Chris looked down at his phone, replaying the conversation in his mind. Then he got stuck on Peter's smug tone when he said that when _Allison was happy, Peter was happy_ , and Chris's mind went in an absolutely terrible direction. "Fuck, I hate him so much."

"You know, we could, uh." Mike drew his thumb across his neck and made a popping sound. "For old time's sake."

"No," Chris said reluctantly. No matter how much he hated the idea that Peter had ever laid a hand on Allison, he wasn't going to be able to justify the man's murder to Allison based on one decidedly creepy phone call. "Not now, anyway. We'll keep an eye on things."

"How are you going to do that without being able to talk to her?" Mike asked.

Chris stood up. "She called me yesterday, she might call me again," he said. "If she's reaching out, no one can fault me for that."

"Let me know if you want me to swing by her place at all," Mike said.

"I'll think about it." Chris pocketed his phone. "I have work to do, check in before you go, okay?"

"Sure." Mike turned back to his computer.

Chris went out into the office and sat down, thinking hard. If he got beyond the smug innuendo from Peter, there had been a lot to worry about in what the man said. What was Tony Stark thinking, in assuming the worst of Allison? And why wasn't Stilinski doing anything about it?

He put his head into his hands. He didn't know what he was going to do. Peter's call was enough to set off every alarm bell he had, but he didn't know what to do. Maybe he would talk to Stilinski the next time he was at the sheriff's station. Maybe, if he timed it well, he could be there when Allison was working. Maybe he could see her, and talk to her, and see how she was doing.

He missed her so much.

Thursday passed, somehow. Chris worked until seven to clear out the backlog of paperwork, got home, microwaved a burrito and watched television until midnight. On the way to bed, he paused in the doorway of Allison's room, exactly as she had left it a month before. He'd been meaning to get her things together for her, to take over to Stilinski's, but that felt too much like letting go. And Chris wasn't ready to let go of his daughter quite yet.

Friday dawned cloudy. Chris made himself get out of bed at seven and go for a run, even though he didn't need to be anywhere until three, when the new clients would be at the office. That meant he was just finishing up breakfast when the apartment buzzer sounded. As he wasn't expecting anyone, Chris took the time to retrieve a handgun before answering. "Yes?"

"Sheriff Stilinski here," came Stilinski's voice over the line. "Can I come up?"

Chris's heart skipped a beat. Was this about Allison? Was she okay? "Is this an official visit?"

"No."

Chris breathed easier. "Fine." He pushed the button to open the front door, and put the handgun in an easily accessible drawer before going to answer the door. Stilinski wasn't alone when he got off the elevator; the red-headed female deputy from the locker room was with him. "Sheriff. Deputy."

"Mr. Argent."

Chris stood back to let them both into the apartment. "What's this about?"

Stilinski hooked his thumbs into his belt. The female deputy, with Rushman written on her nametag, stood a step behind him. "Mind if we sit down?"

"Is Allison okay?" Chris asked.

"Sort of," Stilinski said.

"He means yes," Rushman said.

"Yes," Stilinski said. He shot Rushman a look. "Can we sit?"

With a sigh, Chris went over to the couch. This was all too much like the last time Stilinski had been here, a month before. "Did Allison get home okay from Washington?"

Stilinski narrowed his eyes. "I thought you were supposed to be staying away from Allison, how did you know about that?"

"My fault," said Rushman. "I suggested she call Chris to see if there were going to be any problems with her being in DC."

Chris looked at the woman. Her green eyes were clear and glittering as she looked back. "You were with Allison?"

"I took her to Washington, yes." Rushman leaned against the arm of the couch. "You didn't think we were going to let the best mind we have in the fight against Extremis go into the lion's den alone, do you?"

Chris looked between Rushman and Stilinski. "What's going on?" he asked. "Why are you here? And what's going on with Allison?"

Stilinski sat, rubbing his hands together. "I take it you know that Allison's been in and out of the hospital a bit over the last little while," he said unexpectedly.

"Is she okay?"

"She's going to be," Rushman said. "She told you about what she is, right?"

Chris went still. How much did they know, these two? Would they protect Allison? Would they keep her safe?

"I was watching the video feed in the interrogation room," Rushman went on. "I'm pretty sure she told you that she's a human alpha."

"You need to be quiet about that," Chris said, heart in his throat. "Do you know what would happen if the wrong person found out?"

"But all your men know," Rushman pressed on. She wasn't blinking. "Even the one that left town, right? Is he going to tell anyone?"

"No," Chris said. "No, Paul might not agree with my choices, but he's known Allison her whole life. He's not going to do anything that puts her in danger."

"Good." Rushman stood up. "Nice place you have here."

"Are you here to talk interior design?" Chris asked.

"No, I'm here to talk about Allison's health insurance," Stilinski said. Chris looked at the man. "We got the bill for her hospital stay last week, posted to the house. I thought she was on your health insurance."

"She was," Chris said. "My lawyer, he said that I should take her off after we found out that… who she really is. Otherwise it might look like insurance fraud."

"Charming," Stilinski said. "Your lawyer's a real piece of work." Behind him, Rushman was walking around the living room, poking at things. "So the net result of that is that I found Allison on the kitchen floor this morning, having a panic attack over the hospital bill."

Chris's stomach dropped. "Is she okay?"

"Yeah, I talked her through it." Now Stilinski was making some serious eye contact. "I managed to talk her out of quitting school to get a job to pay the bill." He paused. "And I think I managed to convince her that she doesn't need to ask Peter for the money."

"Peter," Chris repeated.

"Yeah."

Rushman spoke up from the window. "I'm pretty sure I know what Allison's getting out of that relationship," she said. "Hale, though? He worries me."

"You and me both," Chris muttered.

"It can't be that he's still looking to get back at you," Rushman went on. She picked up a framed photo of Chris and Allison from a gymnastics meet when Allison was fourteen. "From all that I've seen over the last week, he's really committed to her health and wellbeing."

"But," Stilinski interjected. "I think we can all agree that none of us want Allison in a position where she owes Peter Hale anything."

"Agreed," Rushman said. Chris nodded, feeling relieved that at least, Allison had Stilinski on her side on this.

"I can't get Allison on health insurance through the department unless she's working twenty hours a week," Stilinski continued. "And she can't do that while she's in school. I can't get her on my own insurance because I'm not her legal guardian."

"Do you want me to pay her hospital bills?" Chris asked, unsure where this was all going.

Stilinski tapped one hand on his knee. "I don't know what I want," he said.

"What about…" Chris hesitated, echoes of his conversation with Peter Hale in his head. "Her father?"

The way Stilinski's lip curled did nothing to ease Chris's mind. "I mentioned that to her this morning. It was not met with approval."

"Allison isn't willing to take anything from Tony right now," Rushman cut in. "Anything that comes to her from any direction even remotely Stark-related, she's going to reject."

"So what do you want me to do?" Chris asked again.

"Do you offer health and dental through Argent Arms International?" Rushman asked.

"Yes."

"Great. Give her a job."

Both Chris and Stilinski stared at Rushman. "What?" Stilinski asked. "That wasn't what we came here for."

"So? It's the most practical solution," Rushman said. "Allison won't take anything from Tony, or SHIELD, and she's pretty prickly about anything to do with her mother's family. If she can't get it through her job at the sheriff's station, she can get it through Argent here."

"You think she's going to go for that?" Stilinski asked.

"After the phone call I heard on the way to the airfield? Yes. I don't know what's changed for Allison since Argent was threatening her at the school—"

"I wasn't threatening her!" Chris interjected.

"—But she's moved past it. She's comfortable with you, in telling you what to do and in trusting what you say to her." Rushman put the picture back on the table. "I don't know if she's to the point where she'd take her eyes off you in a room, but that's pretty much normal for her these days."

"What does that mean?"

"Allison doesn't turn her back on men," Rushman said. "Ever. Except Stiles, and Peter Hale. She even keeps Noah in sight at all times." She paused. "Was she like that before you two went to France this summer?"

Chris's heart was in his throat. "No," he said. Before, Allison had only ever refused to turn her back on Victoria when Victoria was in a mood. But now… if what Rushman was implying…

What had happened to Allison that summer?

None of this made any _sense._

"So give her a job, even on paper," Rushman said. "Allison won't accept charity, and I doubt she's going to take to a more sedate life to ease up on the hospital bills."

"I'll have to talk to her about it," Chris said, risking it. "She will need to sign off on it."

"I'll talk to her," Stilinski said. He looked over at Rushman. "We'll see what she says."

"Fine." Rushman stood still. "Noah, can you excuse us? I have a few things I want to say to Mr. Argent."

That was strange. Even stranger, Stilinski stood up like he was expecting the request. "I'll see you in the car." He looked at Chris. "Argent."

After the door closed behind Noah, Chris and Rushman looked at each other. Something changed about the woman, even though she didn't move a muscle. Chris's mouth went dry. "I've gotten to know Allison quite a bit over the last few weeks," said the woman, moving around to sit on the couch recently vacated by Stilinski. "And I have to admit, I'm worried."

"About what?"

"About how she has absolutely zero self-preservation skills." The woman leaned back. "Everything she does is to protect others, and that usually comes at her own expense."

"Stilinski said she was okay," Chris said.

"Only because she has vastly accelerated healing," Rushman said. "What Dupont did to her? Would have killed a normal human. Then Aldrich Killian attacked her in the woods." Rushman stared at Chris. "Before he died, he practically told Allison that he was going to rape and murder her for what Tony Stark did to him."

"What?" Chris demanded, nearly standing up. He grabbed the cushion to keep himself steady. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"Because Allison is acting like it doesn't matter," Rushman said. "She hit her head so hard in the explosion that she nearly died on Wednesday, even with her healing. Peter Hale had to claw her down to the bone to kickstart her healing, and even then, she has a long way to go."

Chris put his hand over his mouth. Allison had been through so much and he hadn't known, hadn't been able to help her…

"Everything that's happened to Allison over the last few weeks, she acts like it doesn't matter. She acts like she doesn't matter." Rushman's eyes bored into Chris. "And I want to make one thing very clear to you. If you use that against Allison, if you throw her into danger to save your own skin, I will kill you."

Chris shot to his feet. "I would never do that!" he exclaimed. "I would never let her go into something dangerous!"

Rushman also stood. "Good." She took a step forward. "What happened to Allison this summer?"

"I don't know," Chris said. "I have no idea."

"When did it start?" Rushman pressed. "Something had to have changed. What was it?"

Chris cast his mind back to that summer in France. "It was quiet, after we left Paris. I had a lot to do, Allison spent a lot of time alone."

"Doing what?"

"Reading, I think. Going for walks."

Rushman nodded slowly. "I see," she said. "Well, Mr. Argent, I won't take up any more of your time."

"Did she say something to you?" Chris asked. "About what happened?"

"She did," Rushman said. "And I don't believe a single word of it." She gave him a nod. "Have a nice day."

The woman left, and Chris locked the door up tight before going back to sit on the couch. His head ached. These people had come into his house and implied pretty heavily that Allison had been hurt, Allison had been abused, and Chris hadn't been able to do anything about it.

Chris had spent Allison's whole life trying to keep her safe. He'd tried to keep her out of the Hunter life, tried to keep her away from danger. And it was all for nothing. He hadn't been able to protect her when she needed him.

Well, he wasn't going to stop trying now. Allison now knew that Chris wasn't her biological father, but then, Chris had known that for over eighteen years. It hadn't mattered then, and it didn't matter now.

Allison was his daughter, and he was going to do anything he could to keep her safe.

* * *

Chris got to the office a little early for his appointment. The email setting up the meeting said that the client, Matias Serrano, was unable to speak due to injuries, but he could hear and would be able to communicate through writing. Chris made a note of that, made sure he had a pad of paper on the desk in case Mr. Serrano had not brought his own, and quickly reviewed the office. He had a gun holstered under the desk in case of emergencies, the lock release to the back workshop handy in case he either needed to show clients around the facility or make a quick escape, and everything was neat and tidy.

All set.

Chris unlocked the front door and went to make coffee. The office was usually closed on Fridays, with most of the guys having the day off. Saul, who never took a day off, spent Fridays at a nearby coffee shop, while Mike tended to spend Fridays on a Costco run down to Redding.

So it was just Chris in the building when the front door opened, the sound soft.

"I'll be right with you," Chris called. There was no answer, but then, Mr. Serrano wasn't able to speak. Wiping his hands, Chris left the break room and went out into the reception area.

There was a man standing there, dark hair, Hispanic, lean and tall. His suit was expensive and didn't distract in any way from the horrific scarring along the left side of his face and neck.

All of these details came secondary, however, as the man was staring at Chris with such hostility that Chris's hands itched for a gun.

"Mr. Serrano," Chris said warily, slowing his approach. That was when he saw the woman standing just behind the man, and a zing of recognition shot through him.

He had never seen this woman before, but it was like looking at Allison as an old woman.

This had to be Inez Vasquez, and that meant this man, Matias, was her son. And, having read Saul's briefing note on the Vasquez family, Chris now knew exactly why the man wasn't able to speak.

Inez spoke first. "You will forgive the subterfuge, Mr. Argent, but we wanted to make sure that we could see you alone."

There was ice in the woman's voice, her accent barely a whisper over the words. Chris wondered if this was how he was going to die, alone in the office on a Friday afternoon. "And what do you want to see me about?"

Inez walked around to stand at her son's side. "My name is Inez Vasquez," she began. "Clara was my daughter." She paused. "Allison is my granddaughter."

Chris was silent.

"I have spoken to Allison," Inez went on. Matias watched Chris unblinkingly. "She is… deeply pragmatic."

"That's one way to describe her," Chris said. Still, no one moved.

"And in talking with her, the third thing that my granddaughter ever said to me was to ask that we not move against you until human law has had a chance to prove your innocence." Her lips curled up, and it was not a friendly expression. "I assume that she means in regards to the murder of my daughter, as everyone knows that a Hunter is never completely innocent."

"I had nothing to do with what happened to Clara Vasquez," Chris said. "Until a couple of weeks ago, I thought Allison was my daughter."

Matias signed something with his hands. Chris didn't have enough familiarity with sign language to know the meaning, but Inez obviously did. "You raised a child who looked nothing like you," Inez said. "You taught her to murder monsters. To the outside world, it looks very much like you took a werewolf's child and made her into a weapon to be aimed at her mother's kind."

"That's not what happened," Chris protested. "Allison isn't a killer. She's a kid."

"And yet, she hunts those who would harm her," Inez said. "She hunts wendigos by herself in the forest. A child would not take such things on unless trained to it."

"What?" Chris asked, confused. "Allison has never gone after a wendigo, those things are incredibly dangerous."

"She says she has."

"You must have misunderstood her," Chris said. "Allison's never killed anyone or anything, especially a werewolf."

"You have," Inez said, and there was a hint of amber in her dark brown eyes. "We know about you, Chris Argent. Do you expect us to think that it was your wife alone who took down my daughter on a dark hillside?"

"I don't—" Chris took a step forward, and Matias moved in front of Inez, his teeth sharpening, his claws out. Chris stepped back. "I don't know what to think myself. I wasn't there. I have no idea who could have helped Victoria. I don't know what happened."

Inez looked at him for a long minute, then went back to the front door. The noise of the bolt sliding home in the lock was a very final sound. "My daughter Anna, she believes Allison," Inez said as she returned to Matias's side. "I, however, know too much about your family to rest easy even if that were the case."

"I don't know what you mean."

She took a step towards him. "You don't think we know what Hunters do to their children?" she asked, voice low and quiet. "I asked Allison if you ever hurt her, and she said no. Then I asked what your wife had done. And she did not answer."

Chris held his tongue. That was the greatest shame in his life, not being able to do more to stop Victoria from what she'd done to Allison when Allison was little. Every time he thought Victoria had stopped, he'd come home to find Allison with more bruises, another broken bone. And every time, he thought he could convince Victoria to stop.

Then came that terrible call, that Allison was in the hospital, that the doctors didn't know if she was going to make it. Chris had flown home as fast as he could, to find the doctors convinced that Allison had fallen out of a window, she'd been hurt so bad. Chris had listened to everything that the doctors said, agreed to everything they wanted to do, then took Victoria home and told her that if she ever laid a finger on Allison again, Chris was going to take Allison and run.

The threat had worked. By the time Allison got out of the hospital a month later, Victoria seemed to have changed. Chris stopped leaving on business, and when he absolutely had to go, he asked Kate to visit, ostensibly to keep Allison company. But Victoria knew why Kate was there, and Chris suspected that Kate did too.

It took a while, but Allison lost that quiet hesitancy around Victoria, started pushing back, started rebelling in quiet ways, like a normal teenager. Chris had just never dreamed that by the time they landed in Beacon Hills, Allison would find a way to rebel that ended up with her dating a werewolf.

But that was all in the past. Chris couldn't do anything about it now. What mattered now were the two angry werewolves in his office, standing between him and the exit.

"I asked her if you asked her to seek mercy on your behalf," Inez continued. "She said no."

Chris ran his tongue over his lower lip. "I would never ask Allison to do that."

"I see."

"Does she know you're here?" Chris asked.

"She does not."

"Are you going to kill me?"

Inez was silent again, staring at him before looking over at her son. "Not today," she said finally. Matias looked disappointed. "We still must wait for human law to declare your innocence."

"And then what?"

Inez didn't answer.

"So now what?" Chris asked. "Are we done? Are you going to leave town?"

"I thought I might like to see this granddaughter of mine."

Oh, absolutely not. Chris wasn't going to let two strange werewolves near Allison without warning or protection, be they her family or not. "She's busy."

Inez tilted her head. "I know where she lives."

Great, sending in two strange werewolves to the Stilinski house, where the only person less able to defend themselves than Allison would be Stiles. "Let me call her," Chris said. "She can come here." Where Chris had lots of weapons, and a werewolf-proof escape room.

"Would she answer your call?" Inez asked.

"We can find out."

When Inez didn't say anything else, Chris reached for his phone. Matias's eyes followed the movement of Chris's hand. With deliberate movements, Chris opened his recent calls and tapped Allison's number.

She answered it after a few rings. "Chris?" she said. "What's up?"

"Nothing's wrong, peanut," Chris said, using the emergency code word they'd had in place since Allison was seven. "I have a couple of visitors at the office who are interested in meeting you."

"Who?" Allison asked, her voice cold.

Chris met Inez's eyes. "Your grandmother and your uncle."

"I'm going to be there in ten minutes," Allison said. "And when I get there, everyone is going to be alive and unharmed, do you understand?"

"I'm not going to do anything," Chris protested.

"I'm not talking to you." The line went dead.

"As I said," Inez murmured, "A pragmatic child."

Chris put his phone down. It seemed that they were going to have to wait. "Does anyone want coffee?"

Matias looked at him with a frown, but Inez just sighed. "Yes."

They ended up in Chris's office, after Matias unlocked the front door. They all sat and drank coffee in silence, eyeing each other warily. Matias would occasionally sign something to his mother, who would only nod or shake her head in response. Chris watched Matias with interest. How did someone drink without a tongue? It must make eating particularly hard.

After the longest ten minutes in the history of time, Chris heard a motorcycle pull up out front. A moment later, the front door slammed open. Inez turned to the office door with anticipation on her face, while Matias kept his eyes on Chris.

And then in burst Allison, motorcycle helmet in hand and absolute fury on her face. "You said you were going to leave Chris alone," was the first thing out of Allison's mouth. She tossed her helmet on the couch and let her backpack fall to the ground. "And you don't have permission to be here."

"I said I would leave Chris Argent unharmed," Inez said, rising to her feet. "I am sure your Alpha will understand."

"That's cutting it a little fine, and we both know it." Allison gestured at Chris, an unfamiliar flash of silver on her right hand. When Chris saw the ring there, he nearly had a heart attack. His daughter, his baby girl, was wearing a werewolf enforcer's ring, the ultimate sign of violence among the supernatural community.

He had to get Allison to take the ring off, _now._

"Allison," Chris said, circling his desk. Inez and Matias were both staring at Allison, Inez at her face, Matias at the ring. "Allison, sweetheart, please come here."

He caught her hand, trying to cover the ring from sight. Allison stepped away with a frown, easing into the no-man's land between him and the Vasquezes. "What?"

"That ring, child," Inez said. "Where did you get that ring?"

Allison glanced down. "Peter gave it to me."

"What?" Chris exclaimed. "Is he trying to get you killed?"

Matias signed something. Before Inez could speak, Allison said, "No, I'm not a stupid child playing." She glared at Matias, then at Inez. "This is Molly Hale's ring. She was the Hale pack's protector, from the day she came to Beacon Hills to the day this place ripped her apart." Allison held out her hand, displaying the ring. "I know exactly what I'm doing in wearing this, and exactly what it means."

"Do you know the responsibility you take on by wearing that?" Inez asked. "If you wear that here, word will travel."

Allison's eyes snapped as she stared at her grandmother. "I would not have put this on if I didn't fully accept what it means," she said. "And right now, I have two werewolves on my pack's lands, on pack business, who did not ask permission to be here." She waited a beat. "Beacon Hills is not neutral territory. And you're threatening someone under my protection."

Matias signed again.

"Fine," Allison said. "We'll ask him." She turned exaggeratedly to Chris. "Do you feel threatened?"

Chris exhaled. "As entertaining as it might be to say yes," he said, "I think we're fine."

Inez glared at him. "Child," she said. "You—"

"Allison," Allison interrupted. "I know you probably don't want to call me that, name given to me by my kidnappers, all that, but I have been going through a very long and drawn out identity crisis over the last few days. Please. Call me Allison."

Inez nodded. "Allison." She waited, then continued. "I worry, that you claim this man as under your protection."

"It's my business." Allison gestured at Chris to go back to his seat, and perched on the edge of the desk, turned just enough to keep Chris in sight. "For all the reasons I told you and Anna on the call, I need Chris alive and unpunctured for the foreseeable future."

"And if he is found guilty?" Inez asked, resuming her seat beside Matias.

"He won't be," Allison said with such ease that Chris wondered. "I've played this entire thing out multiple ways. Chris wouldn't have had a hand in kidnapping me, even if he had killed my mother. Which," Allison said over the sudden protesting sound out of Matias's mouth. "He had no reason to do so, and wasn't even in the country at the time." Matias glared, but let it pass. "And you have every right to seek vengeance against whoever killed Clara, but I'm her daughter, and I get first blood."

"What do you know about werewolf vengeance?" Inez asked.

"Enough." Allison adjusted the scarf around her neck. "The injury done to Clara was also done to me. If we ever figure out who helped Victoria murder Clara, I get first crack at them."

Both Inez and Matias went still. "What do you mean?" Inez asked. "There was someone else?"

"There had to have been," Allison said. "There were no…" She trailed off. "Did either of you see the body?"

Inez flinched. Matias took her hand in his. "Victor identified her… identified Clara's body."

"Oh." Allison slipped off the desk and went over to kneel before Inez. She put both hands over Inez's and Matias's. "I'm sorry. I am, I really am, and I hate to bring this up, but I've seen the case file, I've seen the autopsy photos, and Clara didn't have any defensive wounds." The room was deadly silent. "I don't know anything about Clara, but I seriously doubt that a woman whose family was in the middle of a vicious civil war, and eight months pregnant, would go out in the middle of the night to meet someone unless she felt absolutely safe."

Matias took back his hands to sign with sharp movements.

"Yes," Allison said. "I think she might have been betrayed."

Inez gripped Allison's hands tight.

"You don't have to take my word for it," Allison went on. "Look at the case file, look at the conclusions. At the time, I know everyone tried to hush Clara's death up because you thought it was connected to what was going on with the pack wars. But we know different now. And I'm so, so sorry."

Inez reached up to cup Allison's cheek. "How is it that you look so much like your mother, and yet are nothing like her?"

"I'm sorry," Allison said again.

"No." Inez patted Allison's hands. "Do not be sorry in who you are." Allison moved to sit beside Inez on the couch. "You act with integrity, and while I wish you were not set on protecting this man," Inez looked at Chris, "While we are on your lands, I will acquiesce to your wishes."

Matias signed, and Allison nodded.

"Thank you." She leaned back to look at Chris. "So now what do we do?"

"Unless there was any actual truth behind your initial request for a meeting?" Chris asked. Matias gave him an annoyed look. "Maybe you two can leave."

"What was the request?" Allison asked.

"Customized present for his father's birthday," Chris said.

Allison smiled then, something sharp and pointed. "No, I imagine that Victor might not appreciate an Argent original for his birthday," she said. "Although, he is going to get me, which he's also probably not going to appreciate."

"Do not say that, chi—Allison. He will in fact be glad to know you," Inez said. Matias looked a little dubious.

"His granddaughter was raised by the sworn enemy of his people, declares herself the Hale pack enforcer, and generally creates complications by simply being alive," Allison said.

Matias made a gesture, which Allison returned. "Matias," Inez said, sounding shocked.

"No, maybe Victor will appreciate the irony," Allison said. She looked at the clock on the wall. "When are you leaving town?"

"Seven."

"Okay, that's not long." Allison stood up. "How about you two go hit up a coffee shop and I'll join you in a few minutes." She went around to dig a small fabric wallet out of her backpack. "Go to Strong's, they have really good mochas." She pulled a small card out of the wallet. "Back down River Road, take a left at the second set of lights, on your right."

"Come with us," Inez said, as Matias took the card.

"I need to talk to Chris," Allison said. "It's fine, I'll be right there."

There was something in the air, something that felt like command, and Chris didn't understand it. But Inez and Matias stood. "We will wait for you there," Inez said, gave Chris a very unfriendly look, and left the office. Matias went after her, not turning his back on Chris. After a moment, the door in the reception area opened, and closed.

Allison turned on Chris. "What was that all about?" she demanded.

"You need to take that ring off," Chris said, getting to his feet. "I don't care what Peter told you, you're in danger when you wear it."

Allison's eyes flashed blood-red. "I'm keeping the ring," she said. "It's a promise, and a warning."

"A promise?" Chris repeated. "For what? To Peter?"

"It's a promise that I am going to do everything I can to keep this town safe," Allison said. She shoved her wallet back into her backpack. "And it's a warning of the same."

"You had two werewolves who know what that ring means, Allison! Right here!"

"And if they had attacked me, on my territory?" Allison tossed her bag over beside her helmet. "Then I would have been perfectly justified in defending myself!"

"You're putting yourself in danger!" Chris practically yelled. "And where did you learn to ride a motorcycle?"

"France." Allison crossed her arms over her chest.

Chris didn't believe that. "And Stilinski lets you ride around town without a licence?"

"Of course not," Allison said. "I hacked into the DMV database and faked my credentials."

Chris stared at her. " _What?"_

"Come on, Chris, that's like the least illegal thing I've done since I got back."

"What about hunting wendigos?"

Allison turned her head. The red in her eyes glowed like rubies in the sun. "Who told you about that?"

"Your grandmother."

"She—" Allison bit the words off. "Look, I am a teenage human alpha, trying my best to protect this town. Maybe that's from strange wolves. Maybe it's from wendigos. I have to do what I have to do."

"It's dangerous!"

"You don't think I know that?" Allison pushed her hair back from her face. She hadn't been wearing any makeup over the last little while, and she looked pale and sickly. Chris could understand why Stilinski was so worried about her. "I nearly died, okay? I lost too much blood and nearly got my throat ripped out. But I won. I healed. I came out on top."

"You can't do this," Chris said, nearly pleading. "You're going to run into something that you can't stop."

"I know." The words fell like a brick into the room. "And it's not going to be a supernatural creature or a man with a gun. There are so much bigger dangers, Chris, and I can't stop them." Allison took a deep breath. "But I have to do this."

"Why?"

"Because." The red faded from her eyes. "I'm here for a reason. I have to do everything I can."

"You don't," Chris said. "You're a kid. You should let the adults handle this."

Allison looked so tired, so… done. "Chris, I feel like I'm the oldest person in the room sometimes." She rounded the desk, putting her hand on his arm. "I'm tired of fighting about this. If you don't approve of me, fine, just stop yelling at me about it."

"Allison." Mindful of everything Deputy Rushman had said that morning, of what Peter Hale had told him the day before, Chris carefully put his hand over Allison's wrist. "I'm worried about what you're doing, that you're in danger. Of course I approve of you. I always have."

Something on Allison's face crumpled, and for a moment, she was Chris's little girl again. Then she took a step back, and the moment was gone. "I'm going to do what I have to do," she said again.

"Then I'll help you in any way I can," Chris said.

Allison took a deep breath. "Thank you." She pressed her hands over her mouth. "Okay. I have to go deal with Inez and Matias."

"Be safe."

Allison waved her hand. "They won't hurt me."

"That's not…" Chris let it pass. "When did you learn sign language?"

Allison frowned as she went to pick up her backpack. "Back when we were in San Antonio," Allison said, and it was as blatant a lie as Chris had ever heard from her. "I read some books."

Chris forbore from mentioning that book learning had never been Allison's strong suit.

"All right, anything else?" Allison asked, grabbing her helmet. "Anything supernatural stirring?"

"No."

"Okay." Allison slipped her backpack over her shoulders, then rounded the desk again. "Call me if anything does."

To Chris's surprise, she leaned in to kiss Chris on the cheek. "I will, sweetheart," Chris said.

"Good." Allison gave him a sunny smile as she left the office, happy like the girl she'd been before they came to Beacon Hills.

Only she hadn't turned her back on him once since she came into the room.

The outer door opened and closed, as Chris sat down, his head churning with a mix of elation and despair.

What had _happened_ to his little girl?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the love of god, Allison, ask Rhodey or someone what civilian consultants make, and then start billing by the hour.
> 
> Also, Chris and Peter should never be allowed to talk. Ever.
> 
> Lastly, a note: Allison’s twisting herself up over a mental image of Tony Stark without actually talking to the man, and if you don’t think that’s going to cause problems very soon, you must not have read my back-catalog. See you next week!  


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allison finally has a talk with her grandmother and uncle about what exactly they were thinking, coming to Beacon Hills without warning. She is also less than impressed when she find out how Peter has been meddling in her life. And at the end of a very long Friday, Allison accidentally finds herself on a video call with her father, which just goes to prove the old adage that there's nothing that can't be made worse with a little bit of elbow grease and misunderstanding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Contains a scene with some blatant racism, but this whole story is an allegory about racism, so.

* * *

Allison's mind was racing as she pulled her motorcycle up to the coffee shop. It didn't make any sense that Inez was in town. In the last timeline, Inez and Anna had come to Beacon Hills only a few days after they'd learned Allison was alive, but it was to see her. They didn't go after Chris at all, instead letting the law take care of things.

Or had they?

Allison had been a week shy of her eighteenth birthday at the time, overcome with finding out the truth of her parentage. Then, too, Tony had been a sudden and overwhelming presence in her life. When he wasn't in Beacon Hills, he was leaving her emails and messages, sending her gifts. At the time, she'd soaked it all up. She'd been so happy that someone wanted her, after a lifetime of Victoria, and those weeks of Chris being so odd and stand-offish.

Looking back, Allison could see how naïve she had been. Then, little Allison hadn't realized how much Noah was doing for her, or what Chris must have been going through.

She had been so stupid, Allison thought grimly as she parked her bike. Just an idiot child who thought she was living a fairy tale life, not realizing that real fairy tales grew out of the blood and bones of the dead.

But Allison wasn't eighteen anymore. She was a grown adult, older than Chris and Tony and Anna and Matias, with over a decade of command under her belt. She had to take the hard reality of life as it was, not as she wanted it to be. And right now, her grandmother and uncle were sitting in the café, waiting for her.

Taking off her helmet, Allison dismounted her bike, and strode into the café.

Inez and Matias had picked a table in the corner, already with cups and plates in front of them. Allison's stomach cramped from hunger, but she swallowed it down. She had used her lunch money to buy an inexplicable morose Lydia a pick-me-up milkshake, and was down to a dollar-fifteen until she picked up her paycheck at the station.

With the memory of the hospital bill imprinted on her eyelids, Allison walked up to the cash register. "Hi, Zach," she said to the barista. He'd been a senior on the lacrosse team the previous year, always friendly, even if he tended to get people mixed up. "Can I get a glass of water?"

"Sure," the boy said easily as he pushed a cup of black coffee across the counter. "Here."

Allison pursed her lips. "Zach, we've talked about this."

The boy, big and blustery, grinned at her. "I keep telling you, law enforcement discount."

"I'm not a cop."

Zach went to get her water. "Close enough."

"Zach, are you flirting with the customers again?" came a familiar voice. Allison raised her eyebrows as Deputy Sheriff Mark Strong pushed his way out from the back, carrying a cardboard box. "Oh, hey, Allison."

"Deputy Strong," Allison said. "Moonlighting in retail?"

Strong put the box down. "Helping my sister out," he said. "This is her place." He glanced up at Zach, returning to the counter. "You two went to school together right?"

"Yep." And now a slice of banana bread had appeared on a plate beside the cups. "Allison was dating that weird kid on the lacrosse team. Isaac." Zach frowned. "Stiles?"

"Scott," Allison supplied. Zach's face-blindness was pretty well known around Beacon Hills High. "Although they're all pretty weird, you're not wrong." She moved the plate towards Zach. "I don't have enough cash on me for that."

Zach pushed the plate back. "Uncle Mark said you stopped a terrorist from hurting a bunch of little kids. That deserves banana bread."

Allison looked at Strong. He nodded. "If my sister was here instead of fighting City Hall, she'd say the same, and in my family, you don't say no to my sister."

Allison hesitated, but in the end, the hollow ache in her gut pushed her to accept. "Thank you." She dug the change out of her pocket and dumped it into the tips jar. "Really, thanks a lot."

Zach's ears grew red. "Not a problem."

Feeling her grandmother's eyes on her back, Allison hooked her arm through the open visor of her helmet, then balanced the small plate on top of the water glass to carry it and the coffee cup over to the Vasquez-inhabited table. Behind her, she heard Strong say, "That was real nice, Zach."

"Well, she's real nice," Zach replied.

Tuning out the Strong family drama, Allison smiled at her relatives. "Sorry I took so long," she said in Spanish. "I had to sort out a few things with Chris."

"It is no problem," Inez said. Her tea and croissant sat before her, untouched. "I was unsure if you would actually come."

"What?" Allison asked, slightly distracted in getting her mug, cup and plate to the table without upsetting anything, then divesting herself of her helmet and backpack so she could sit down. "I said I would."

" _Anna said she thought Allison would keep her word_ ," Matias signed. He was already halfway through his coffee.

"Anna was right," Allison replied, meeting Matias's eyes. She knew how much her uncle hated people making a big deal of his scars. One time, far in the future, Matias had told Allison that it was because he'd survived what had been done to him by those rampaging alphas during the pack wars, and so many others hadn't, that it felt wrong to focus on his injuries. So Allison would focus on the man, not the story of agony and torture written into his skin. "If I say I will do something, I will do it."

The right corner of Matias's mouth twisted up in a too-wide smile. " _Making those sorts of promises, while wearing that ring, is going to get you into trouble."_

"Matias," Inez said with a hint of sharpness in her voice. Matias did not appear chastised. "We are worried about you, little one, that is all."

Allison broke the slice of banana bread in pieces and shoved half into her mouth. "You don't have to be, I'm fine." She swallowed, nearly choked, and managed to wash down the bread with the glass of water. "Sorry for my appalling manners," she said when she came up for air, in response to Inez's slightly horrified expression. "I haven't eaten since this morning."

"Why not?" Inez asked. Matias sipped at his coffee, watching Allison with consideration.

Allison shrugged, pulling on the end of her scarf to wrap around her neck. "One of the girls in my pack was having a hard time so I skipped lunch." She downed a swig of coffee. "High school politics."

" _Anna said you're in in the eleventh grade,"_ Matias said. " _Why aren't you in senior year?"_

There was no hostility in the question, and Inez looked curious as well, so Allison packed her discomfort away. They had come all this way, and hadn't even chewed on Chris even though Matias obviously wanted to. She could tell them about herself, even though she had no idea what she was going to say.

One thing she was _not_ going to do was to tell them that she was a human alpha. She couldn't, not until she could gauge how badly Victor would take it. "We moved around a lot when I was a kid," Allison said. "I got pulled out of school pretty regularly, and it was hard to learn anything. It's a surprise that I only failed one grade."

" _Why did you move so much?"_ Matias asked. " _Killing werewolves?"_ Inez flinched slightly at the silent question.

Allison narrowed her eyes at him. "I don't know what was happening, but I was a child. Chris kept me out of that."

" _Until when?"_ Matias paused to drink more coffee. " _A girl wears that ring, she has to be willing to take out monsters."_

"And if a monster attacked my town, or my pack, I would deal with it." Allison shoved another piece of banana bread into her mouth. "But I'm not like the Argents. I don't go after people who haven't done anything. I protect people like that."

_"By all accounts, the Hales did nothing to hurt anyone."_

Allison sighed. "The Hales did nothing," she said in agreement. "But Kate Argent didn't care about that, and she lined the house with mountain ash and set it on fire. And nine people died."

"Did anyone get out?" Inez asked.

"Not really." Allison picked up her coffee cup. "Peter was trapped in the wreckage, pinned under a beam that must have been holding up half the house." She glanced down at the inky liquid. "He watched his two-year-old twins and his wife burn to death. After they pulled him out, he ended up in a coma for six years as his body tried to heal."

Matias grimaced. Allison knew that he had kids around the same age as Nick and Nicole had been, on that terrible night up on the preserve.

Then Inez said, "The Peter who gave you Molly Hale's ring?"

"Yes," Allison said. "Peter Hale, brother to Talia Hale. He was Molly's son."

Inez lifted one eyebrow at Allison. "What is this Peter to you?"

Allison looked at her grandmother. Inez had died when Allison was forty, and it had not been sudden, but Allison missed her so much. Now, she was here again, but while Allison knew Inez, Inez did not know Allison. And, if her recent obliteration of familial relationships was any example, it would be easy to drive Inez away, just as she had done with Tony.

But Allison was not going to let that happen.

It was too late to pretend to be a normal teenage girl. She'd already decided to hold off on sharing the small detail that she was an alpha. The ring she had on told Inez and Matias that she was no stranger to violence.

More, too, Allison knew far too much about werewolf culture and politics. If she hid her relationship with Peter, given his family's status, it would put him at a disadvantage. Allison wasn't ashamed of Peter, or of what they were doing. If she didn't claim him in front of her family, it could lead to problems later on, especially once it came out that Allison was an alpha.

All right. Allison would tell Inez about Peter, although she could leave out the tiny detail that she had accidentally werewolf-married a man whose fortieth birthday was in a few full moons.

Allison took a breath. "He and I have an agreement."

 _"Are you just fucking, or is it more than that?"_ Matias asked.

Inez slapped his shoulder. "Matias, do not be so crass in front of your niece!"

" _Sorry."_ Matias paused. " _Are you?"_

Allison leaned forward. The last time she had lived this month, she had been a little afraid of Matias. Their communication had been slow and jilted through text or written note. It had taken Allison embarrassingly long to learn enough sign language to have a conversation with Matias, let alone become fluent enough to catch his dry wit. But now? Now Allison knew exactly what her uncle was saying.

"Consider, if you will." Allison moved her hand around the cup so her ring was visible. "You're a thirty-nine-year-old man whose entire family was murdered in a terrible fire. One of the only things that survives the fire, other than yourself, is your mother's ring." Allison paused. Matias was watching her intently. "Do you give that ring to an eighteen-year-old girl who you're just fucking with?"

 _"No,"_ Matias agreed.

"Thirty-nine?" Inez repeated. "That is… a little old."

Allison set her cup down. "Probably," she said. Something in Inez's voice set her hackles up. "But didn't Victor throw Anna at a man nearly twice her age when she wasn't much older than I am?"

Inez met Allison's glare. "It was a very different time, and that was a suggestion only. Anna made her choice."

Allison glanced around. It was far more likely that someone in the shop would understand Spanish than American sign language, and so far they had left all mention of werewolves in Matias's hands. _"You had just survived a war,"_ Allison signed pointedly. " _I am still in the middle of mine. Peter is my choice."_

Inez sat back. "Chris Argent does not approve of Peter Hale."

"Chris _loathes_ Peter," Allison said, switching back to Spanish. "The feeling's more than mutual."

Out of the corner of her eye Allison saw someone approaching the table. She turned to find a complete stranger standing there, glaring with a hostility that Allison didn't understand. She shifted in her chair so she could move quickly if she needed to.

"Can I help you?" Allison said in English.

The woman, white, older, pinched, looked over Allison at Matias and Inez with disdain. "You're in America, you should speak like it."

The woman's voice carried across the coffee shop, pulling everyone's attention. Allison could only stare for a moment, because _wow_. Then anger surged up in her chest. How _dare_ this woman say something like that?

Without even thinking, Allison dropped her normal poise and fell back into the slight hunch of a teenage girl caught unaware. "My uncle got hit with an IED in Afghanistan," she said, adding a touch of shrillness to her voice that made it travel. "He can't speak, he has to use sign language."

The woman was getting red. "I meant you should speak English, not Spanish!"

Allison made herself frown, as if she didn't understand. "Why? My grandfather's family has been speaking Spanish in California since before the Pilgrims landed, and my grandmother is from Valencia."

"That's not—" The woman's tirade was interrupted by Mark Strong, who stepped into the fray with the posture of authority.

"What's going on here?" he asked.

"I was just talking to my grandmother and my uncle," Allison said before the woman could get a word in. "They came all the way up here from L.A. to see me and then this lady started being mean."

Strong's eyes flew to Inez and Matias, and Allison could see the recognition there. Of course, he had been at the station when Anna arrived in town unexpectedly. "Ma'am," he said, turning on the woman, "Perhaps it might be time for you to leave."

"I have a right to be here as much as they do," the woman blustered. Behind her, an older man was standing, embarrassed, but not making any move to jump in.

"This is private property, and I'm asking you to leave," Strong said.

The woman turned on Strong. "I want to speak to your manager."

"Can't help you there, I'm just the owner," Strong shot back. "Ma'am, please."

"Come on, Karen," the guy behind her said. "Let's leave."

In an embarrassed flurry, the two got their things and stormed out. Strong pointedly went over to the door they left open and closed it, before turning back around to face the quiet café. "If anyone wants a refill, it's on the house," he said. He made his way back over to Allison's table as the other customers headed over to the counter. "You okay, kid?"

"Sure, I always love dealing with assholes on a Friday."

A half-smile crossed Strong's face. "You have had one hell of a month, haven't you?" He gave Inez a nod. "Sorry for that, ma'am."

Inez was sitting up straight, with the effortless poise Allison always envied. "Thank you for standing up for my granddaughter."

"Any time," Strong said. "Allison's been working with us at the Sheriff's station for a while now, she's the best intern we've ever had."

Allison frowned. "I'm the only intern you've ever had."

"And you've set the bar high." Strong turned at a yelp from the counter. "Excuse me." He headed off to help Zach.

"What the fuck," Allison breathed in Spanish. "How does someone walk around in California and demand that no one speak Spanish?"

 _"How long has our family been in California?"_ Matias asked Inez.

"A very long time, but not as long as Allison suggests," Inez said.

Allison shrugged. "It's not like I had to prove it in a court of law. Pissing off a racist was the main point."

" _I like her,"_ Matias said. " _Anna didn't say she was so funny."_

Inez pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Are you okay?" Allison asked.

"Yes. No. I do not know." Inez lowered her hand. "I came to this town for one purpose, and the day has gone in so many directions."

"You had your conversation with Chris," Allison said. "What weren't you expecting?"

"You." Inez looked at her. "Even from that video call we had, I was not expecting you to be so…"

"So much of a disaster?" Allison suggested. "I know I'm not what anyone wanted. I know I'm a problem for your family, given everything that happened." The words were sour in her stomach. Maybe, if everything hadn't been such a disaster with Tony, this wouldn't hurt so much. "I would do a lot, to be part of your family, but I can't…" She twisted the coffee cup on the table as she tried to figure out what she wanted to say. "I can't do that at the expense of my responsibilities."

She wasn't expecting Inez to take her hand. "Allison, you are not a problem."

"But Anna said—"

"Anna was speaking politically." Inez's eyes were wide and pained. "You are not a problem. You have been through so much pain, so much violence, and you have come out the other side intact." Inez smiled. "You remind me very much of Anna."

Allison turned her hand in Inez's, to wrap her fingers around her grandmother's palm. "Anna's been through a lot."

"She has," Inez agreed.

Allison spared a glance at Matias, who was in turn watching her. "Anna seems like she misses Clara a lot."

"She does." Inez patted Allison's hand. "We all do."

Something passed over Matias's face. " _Eighteen years is a long time,"_ he said. " _Sometimes it doesn't feel like it's been that long."_

Allison nodded. Some days, Tony's death felt only weeks behind her, rather than decades. "I know what you mean."

 _"Can we ask her what she knows, now?"_ Matias asked his mother.

"About what?" Allison asked.

The shadow was back on Matias's face. " _You said Clara didn't have any defensive wounds."_

Inez pulled her hand out of Allison's and stood up. "I will get more tea," she said, and walked away before Allison could say anything.

" _What was that?"_ Allison asked Matias.

 _"Mama has a very hard time talking about Clara's death,"_ Matias replied. _"So does my father, but for different reasons."_

"But you don't?"

" _I was twenty when my sister died,"_ Matias said. _"That was half my lifetime ago. I think things like that are different when it's your own children."_ He looked around the coffee shop. " _Anna said she told you that I have a family."_

Allison nodded.

 _"If one of my kids had something happen to them, I'd want to know who betrayed them,"_ Matias went on. _"What happened?"_

 _"I don't know,"_ Allison said _. "You should have someone talk to the Los Angeles police. The coroner's report said that the cause of death was probably blood loss, but_ …" She held her hands still for a moment _. "Are you sure you want to know this?"_

 _"I have to,"_ Matias replied.

 _"Clara didn't have any defensive wounds on her hands or arms,"_ Allison said _. "Her spine was severed just between her shoulder blades. The coroner said it was probably an axe blow. Which is why no one heard any gunshots or anything."_

Matias didn't flinch.

 _"Do you think that your sister would have turned her back on a stranger holding an axe in the middle of the night?"_ Allison continued _. "I can't think of a single reason why she would. Something had to have happened. There had to be a reason Clara was out there when she died."_

Matias passed a hand over his jaw, absently worrying at the worst of the scarring _. "We knew someone got to her,"_ he said after a minute _. "We thought it was something to do with what was going on at the time."_ He glanced at her, and Allison nodded _. "But none of us saw Clara's body, the police got there first. My father, he only saw Clara's face when he went to make the identification."_

 _"The police often won't release details of a homicide, even to the family,"_ Allison said. _"You couldn't have known."_

_"We should have tried to find out more."_

Allison hesitated, then asked _, "Would it have made a difference to what happened next?"_

Matias sighed. _"I don't know."_

 _"It doesn't change anything,"_ Allison said, as Inez returned to the table with tea and a large sandwich _. "Even if we find out what happened, it doesn't change anything."_ She bit her lip _. "We can't change the past."_

"But we can live in the present," Inez said. She pushed the sandwich in front of Allison. "Eat, child, you're too thin."

Allison didn't move. "I'm not hungry."

"Yes, you are." Inez nudged the plate closer to Allison. "Please. It will make me feel better."

The war between Allison's pride and the gnawing emptiness in her stomach was brief. She reached for the sandwich. "Thank you."

"Your birthday was this week," Inez said. "Did you get the package from Anna?"

"Yes," Allison said around a mouthful. She swallowed. "I've got the photo in my room with the rosary. Thank you."

Inez did not smile, but something in her eyes softened. "After Clara… Anna took that rosary out of Clara's things. She said it made her feel closer to her sister. And she said that she hoped that it would do the same for you."

"I hope so." Allison took another bite. God, this sandwich was good. "And if I can't come to L.A. for a while, maybe we can still video chat?"

 _"Better than a phone call_ ," Matias said with a rueful expression in his eye.

Inez took a deep breath. "What about your father?"

Allison stopped chewing. "What about him?"

"What are you going to say to him when he asks you to come to LA?"

The food turned to ash in Allison's mouth. She put the sandwich down, tried to swallow her mouthful, and had to use the last of her water to get it down her throat. It took her a moment to say, "That's not going to be a problem."

"Will he come here to see you instead?" Inez asked. Matias was watching her very closely.

Allison shrugged. "He's busy, fighting all that crime."

Inez frowned. "Has he not been to see you at all?"

Allison sat back in her chair. "He was here. On Wednesday." The memory of most of that day was lost in a fog of brain-damage, but Allison could clearly remember the expression on Tony's face when he asked her why she was so fatalistic. "He left. It doesn't matter."

Inez's frown was growing. "What did he do?"

"He didn't do anything. I messed everything up." Allison braced herself for the questions, the demands, but none came. Finally, Allison said, "I have everything I need here, with my friends."

"Are you safe?"

"Yes," Allison said. "As safe as I can be."

 _"What's the threat?"_ Matias asked _. "Is it Argent?"_ His eyes shone a little amber. " _I can take care of that for you."_

"No, Chris is fine," Allison said. "So are the rest of the Hunters in town. I have them in hand."

"What worries you?" Inez asked.

Allison wished she could answer that. Hydra was not something that she was willing to drop into the lives of her mother's family. "Beacon Hills is a strange place," she said instead. "This place tends to attract the strange and supernatural."

" _Like the wendigo Anna told us about,"_ Matias said.

"Yes."

" _How did you kill something like that?"_

Well, this was awkward, considering the conversation they'd been having about Clara's death not a few minutes before. "Axe to the neck."

Matias's jaw sagged, and Inez appeared horrified. "By yourself?"

"I wasn't exactly swimming in options," Allison said. She picked up the sandwich again. "There can be a time in a girl's life when she's faced with a problem she has to solve on her own. For me, it was a ravenous twelve-foot winter demon intent on eating everything in its path, including me." She shrugged. "So I solved my problem using the tools I had to hand."

Inez stared for a minute, then reached out to touch Allison's arm. "Little one, you say you're nothing like your mother, but you are."

Allison raised her eyebrows as she finished the sandwich. She wasn't supposed to know that at fifteen, Clara had single-handedly killed three rogue omegas who attacked her during a particularly intense full moon. "Is that okay?"

"Yes." Inez squeezed Allison's shoulder. "It is."

 _"Clara would have loved what you did with that old witch just now_ ," Matias said.

Allison smiled at him. "What are you going to do now?"

"Return home," Inez said. "Preferably before your alpha decides to make an appearance."

"I didn't tell him you were in town," Allison said. "You probably should ask first, though, next time you're around."

"Can we? Visit you again?"

"Of course." There was a lump in Allison's throat. Someone in her family wanted to see her. Even after everything she'd screwed up with Tony, her mother's family still wanted her. "Of course you can."

They gathered up their things, and Allison trailed after her grandmother and uncle out the door, sending a wave over her shoulder at Zach on her way.

"Get home safe," Allison said, hefting her backpack over her shoulders as they stopped by the rental car. "Next time you want to come into town, let me know and I'll make sure Derek's okay with everything."

"Will he be?" Inez asked.

"Sure, as long as you don't try to take over the joint. That would be awkward, since technically that brings me into it." Allison lifted her hand. "Also, I can't see why anyone would want this territory, it's way more trouble than it's worth."

"And yet you stay here," Inez pointed out.

Allison shrugged. "My friends are here. They're what matters."

"I understand." Inez took a step towards Allison, then hesitated. "Can I give you a hug, granddaughter?"

"Of course," Allison said, her heart in her mouth. She held out her arms to her grandmother, who had always been so solid in Allison's memory. But now, Inez seemed fragile and delicate, as if she would be easily hurt. Unbidden, Allison pulled up the alpha, pushing warmth and safety at Inez. "Thank you for coming to see me."

Inez patted Allison's back. "I should have come sooner."

"But you're here now." Allison gave a tentative squeeze, then stepped back. The warmth of the alpha chased around in her chest, giving her a grounding. "I'll see you next time."

Matias knocked on the hood of the car to get his mother's attention. " _Next time we should bring Martin."_

Allison held in a sigh. Just what Beacon Hills need; more teenage werewolves. "Sure, bring him along," she said out loud. "Do you think Anna will go for that?"

 _"He's fifteen, he needs to start making connections,"_ Matias replied.

Allison tried to picture her cousin Martin, shy and introverted at fifteen to the eternal disappointment of their grandfather, facing off with Stiles. Or Derek. Actually, that might not be a bad idea. "Sure, bring him along. Just call first, so I can make sure I'm not working."

"Oh, Allison." Inez squeezed Allison's hands. "Please take care of yourself. Eat more. And no more wendigos."

"Statistically, that's unlikely," Allison said. "And you all be careful. If anyone starts making too much noise about me being alive, send them up here so I can punch them to their face."

"I just told you to stop seeking danger," Inez said, slightly exasperated.

"Hey, danger is my middle name." Allison paused. "Actually, it's Rebecca, but that's not really relevant."

"Be safe," Inez said, and hugged Allison again. This time, Allison held on. In the future that she was never going to live, Inez had been such a solid rock. Anna took a while to shake out on seeing Allison as being wholly separate from Clara, and Pepper had always been so focused on Tony and then Morgan. But Inez was always there for Allison, helping her to navigate the werewolf world.

Allison just hoped that she would get to keep Inez, at least, this time around.

"Be easy, little one," Inez said in her ear, and to Allison's horror, she realized that she had started crying.

She pulled back, wiping her eyes and trying to pull herself together. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Inez ran her thumb over Allison's cheek. "It has been a very long day for you, I am sure." Inez leaned in to press a kiss against Allison's forehead. "I am so happy to have met you."

"You too. I mean, me too." Allison sniffled. "Thanks for coming up here, even if it was primarily to threaten Chris with an agonizing death."

 _"That was the best part,"_ Matias agreed. His mother shot him a glare. " _Also meeting you."_

_"Same, Uncle."_

That drew a rare smile from Matias, as Inez patted Allison's arms. "If you need anything, anything at all, please call Anna, day or night."

"I will. And if you hear of anything strange headed this way, please let me know."

Inez cupped Allison's face in her hands. "With everything that is happening, I want to take you home with me."

"Maybe one day," Allison said. "Maybe soon."

"I hope so." Reluctantly, Inez stepped away, letting Matias open the car door for her. He closed it, and went around to the driver's side.

 _"Please stay alive, otherwise Mama will be sad,"_ Matias signed at her over the top of the car, where Inez couldn't see him.

Allison, who was in plain sight of her grandmother, just gave Matias a thumb's-up as the man got into the car. She stood on the sidewalk as the car drove away, waving at Inez as long as Inez had her in sight.

Then the car turned the corner, and was gone.

Allison let her hand drop. She was exhausted, and it wasn't even five.

"Hey, Allison?"

Allison turned around. Mark Strong had come out of the café. "Hey."

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Things got a little intense in there." He jerked his thumb towards the café windows.

"Huh?" Allison thought back. "Oh, you mean Tea Party Karen? That's not even on the radar of this shitty week."

"That was your mother's family, right?"

Allison nodded.

"You okay with seeing them?"

"Yes." Allison looked in the direction the car had gone. "It's one of those things where I wish it had been under different circumstances, but considering how my life is going right now, better here than at someone's funeral." She turned back to Strong. "Thanks for having my back in there."

"Any time, kid. No one should have to put up with that racist bullshit."

Allison took a deep breath. "Considering that I was getting flayed two weeks ago because the asshole who thought he knocked up my mother's murderer decided that I had dirty blood, I'll take this any day." She hefted her helmet. "See you at work next week, right?"

"Yeah." Strong was making some serious eye contact with Allison. "Really, kid, you okay?"

"Yes." Allison took a few steps toward her bike, then stopped. "You know what's really fucked up? I have some old white lady who tells me to stop speaking Spanish in my own town, to _my own family_ , and my first reaction wasn't to tell her to shove it up her ass. It was to justify why I was doing it in the first place."

Strong stuck his hands in his pockets.

"I think I need to unlearn some bullshit myself," Allison went on. "Anyway. See you next week. And thank Zach for the coffee."

"I will."

And with that, Allison went over to her bike, slapped on her helmet, and started up the engine. She had a lot left to do that afternoon, before she'd been interrupted by Chris's frantic call. She had plans to see Peter to pillage his bookcases for resources on banshees.

Her mother's family had delayed that, but only a little.

Privately, Allison wondered if there was anything in Inez's visit that hadn't been laid out on the table. She supposed that she would find out if, or when, it came around to bite her in the ass.

Like the rest of her life, quite frankly.

Allison put the bike in gear and pulled out into the street.

She had places to be.

* * *

Peter answered his front door with a glint in his eyes. "Allison."

Allison did not swoon, not even a little, no matter how good Peter looked. "Peter."

He didn't move. "Why are you here?"

"I need some books."

"This town is full of books."

"The ones I need are on your shelf." Allison hesitated. "What, are you entertaining other company?"

Peter scoffed. "Who exactly would that be?" He finally stepped back to let Allison into the apartment. "There's not a line of people in town interested in—"

He broke off suddenly as Allison closed the door, and the next instant he had Allison crowded up against the wall, his mouth close to her neck.

"Peter, stop!" Allison ordered, alpha rising instantly. Peter went still, breath hot against her throat. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"You smell like strange wolf," Peter said. His hands held her arms, but he wasn't gripping hard. "What have you been doing?"

Allison put her lips to Peter's ear. "Let go of me. _Now._ "

Slowly, Peter stood back. His eyes blazed blue. "Making new friends, Allison?"

Allison shed her backpack and put her helmet down on the bench. Then she walked over and planted herself directly in front of Peter. "Take another sniff, Peter. Smell the Chanel No. 5? That's my grandmother's perfume."

Peter's lip curled. "Derek didn't tell me that we had Vasquez wolves in town."

"Because they didn't ask permission," Allison snapped back. "The first I heard of it was when I got a phone call from Chris telling me they were at his office. I thought you'd appreciate that my grandmother and my uncle came all the way to town to threaten Chris's life."

Peter faltered. "Did they bite him?"

"No, of course not!" Allison kicked out of her boots, then pushed past Peter into the apartment. "From the sounds of things, by the time I got there, Inez had only laid down threats of dismemberment and bodily harm. Matias didn't even lay a hand on him."

Peter turned to stare at her. "Inez _and_ Matias Vasquez are here?"

"Were here. They left." Allison went to the cupboard for a glass. "I guess they want to be home before the full moon hits."

"What did they do to you?"

"Nothing." Allison poured herself a glass of water, and drank it in one gulp. "Inez bought me a sandwich. She says I'm too thin."

"You are," Peter said. "And you smell hungry all the time.

Allison put the glass down. "New ground rule," she said. "No talking about my weight."

"You had a brain injury on Wednesday," Peter reminded her, walking over. "You need to eat, you're not taking care of yourself."

"Oh my god," Allison exclaimed. "I'm taking care of myself just fine."

"Really? Is that what you call the last couple of weeks?"

Allison turned on Peter. "What is this?" she demanded. "Why are you being like this?"

"Because!" Peter ran his hands through his hair. "Fuck, I don't know."

"You know what?" Allison put her hands on her hips. "I don't care if this is full-moon related, or part of that weird obsessive bullshit you were talking about on Monday, but it stops now."

"So I can't be worried about you?"

"Be worried all you want, but don't think you can fling me around and demand to know who I've been spending my time with, understand?"

Peter walked over to the couch, collapsing onto it. After a minute, Allison followed and sat down at his side, pulling her legs up under her.

It took Peter a minute to speak. "I don't know what's wrong with me," he said. "Part of me wants to wrap you up and keep you safe from everything."

"I can't even begin to explain what's wrong with that."

Peter looked at her. "You don't understand why I want to keep you safe?"

"That I understand. But I have a life and I make my own choices, and live with the consequences. You don't get to step on that, no matter what we're doing."

"What we're doing," Peter repeated. He reached out to put his hand on Allison's knee. "What are we doing?"

Allison leaned her head against her hand. "Well, I'm in love with you, and we're somehow bonded after an ill-advised and bloody romp on your kitchen floor."

Peter shifted closer to Allison to put his arm over her shoulders. She leaned against him. He was so warm, this close to the full moon, and he smelled so good, all alive and safe and Peter. "You seemed to be enjoying yourself," he said carefully.

"I was." Allison slipped her arm over his chest, pulling him close. He let out a low growl. "And you gave me your mother's ring, and I'm trying to keep everyone in town safe.

"Even Chris?"

"Yes."

"You saw him today." Peter slid his hand around Allison's waist. "Did he… say anything?"

Allison went still at the words. "What did you do?" she asked, sitting back.

"Nothing," Peter said, and the word wasn't quite the truth.

"Peter."

Peter rolled his eyes. "I called him, okay?"

Allison was confused. "When."

"Yesterday."

"About what?"

Peter met her gaze for a long moment. "You," he said reluctantly.

"Oh god." Allison moved back, apprehension stirring in her chest. "The last time you two talked about me, things didn't go so well."

"I didn't say anything bad," Peter protested.

"What did you say?"

Peter looked at his hands. "I told him that you're not afraid of him anymore."

"Why?"

"I don't know, that seemed like information he should have." Peter stood up and strode over to the large window overlooking the city.

Allison also got up, but she stayed by the couch. Peter's sudden defensive posture was sending up more warning signals than anything he had said so far. "What else did you say to him?"

Peter didn't answer.

"Peter."

"I told him your father was in town," Peter said abruptly, swinging around.

"What? Why?" she demanded, aghast. "Why would you do something like that to Chris?"

"What do you mean?"

"Trying to dig the knife in?" Allison rounded the couch, anger on Chris's behalf burning in her stomach. "Hey Chris, you lost your daughter, but someone else got her in the second-hand bin?"

"That's not what happened," Peter snapped. "I didn't tell Chris that at all. More's the pity, it would have been fun."

"Then why?"

"Because your father shouldn't have talked about you like he did," Peter said. "He just got you back, he shouldn't have been saying those things about you."

Allison took a step back. "What things?"

"About how you were trying to use him to do all those bad things. Or else that you were so stupid that you were being manipulated without seeing it." Peter crossed his arms over his chest. "And you shouldn't have been sitting there and just taking it like that."

Allison took another step back, bumping into the bookcase. She hadn't realized that was what it looked like, that terrible Wednesday afternoon at the Stilinski house when Tony showed up. "Taking it like what?" she asked, the words hollow in her mouth.

Peter clenched his jaw. "Like you didn't deserve any better."

That wasn't what happened, not at all, but the words caught in Allison's throat and she almost choked.

"So I called Chris," Peter went on, almost against his will. "Because you should have someone in this town who has your back."

"And you decided that person had to be _Chris Argent?"_ Allison wrapped her arms around her torso. Something was wrong in her chest, something hurt in a way she didn't understand.

"You're just…" Peter turned away. "You try to hide it, but you're looking for approval. And you're not getting it from Stilinski, and you don't seem to want it from me. I thought Chris…"

Oh god, was that what Chris had meant earlier in his office, when he said he approved of her? Allison dug her fingers into her side as the mortification crashed over her. She knew she had problems, but she hadn't realized that everyone else could see how pathetic she was. "You thought Chris what?" Allison demanded, somehow getting the words out. "Wouldn't have a problem patting me on the head and saying _good girl?"_

"Allison…"

"Is this what you all think of me?" Allison went on. "That I'm so desperate to be Daddy's little girl that I wouldn't care that you're all laughing behind my back about this?"

"Allison, that's not what happened," Peter said.

"Don't you think I know how humiliating this is?" Allison stepped out of Peter's reach. "How pathetic I am?"

A wave of nausea crashed through her, and she turned away, putting her face into her hands. She flinched as Peter touched her arm. "Allison, I'm sorry."

"Don't look at me," she got out, even though breathing was getting a little hard.

"I'm not looking at you." Peter's arms went around her shoulders, and without even meaning to, she turned into him, the alpha wanting comfort and not caring where it came from. "One could argue that this is the one spot in the room that I can't look at you."

Allison wrapped her arms around him and held on. "I hate you."

"I know." Peter ran his hand over her back.

"You're such an asshole."

"Again, I know." Peter kissed Allison's neck. "If it's any consolation, I'm pretty sure Chris was fantasizing about shooting me during the entire conversation."

Allison sniffled. "What else did you say to him?"

"Let's see." Peter kissed her neck again. "I taunted him a bit about Dupont."

Allison buried her face in Peter's shoulder. "Peter."

"I also suggested that he keep you up to speed on Hunter business."

Allison sighed. If this was what Peter was willing to tell her, she wondered what else he had said to Chris. "Anything else?"

"I told him that my only goal in life is your happiness."

Allison pulled back enough to look Peter in the eyes. "Why do I doubt that you phrased it like that?"

Peter smiled. "I might have said that when you're happy, I'm happy."

Allison reached up to trace a thumb over Peter's jaw. "Are you?"

His smile faded. "Yes." He kissed her palm. "Much to my everlasting surprise."

Allison curled back in against Peter, letting him hold her close. His heartbeat was loud in her ears. "I love you, Peter, but I'm not really thrilled about everything right now."

"Okay."

Allison turned her head. The sun was setting over Beacon Hills, and Peter's apartment was angled just enough for the golden rays to flood through the window. "I've been thinking about Tony," she said after a while.

"What about him?"

"I've been trying to figure out if there was anything I could have done differently, so he wouldn't hate me."

Peter pulled away. "And?" he asked, guiding Allison over to the couch. They sat down, and Allison promptly draped herself over Peter again.

"I thought of one way," she said, resting her head against his chest. Peter ran his hand over her hair. "If I didn't ask him for help with Extremis. If I had tried to do everything on my own."

"Hmm." Peter pulled one leg up to bracket Allison's body. "Would it have worked?"

"No." Allison closed her eyes. It had been a very long and boring day at school, and when she wasn't trying to stickhandle a packet of teenage werewolves hyperactive on the lead up to the full moon, she was running everything with Tony over and over in her head. The conclusion she had come to, had been bleak. "I wouldn't have been able to get anywhere as close to where I was, without using Tony's computers."

"Would more people have died?"

Allison remembered the carnage from the original Extremis attacks, in a December that would never happen. "Probably. Differently, but probably."

"Then you did what you had to."

"I know." Allison looked at the ring on her hand. "And knowing everything that happened, I'd do it again."

"Even though it means your father thinks you're a bad guy?

Allison made a fist. Molly Hale's ring gleamed gold in light from the setting sun. "Yes," she said, and the word hung heavy on her heart. "I have to protect people. If I can do something to save people, then I have to do it."

"Even at your own expense."

"That assumes that I matter in any of this."

"You do." Peter kissed the top of her head. "You do, beautiful."

Allison closed her eyes and let Peter hold her. The apartment was quiet and warm and, in that moment, Allison felt safe.

After a while, she became aware that there was a growing situation pressed against her thigh. "Peter."

"What?"

She shifted her hips, and Peter let out a breath. "That."

"Well." Peter looked at her. "It is the full moon tomorrow, and you've been wiggling a lot."

Allison considered. She wasn't feeling her best and it had been a very long week. But Peter had been there for her, saving her life, holding her hand when she was about ready to lose her mind. Even the thing with Chris, that wasn't really about Peter at all. It was just Allison and her fucked-up issues.

"It'll go away on its own," Peter said when Allison didn't speak.

"I know." Allison made a decision. "Or maybe we could encourage things to their natural conclusion."

"What are you talking about?"

Allison sat up, straddling Peter's waist. His eyes grew dark as she shifted down, her mouth inches from his. "It's been four days since we were in bed together," she reminded him. "Four very long days."

Peter put his hands around her waist. "It might be a little too close to the full moon for this."

"For what?" Allison kissed his cheek, dotting little kisses down his throat.

"For me to be fully in control."

"Good." Allison kissed his mouth, feeling his lips open under hers. The alpha was stirring now, warming her up, the blood pounding through her veins.

Peter kissed her for a long time, his hands working their way under her clothes, pulling the scarf off her neck, unbuttoning her pants. For her part, Allison was well on the way to disrobing Peter, when all of a sudden he sat up. "Hang on."

Allison disentangled her hands from his belt. "What?"

"Are you sure?" Peter caught Allison's hands in his. "After what happened on Tuesday?"

Allison stared at Peter. "What happened on Tuesday?" She yanked her mind back a few days. "Are you talking about Killian trying to kill me?"

"Among other things." Peter held Allison still. "You said he tried to rape you."

"Yeah, and kill me, but he's dead now." Allison didn't understand the expression on Peter's face. "What? That's on him. He's dead."

Peter was quiet for too long. "Most normal girls who get attacked and almost raped don't usually get over it so quick."

Allison wasn't entirely sure what Peter was implying, but she suddenly didn't want to be there anymore. "Yeah, well, you and I both know that I'm not like other girls." She stood up, buttoning her jeans. "Sorry to take up your time."

"Allison, wait." Peter shot to his feet, catching gently at her hands. "That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?"

Peter ran his hands up her arms, pulling her in close. She stayed still, although she could feel herself vibrating with interrupted energy. "I don't want you to feel like you have to do anything if you're not ready."

Allison flipped her hair over her shoulder. "And if I am ready? Is that going to be a problem for you?"

"No." Peter drew her in. "I just want you to be sure that you want to be here."

Allison put her hand around the back of his neck. "Listen to me, Peter. If I ever don't want to be with you, you'll know it."

"How?"

"Because I'll tell you."

She didn't understand the expression in his eyes, and part of her didn't want to. "Promise?"

Allison ran her thumb over the line of Peter's neck. "I promise."

Peter let out a breath. "Okay." He pulled her in to press a soft kiss against her lips. "Okay."

"The same goes with you." Allison looked at Peter. "Okay?"

"Okay."

"Do you want to try this again?"

"Sure." Peter stepped back, pulling Allison with him over to the bed. "I do have to warn you that I might have some trouble with my claws."

"That's fine." Allison pulled her shirt off over her head before sitting on the edge of the mattress.

"What about your ground rules?"

Allison unfastened her bra and let it slide to the floor. "New list," she said. "No broken bones, no hair pulling. Fangs and claws are negotiable."

Peter sat down beside Allison, lifting her onto his lap. "For me, it's still no knives." He slid his hands down her bare back to cup her ass. "And no fire."

"Okay." Allison wrapped her arms around his neck. "Now are you going to shut up or are we going to keep talking?"

"Maybe I can find something to do with my tongue," Peter said, a blue gleam in his eye, before lifting his mouth to capture her lips.

Allison fell into the kiss, wrapping herself around Peter. Yes, she supposed that Peter would be able to find something to keep him occupied after all. And she was going to enjoy every moment of it.

* * *

"I thought you were making dinner," was the first thing out of Stiles' mouth when Allison walked in the door.

"Why?" Allison asked, putting her helmet on the bench. "What part of I'm not here and the house is dark screams 'Allison's making dinner'?"

"I don't know." Stiles scratched his nose, jittering slightly in a starboard direction. "I started doing something and then it was after dark."

"What do we have?"

"A fridge full of nothing but hot sauce and sadness," Stiles said as he followed Allison to the kitchen.

Allison yanked open the freezer, then the fridge. They were getting pretty near to the bone. "We're going grocery shopping tomorrow," she said, closing both doors and going to the pantry. Stiles hung behind her, chewing on a piece of paper that had started life as his history assignment. "We're going to have to rough it."

She pulled out a can of black beans and a bag of rice, and shoved them at Stiles. "What am I going to do with this?" he demanded.

"You're going to find a recipe for rice and beans, and make rice and beans."

The dramatic face Stiles made was a masterpiece. "Why me?"

"Because." Allison pulled a can of chicken broth off the shelf, carrying it over to the spice cupboard. She grabbed the garlic and the onion powder, and set her handfuls on the counter. "If you can master this dish, you won't starve to death when you go to college and are living on your own."

"No, I meant why can't you make it?"

"I have to go shower." Allison flashed Stiles a bright smile. "I just spent the last hour or so testing Peter's self-control before the full moon."

Stiles stared at her, confused. "Why would you need to shower after—" The penny dropped, and Stiles jumped back, scandalized. "Ew! Gross!"

"Internet," Allison ordered, sweeping out of the kitchen. "Recipe. Cook!"

"You're terrible," Stiles yelled up the stairs after her.

"Probably." Allison went to her bedroom to dump her backpack on the bed. The zipper broke under the weight of all Peter's books, spilling out over the blanket. Allison took a look at the mess, then just shook her head. It could all wait until later. It wasn't like the rest of the room was in any better shape.

Allison went to the dresser, putting her ring into the drawer beside Peter's necklace, then folded the shadow silk on top of them both. The silk had hung around her neck all day like a warm breeze, but Allison still wasn't sure if she should be wearing it on a normal day.

Closing the drawer, Allison went to shower.

When she emerged from the bathroom in a puff of steam, Stiles had cranked some Andrew Lloyd Weber in the kitchen and was singing along. It didn't sound like Noah was home yet, so Allison probably had some time to check her email and messages before heading downstairs. Back in her bedroom, Allison pulled on her borrowed sweatpants, one of Stiles' t-shirts, and an oversized hoodie from Erica. She still felt cold.

Maybe she needed to eat something.

But first, she shoved her backpack to the side of the bed and curled up with her phone and laptop. She took a picture to send to Peter, complete with sarcastic duck lips, captioned it _thanks for the chess lesson,_ then went back to her laptop. In spite of her hopes that Dr. Helen Cho and the combined brainpower of the CDC would be able to get a handle on Extremis, her message board was filled of updates from Jarvis.

Good mood dissipating, Allison went to work.

She was barely ten minutes into dissecting a briefing note when a video chat window popped up on the screen. Allison tapped the _accept_ button without delay, thinking that perhaps it was Anna with an update about Inez or Matias.

But it wasn't Anna.

It was Tony.

The shock of seeing her father's face on the screen was enough to catch the words in Allison's mouth. For his part, Tony was just gaping at her like a stunned trout, which wasn't fair, seeing as how _he_ had called _her_. Finally, Tony said, "Jarvis, I asked if Allison was online, not to call her."

"My apologies, sir," said Jarvis, sounding overly smug.

Allison's temper flared. "Please don't let me keep you if you have something more pressing."

"He doesn't," came Rhodey's voice into the mix. The next instant, the man himself came on the screen, clapping a hand on Tony's shoulder. "Jarvis, do not hang up." He sat beside Tony, nearly knocking the man off his chair. "Hi Allison."

Allison swallowed around the lump in her throat. "Colonel Rhodes."

"How are you holding up?" Rhodey went on. He had Tony in an iron grip. "Pepper told me that you had some problems after the explosion."

Allison gripped the edge of the laptop. She wouldn't have minded if her Rhodey knew about the human alpha thing, but this man barely knew her, and he had come to Beacon Hills in pursuit of a military report. "Jarvis, is this a secure connection?" she asked, knowing the question came out a little shrill.

"Yes," Jarvis said immediately. The question knocked some of the smile off Rhodey's face. Tony just looked blank. 'However, Dr. Cho and Dr. Banner are in the research rooms below, and may enter at any time. I will notify you if they approach."

Allison bit her lip. Was she supposed to know who Bruce Banner was? She supposed that there was no reason to start pretending ignorance now. "I didn't know Dr. Banner was versed in a field of study relating to Extremis."

"Dr. Banner has a history in biochemistry," Jarvis said. "Following your conversation with Dr. Hansen, Dr. Cho requested the services of anyone who might be able to contribute to the situation. Dr. Banner volunteered, and that is why we are all currently in Avengers Tower in New York."

"That's good of him," Allison said. She pried her hand off the laptop case before she could dent it. "My apologies, Colonel Rhodes. You were saying?"

Rhodey's smile was totally gone now, and his expression serious as he said. "Pepper said you had brain damage, and that Peter guy did something to help you heal like your mom would have."

Allison tucked her wet hair behind her ears. "He did." She chanced a look at Tony, who was being very, very quiet.

"That's a little unexpected."

Allison broke. "Please, Colonel Rhodes, please don't put that in your report. I can't—if the military knows, then Hydra's going to find out."

"How can you say that?" Tony finally interrupted. "Rhodey would never put you in danger, how can you think that?"

"Hey, how's she going to know?" Rhodey demanded of Tony. "She met me once for ten minutes after Killian tried to kill her."

"She seems to know everything else." Tony wrestled free of Rhodey's grip and got up, walking across the room.

Allison's heart pounded in her chest. "I'm sorry, Colonel Rhodes."

"Don't be sorry, it's all right." Rhodey rubbed his hand over his mouth. "All that I put in the report was what you told me at the hospital. The brass just wanted to know if Killian was dead, and if he had anyone else working with him."

Allison nodded. "I don't know anything about that last part. Dr. Hansen was reticent about it, but Dr. Cho and the FBI could have told you that."

"Dr. Cho said that Natasha went with you to Washington yesterday."

Allison nodded again, something in her guts thawing a bit. "I'm trying to figure out why she's staying in Beacon Hills. Maybe a well-earned vacation, or what."

"Does Natasha take vacations?" Rhodey wondered. "Allison, how are you doing? Really?"

Allison shrugged one shoulder. Tony was still on the other side of the penthouse, his back to the camera. "I'll be fine." She rubbed her thumbnail over the trackpad. "Can you do me a favour?"

Tony jerked a little at that. Rhodey blinked at the screen. "What do you need?"

"Can you talk to Pepper about werewolves?" Allison asked. "She seemed really freaked out on Wednesday by the concept."

"Of course she was," Tony said, dropping a wrench and coming back across the room. "She'd just watched a normal human being turn into a monster and rip your arm up!"

A sudden fury tore through Allison. "Werewolves aren't monsters, Tony, you of all people should know that!"

"What does _that_ mean?"

"It means you were going to marry my mother! Was that just because I was going to be born a girl? If I was a boy and had a ninety-percent chance of being a werewolf, would you have ditched at the earliest opportunity?"

"Of course not!" Tony shouted. He pushed Rhodey's hand away. "I meant that Pepper got spooked by what happened!"

Allison dug her hand through her hair close to her scalp and pulled, the sudden pain crashing over her like ice. Focus. She had to focus. "Peter did what he had to do."

"He cut you up," Tony said again.

"Yes, he did, and I'd ask him to do it again in a heartbeat," Allison said. She let go of her hair. "I know myself, Tony, I know what I can take. What Peter did saved my life."

Tony raked his hands through his hair. "There had to have been a better way."

"Not without risking permanent brain damage," Allison said. "I know you don't want to listen to anything I have to say, but will you at least hear me on this?"

"What are you talking about?" Tony demanded. "I've done nothing but listen to what you've had to say."

"If you count listening in on my phone calls with Jarvis, sure."

Rhodey whistled, cutting across the line. "Oh my god," he exclaimed. "Would you two please stop trying to find the worst possible meaning in everything the other one says?"

"Where's the fun in that?" Tony muttered under his breath.

The comment was probably meant as a joke, but Allison's emotions were a little too raw. She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.

"How about we just put a hold on the battlefield?" Rhodey went on. "Allison, do you have any questions for us?"

Allison removed her teeth from her lip. "How are Dr. Cho and Dr. Banner getting along?"

"Fine," Tony said. "I've been suggesting a little dining at Le Bernardin, a bottle of something older than you."

Allison stared at the screen. "I meant on the virus."

"Fine." Tony snapped his fingers a few times. "Whatever you shucked out of Maya seems to be doing the trick."

"Good." Allison wiped her hand over her mouth, coming away with a smear of blood. She swallowed a mouthful of copper. "I don't know what else I can do, then."

"How about the truth?"

Allison stared at Tony on the screen. His dark eyes were burning. "The truth," she repeated. "What truth, Tony?"

"About Extremis. About any of this."

Allison balled her hand up in the sheets at her side. The truth was the last thing she could tell Tony, especially now, after she had destroyed everything between them. "I've told you everything I can."

"Even about the Winter Soldier?"

Allison's heart skipped a beat. "What about him?"

"You told Romanoff everything about what you know about that guy?"

"Mostly," Allison said. She didn't know exactly what Natasha had told Tony about the Winter Soldier outside of her hearing, but now that she was almost certain that Extremis had been built on Bucky's DNA, she had to be so much more careful about what she said.

"That's it? Mostly?"

"Everything that was relevant."

"And what about what's not relevant?" Tony was watching the screen very carefully, and even Rhodey was quiet.

"What, that he likes jazz music? That he thinks Buster Keaton was the pinnacle of physical comedy? Or how about that bread is his favorite thing in the whole world?"

"Bread," Tony repeated. "You're telling me that the world's most deadly assassin goes gaga for gluten? This is the kind of thing he was telling you about all summer?"

"Just August," Allison said.

"Just August," Rhodey muttered. "You seem kind of blasé about being tracked down by a master assassin."

"He didn't kill anyone," Allison said. She hoped she was going to remember all of the lies she was telling. "He wasn't even mean to me. Mostly he laid low."

"And he just wanted to be your friend." Tony couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

"He said he was." Allison looked away from the screen to pick at the sleeve of her hoodie. "I don't know why he was really there, or what he really wanted."

"And you didn't think to question that at the time?"

"Tony," Rhodey said quietly.

Suddenly, Allison was sick of it all. Sick of defending herself to her father, sick of trying to justify the actions she was taking to protect everyone. She could have shot back at Tony with some line about being eighteen and being alone, of trying to deal with the world after having her whole life blow up, but there was nothing she could say that Tony wouldn't take as a personal attack, considering he had been so young when he lost his parents.

So in the end, Allison said nothing.

"How about we talk about something else?" Rhodey said into the resulting awkward silence. "Allison? How's school?"

"Fine," Allison said.

"Are you taking any extracurriculars? In any clubs?"

"No." Allison twisted her fingers up in her cuff. "I did gymnastics and archery when I was younger, but not since we moved to Beacon Hills."

"That was last year," Tony said.

"So?"

"You were close to nationally ranked in archery. What changed?"

"My priorities shifted."

"To what? Your grades didn't get any better."

Rhodey stood up. "Allison, can you hang out here for a bit? I need to talk to Tony." Without waiting for a response, Rhodey hooked his arm through Tony's and hauled the shorter man out of the shot.

"Jarvis?" Allison said after a minute of the screen showing the empty penthouse overlooking Central Park.

"Yes?"

Allison put her head into her hands. "Nothing."

"Are you well?"

Allison rubbed her eyes before looking up. "Never been better."

"Your vocal tenor indicates otherwise."

"It doesn't matter."

"Is there anything I can do to assist?"

"No."

A pause, then, "Dr. Banner is coming up the elevator to the penthouse."

On the screen, the elevator opened, and out walked Bruce Banner, small and human, instead of the tall green Hulk-like man Allison had grown used to. Looking around, Bruce called out, "Tony?"

"Rhodey took him out behind the woodshed," Allison said. Bruce turned, and it took him a moment to locate the screen. "Hi. I'm Allison."

"Bruce Banner." Bruce came closer, lifting his glasses to the top of his head. "Hi."

"I'm, um." Allison bit down on the _I'm Tony's daughter_ bit; Tony himself didn't seem too keen on the idea. "I was working with Dr. Cho on Extremis. We were in Washington yesterday."

"Yeah, Helen told me." Bruce sat in the abandoned chair. "She said you made amazing strides in deciphering the mechanism behind Extremis."

"Not nearly enough, unfortunately."

"No, it was fascinating work." Bruce touched the keypad, and a new set of data appeared on Allison's laptop. "Digging deeper on the AIM data and the test samples has been eye-opening. Terrifying, but eye-opening."

"Yeah." Allison hesitated. If Bruce kept going, he might run up against a sign that the test subject used to create Extremis had an encounter with the Super Soldier serum.

And Bruce Banner was the one person in the world who was likely to recognize that for what it was.

Allison snapped into Alpha mode. She couldn't tell Bruce to stop digging without a reason, but if he came across the origins unaware, it might go sideways and deflect in dangerous ways, even unveiling the werewolf influence. Better to point him in a direction and prime him with an expectation of what he was looking for. "Did Helen tell you what Dr. Hansen said about their test subject?"

"A little, yes." Bruce looked at Allison. "What about them?"

Allison folded her hands together. "Was there anything in what you found in AIM's records that might indicate how large the tissue sample was? Either one?"

"No," Bruce said. He put his glasses back on and glanced at the screens, swiping through documents. "But I worked with a few people who were doing some test work on viruses, back in my PhD days. They were using rats, but human tissue, but their sample sizes were not small." He looked back at Allison. "Why?"

"Maya said that the second sample came from a living donor and was somewhat larger than the first." Allison paused, long enough to make a point. "And that the donor tissue displayed some regenerative capabilities."

"Oh." Bruce swiped past a few more screens, then he took off his glasses to press his fingers to the bridge of his nose. "It would have to, to act as a basis for something as pyrotechnic as Extremis."

"I know there's nothing I can do to help that person, but I'm worried."

Bruce let out a breath. "Everything about this just keeps getting worse and worse," he said.

"Can I help with anything?" Allison asked. "I know Helen's the expert in all of this."

"She went to get some sleep." Bruce put his glasses back on. "She's barely slept since they contacted her in Atlanta."

"Good," Allison said. "Sleep, I hear that's a thing."

Bruce looked at Allison tiredly. "You too, huh?"

Allison shrugged. "When do I have time to sleep, what with homework and work?"

"What college are you at?"

It was Allison's turn to look at Bruce. "College? No, I'm in high school." Then she made the next connection, which was that Tony hadn't told Bruce about her at all. Which, okay. Fine. If Tony didn't want to go telling anyone that Allison was his daughter, that was his choice.

But the omission cut deep.

"Helen said you were a junior."

"In high school."

Jarvis broke in. "Allison is in the eleventh grade at Beacon Hills High School in northern California," he said. "Where her grades are, if I may say, outstanding."

"Jarvis," Allison said. "Stop hacking into the school servers, you're going to get someone into trouble."

"As you wish."

"If you're a junior, now's a good time to be looking at colleges," Bruce said, his energy reviving a bit. "I used to teach at Culver, if you're interested in colleges on the east coast."

Allison tried to smile, but it felt hollow. "I'm not going to college," she said. "But thanks for the offer."

She waited for Bruce to push her, like everyone else, when it came to the topic of higher education, but he just gave her a rueful smile. "It stands." He got up. "I'm going to head back downstairs and see what else I can shake loose out of the old noggin."

"Noggin?" Allison repeated. "You're not that old, Dr. Banner."

Bruce shook his head. "When you start teaching nineteen-year-olds biochemistry and you're only twenty-nine, you do what you can to sound like you actually know what you're doing."

"Does anyone really know what they're doing?"

"Exactly." Bruce gave an awkward wave. "See you later."

"Dr. Banner." Allison waited until Bruce entered the elevator before she said, "Jarvis, what are Tony and Rhodey doing?"

"They are exchanging words," Jarvis said mildly. "At length and at volume."

"Great." Allison tucked a curl of hair behind her ear. That was the last thing she wanted, coming between Tony and his friends. "Can you tell Rhodey to stop? It's not worth it."

"What is not?" Jarvis's voice was quiet.

Allison looked down at her hands. It took her a minute to say, "I get it, okay? Tony doesn't want people to know I'm his daughter, that's fine. I told Sam and Helen yesterday, and Steve knows, but I won't tell anyone else."

"You think he doesn't want people to know you are his child?"

Allison looked up at the screen, at the empty penthouse. The last time she had lived this, Tony had shouted it from the rooftops that Allison was alive. The media shitstorm was intense, but Allison had never, ever felt for a single moment that Tony didn't love her, didn't want her in his life.

But that was then, and this time around, Allison had burned every single bridge with Tony before he had even talked to her in person.

"I don't know what else to say to him," she said after a minute. "I'm tired of defending myself for what I had to do to keep myself alive, for what I have to do to protect people." She pulled her hair over her shoulder. "I'm eighteen and I'm running on fumes and I don't know how much longer I can do this."

"As we discussed this morning, I can arrange to have funds deposited into your bank account at a moment's notice."

Allison shook her head. "Money isn't the kind of currency we use in this family, Jarvis. It's pain and blood." She bit at her barely healed lip. "If anything comes up that you need me on, can you call? I'm going to bed."

"It is barely seven o'clock your time," Jarvis pointed out.

"I'm tired." Allison reached for the laptop screen. "Bye."

She shut the laptop before Jarvis could reply.

In the resultant dark of the room, Allison closed her eyes. Everything she did with Tony made things worse. But that didn't matter. She wasn't in the past to have a second shot with her father. She had to save the universe. Even if it killed her.

She didn't register how long she sat in the darkness before she heard footsteps in the hall outside, and a soft knock at her door. "Allison?" It was Noah.

Slowly, Allison unfolded herself and got up to walk over to the door. She opened it a crack. "Hi."

Noah's expression changed from curious to worried in an instant. "Why are you crying?"

What? Allison wiped her hand over her cheek, coming away with wetness. "Damn it," she muttered, scrubbing her sleeve over her face. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry." Noah hesitated. "Stiles said you went to see Peter earlier. Did he…"

"No." Allison opened the door to prop her shoulder against the frame. "I was on my laptop and Tony called."

"Oh." There was a weight in that word. "What happened?"

Allison looked down the hall. "I keep fucking everything up," she said after a moment. "Everything I say, everything I do, it's wrong."

"Hey, that's not true," Noah said. "Allison, it's not."

"No, it categorically is," she said. "But it doesn't matter. We can just focus on the work, Extremis and Hydra and all the bad guys in the world."

"He can focus on that," Noah said. "You have school."

"I can help," Allison said, stung.

"I have no doubt that you can solve everything single-handed, but you're a teenager and you shouldn't have to solve everything on your own." Noah glanced down the hallway towards the stairs. "How about you put on some going-out clothes? I'll take you and Stiles out for dinner."

"He's making rice and beans," Allison said.

Noah's expression was almost entertaining. "We've all had a very long week, and I spent too much of my childhood eating rice and beans to want to do it on a Friday night."

Allison crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm trying to teach Stiles to be self-reliant."

"And I thank you for that. However, I think this lesson has failed, considering what I saw downstairs."

Allison frowned. "What happened?"

"Stiles is on his laptop, and nothing's cooked."

"I left him down there an hour ago." Allison let out a breath. "You two go out. I'm going to go to bed."

Noah looked at her for a moment. "You sure? We can go to that Mexican place that has that chicken mole dish you like."

Allison's stomach twisted at the memory of the dish. "I do like it," she said, resolve weakening.

"And you can tell me all about anything that happened this afternoon." Noah paused. "Almost anything."

"What, you don't want to hear how Peter's making bad life choices when it comes to Argents?"

Noah's face twisted. "No, because I don't want to have to open a new case file over dinner."

"It's fine, he's just interfering in Chris's life."

"That doesn't reassure me."

"I assume you've talked to Deputy Strong," Allison went on.

"We had a chat, yes."

Allison sighed. "Fine, I'll change, and we'll go out, and I'll tell you all the ways in which my grandmother and uncle appeared in town unannounced and totally ruined Chris's afternoon."

"Good. I'll get Stiles."

"Meet you downstairs in ten minutes."

Allison went back into her room and closed the door. A quick perusal of her closet gave her a somewhat decent collection of Erica's clothes, then she went to her dresser to put on her ring and Peter's ruby necklace. She pulled out the shadow silk and draped it around her neck as a scarf, just in case. Then she slipped a knife into her waistband, hiding it under her shirt, before picking up her phone on the way out the door.

Stiles and Noah were arguing in the kitchen as Allison descended the stairs. Her phone had the usual collection of messages from the group chat and the others. Erica had sent a cute selfie from the restaurant before her shift started. Peter had replied to Allison's photo with a raised middle finger and a smirk. Lydia was bemoaning how her mother seemed intent on ruining her life.

And there was nothing from New York.

Allison took a deep breath and pocketed her phone. That was not unexpected. She would leave things in Tony's court for now. If he wanted anything from her, be it Extremis or Hydra related, Jarvis knew where to find her.

The reality of it was, Tony didn't need her; he had Pepper and Rhodey and Bruce and everyone. He'd be fine.

And Allison? Well. Allison would do what she had to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Allison on leaving her grandmother and uncle: That went well.  
> Inez to Matias in the car on the way home: I Have So Many Serious Concerns.
> 
> Allison on leaving Peter's: What a nice interlude.  
> Peter: Nothing she does makes any _sense_.
> 
> Allison, on the conversation with Tony: I will take everything Tony says and does as a personal attack.  
> Tony, shouting from the fireman's carry Rhodey still has him in: Why is she so intent on taking everything I say the wrong way?  
> Colonel James Rhodes, the hardest working man in show-business: *Screams into the void*


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia and Stiles catch up on supernatural events and theorize on what, exactly, is wrong with Allison. Bisexual disaster Kira Yukimura can't tell if she's making friends at her new school or joining a cult. And Noshiko Yukimura was certainly not expecting a teenage alpha to roll up on her porch with far more knowledge of Noshiko's past misdeeds than anyone other than Noshiko herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's right, it's Nogitsune story arc time!
> 
> I think it's only fair to start adding in other relationship tags here, why not.
> 
> A brief reference to past violence and attempted sexual assault.

### Stiles Stilinski

Stiles sat down at the kitchen table. He had everything he needed to do homework. His laptop was on. Two cans of Red Bull sat waiting. His history textbook was open, to the right page in the right section. His headphones were plugged in. Dad had gone off on Saturday Dad-errands. Allison was in the living room, having a two o'clock nap like the senior citizen she was.

He was _ready_.

Stiles lifted his hands to the laptop keys and nearly jumped out of his skin when the doorbell rang. "No!" he exclaimed in a harsh whisper as he scrambled up, bashing his leg against the table. If someone woke up Allison, after all the convincing Dad had done to get her to try to sleep, that someone was going to _die._

A brief glimpse in the living room showed no movement from the couch. Stiles booked it for the front door, ready to eviscerate whoever had showed up without even so much as a text.

All that vanished when he yanked open the door to find a crying Lydia Martin on his front porch.

"Lydia?" Stiles faltered, stepping outside. Lydia looked away and wiped at her eyes, messing up her makeup, and no, Lydia never messed up her makeup. "What happened?"

"Is Allison here?" Lydia asked, voice shaking.

"Yeah, she's sleeping." Stiles let the door close behind him. "Are you okay?"

It was a dumb question, but then, Stiles was always dumb around Lydia. The look she gave him through the tears told him that she thought so, too. "Can I talk to Allison?"

Stiles wrapped his fingers into his shirt hem, worrying the fabric. "Normally I would say one-hundred-percent yes, absolutely, but she didn't sleep at all last night and my dad's super-worried she's going to have a total nervous breakdown and I don't know if I want a human alpha having a nervous breakdown this soon in the school year, I was hoping that we could at least get past Halloween and maybe even to Thanksgiving—"

Lydia stopped this tirade by stepping in and poking her finger into his liver. He flinched back, rubbing his gut. "God, stop it, all right," Lydia said. She seemed to be pulling herself together. "I know Allison's messed up." Lydia looked over her shoulder at the sunny Beacon Hills afternoon. "Isaac says she smells tired all the time."

"Yeah." Stiles tucked his hands in his pockets. "I can tell her you stopped by." And oh god no, the tears were back. "Or! You can come inside! Into the house?"

Lydia nodded, then pushed past Stiles inside. He stared up at the road, because what was going on? Then he ducked in, closing the door and locking it before tip-toeing after Lydia.

Lydia stopped in the entrance to the living room. "How long has Allison been asleep?" she whispered.

"An hour," Stiles replied.

On the couch, Allison lay motionless, curled up under that weird black blanket thing she'd started wearing on Friday. Asleep, Allison looked almost as young as she had before that summer. It was only when she was awake that Allison acted so… old.

Stiles didn't understand her. He wasn't sure he wanted to.

"Come on," he said after they had both been staring at Allison for a little too long. "We can go in the kitchen. My dad's not home."

Lydia nodded, and let Stiles steer her around into the kitchen.

"Do you want something to drink?" Stiles asked, grabbing the tissue box from the counter and shoving it into Lydia's arms. "Tea? Coffee? Hot chocolate?"

Lydia shrugged, collapsing into the chair where Allison usually sat.

"Are you hungry?" Stiles asked in growing desperation. "Do you want teppanyaki?"

Lydia pulled back with a start, staring at Stiles with a familiar frown. "Why would I want teppanyaki?" she demanded.

"I don't know," Stiles said. "It's dinner and a show?" He pushed one of the cans of Red Bull over at Lydia, and after a hesitation, she took it. Stiles sat down as Lydia open the can, took a sip, made a face, then took another sip. "What happened, Lydia?"

Lydia put the can down. It took her a minute to speak, and the house was silent and expectant around them. "Jackson broke up with me."

Stile sat back, appalled. "What? _Why?"_

Lydia shrugged. "He says he wants to date boys. Which, like, _fine_ , maybe I want to kiss girls, you don't see me breaking up with him."

Stiles sat motionless, a tsunami of emotions rocking through him. A lot had happened in a few sentences. "Like, Erica?"

Lydia jerked a look up at him. "That's your take-away?"

"That you want to kiss Erica?" Stiles pulled his chair closer to the table. "Yeah, that's new."

"Not that Jackson is bi?"

Stiles waved that away. "No one who pays as much attention to his hair and clothes is a zero on the Kinsey scale. But you and Erica?"

"Shut up, I don't want to kiss Erica." Lydia's cheeks had gone pink.

"Are you sure?" Stiles asked. All those research days with Erica and Lydia, where the girls had been giggling and talking and Lydia had been so adamant that they find out what was going on with Allison, about how Allison really mattered and had been through so much and they had to find out what was going on with her— "Oh my god, is it Allison?" he squeaked.

"Shut _up,"_ Lydia said again. "It doesn't matter, Allison's totally straight."

Stiles gaped at Lydia. "You have a crush on Allison?" He wasn't sure if he was titillated or horrified at the thought of Lydia kissing Allison. No, wait. Picturing Allison kissing anyone was a little gross.

"She's straight," Lydia sad again. She drank more Red Bull and made a face at the can. "How can you drink this? It tastes like monkey piss."

"It's all the caffeine," Stiles said. "I mean, I get it, we don't control who we fall in love with. The whole Allison and Peter situation demonstrates that."

Lydia reached for the box of tissues. "It doesn't matter," she said as she wiped her eyes. "Jackson broke up with me this morning and now Isaac says that the pack has to be on Jackson's side because it's a full moon even though Erica says he's a jackass, and all I have is Allison and she's asleep."

"You've got me," Stiles said, stung. "I'm on your side."

Lydia stared down at the messy tissue in her hands. "Thanks. I think."

"I totally am." Stiles got up to turn the kettle on. "I can go punch Jackson if it'll make you feel better. It won't make me feel any better, because he'll probably kick my ass into next week and I don't have any werewolf healing superpowers, but I'll do it."

Lydia blinked at him as he sat down again. "Why?"

"Because you're sad," Stiles said.

"So?"

She looked so confused, that it made Stiles a little angry. "You shouldn't be sad, not if someone can make it better."

Lydia sniffled. "Jackson isn't… I mean, it sucks, I already bought my dress for Homecoming and now I have no one to go with. But I think… I think I was kind of waiting for something like this." She put the tissue down and grabbed another one.

"Then why are you crying so much?"

Lydia bit her lip as more tears welled up in her eyes. "My parents are getting a divorce," she said after a pause. "Mom told me on Thursday after school."

"I'm sorry," Stiles said. That explained why Lydia was so gloomy on Friday, even after she'd won the Student Council elections.

"And Mom keeps saying I can go live with my dad if I want, and he keeps saying I can live with my mom and it feels like no one wants me." Tears fell down her cheeks. "And oh my god, why can't I stop crying?"

Unable to stop himself, Stiles pulled his chair around to Lydia's side as she pressed the tissue to her eyes. "We do," he said, touching her arm very gently. His heart jumped a bit when Lydia leaned against him. "Me and Allison. We want you."

"That doesn't make me feel any better."

Stiles exhaled. "No, I get it." He rubbed his hand over his face. "Hey, is that why your mom's suddenly teaching?"

"No." Lydia wiped her eyes again. Now that she had gotten the worst of it out, she seemed to be calming down. "She says she's _worried_ about me. Because I'm getting in _trouble."_

Now Stiles was confused. "What trouble are you getting into?"

Lydia grabbed another tissue and blew her nose. "Apparently getting kidnapped with Allison is the kind of trouble I get in when I'm not properly supervised."

Stiles sat back, horrified. "What?" he exclaimed, a little too loudly. He dropped his voice to a whisper. "You were kidnapped!"

"I know."

"Allison was _shot._ With elephant-tranquilizer-dosed _bullets."_

"I _know."_ Lydia blew her nose again. "And all this terrible stuff happened and my mom seems to think that if I pretend it never happened everything will be okay." Lydia pulled up her sleeve, exposing the ugly scar on her arm. The stitches were gone, finally, but the long gash was still an angry red. "But it _happened."_

"I know it did." Stiles carefully took Lydia's wrist, the way he'd seen Allison do, and felt her vibrating like a bird. "Do you want to talk about it? Tell me what happened?"

Lydia blinked at him. "Didn't Allison tell you?"

"You know how Allison tells stories these days." The girl made no sign of wanting to pull away, so he kept holding Lydia's wrist. "Sure, it was a nighttime romp in the woods, chopped down a wendigo for fun, don't mind that I lost so much blood I'm on the edge of a heart attack, I might have a total breakdown later but for now, let's have ice cream."

Lydia shuddered. "Why is she so weird?"

"I mean, if anyone has a right to be, it's her," Stiles agreed. "But do you? Want to talk about it?"

Lydia looked down at where Stiles held her wrist, then moved her arm so she could wrap her hand around his palm. In spite of the situation, Stiles' heart raced. Lydia Martin was holding his hand. His hand. His, Stiles' _hand_.

Taking a deep breath, Lydia said, "We were at the park. I was yelling at Allison for not telling me about her and Peter." She swallowed. "Then the phones went out and Allison got real freaked out and told me we had to go. Then she got shot."

Lydia squeezed Stiles' hand, and he squeezed back.

"She went down and all she told me was that I had to get out of there, but I couldn't move." Lydia took a ragged breath. "Allison was bleeding and I didn't know what to do. Then those guys grabbed me and threw me in their car and they took Allison too and I didn't know what to do."

Lydia bent over herself, still clutching at Stiles. Across the kitchen, the kettle bubbled.

"I was so scared," she whispered.

"I'd be scared too," Stiles said. The kettle clicked and turned off.

"But I didn't do anything," Lydia said. She leaned sideways against Stiles again. "I should have tried to get away but I could see Allison unconscious and they started talking about how the gunshot was healing and then one of them said they should try to do some real damage to her."

Lydia turned her cheek against Stiles' shoulder. Stiles was glad he couldn't see her face; this was horrifying and he was pretty sure he might puke.

"And one of them said that human girls who fucked werewolves could only expect what was coming to them, and he started unbuttoning her jeans and then I started screaming and Dupont hit me until I shut up." Lydia wrapped her free hand in Stiles' shirt. "But they stopped touching Allison."

"Good," Stiles said as he wrapped his arm around Lydia's shoulders. " _Good."_

Lydia went on, almost unable to stop. "And the car stopped and they took us to this creepy room underground, and they taped my hands together and they tied Allison to a chair and Dupont said they should see how fast Allison could heal and they started cutting her and she wasn't even awake." Sniffling hard, Lydia pulled away from Stiles. She got up, a little unsteadily, and walked over to the kettle. "Where's the tea?"

"Up here." Stiles got up to help, bringing down two mugs and getting the box of peppermint tea from the pantry. Lydia took two sachets out of the box and ripped them open with shaking fingers. It took her a minute, but she got the water into the cups and the kettle back on the counter.

"Every time I told them to stop hurting Allison, they just kept hitting me." Lydia stared at the steam rising from the mugs. "I couldn't stop them, they just kept hurting me. I've never felt that helpless before."

Stiles had a nearly full-body flashback to the basement, to Gerard, to the rain of blows falling down on him and there wasn't anything he could do to stop it.

He blinked, and he was back in his own kitchen, with Lydia standing beside him, the scent of peppermint tea heavy in the air. Lydia was looking up at him with huge eyes. "Uh," he said. "I, uh. Get it."

"What happened?" Lydia asked.

Stiles swallowed hard. "Gerard Argent."

Lydia slipped her arm through his and leaned against him. "I hate that man so much."

"Yeah."

They stood there for a long time, looking down at the mugs, before Lydia stirred to take hers back over to the table. Stiles followed, noting how Lydia was pulling back upright, pulling away. It made sense. "When did Allison wake up?"

"After a while," Lydia said. "She kept telling me it was going to be okay, even when…" Lydia traced the scar on her arm. "Even when Dupont stabbed her in the leg. And cut her, and then cut me." She flattened her hand over her arm. "Allison kept telling me that they were going to let me go, I just had to keep quiet."

"Did you?"

Lydia nodded. "I tried. Even when… even when they hurt her. I've never heard anyone scream like that."

"Was it bad?" Stiles asked before he could think.

Lydia nodded again. "Then Dupont said he was going to cut off her hand, then Mr. Argent came in and…" She glanced up, and sat back, staring over Stiles' head. "Allison?"

Stiles turned, because oh great, Allison was awake. Dad was going to kill him.

Then he saw Allison's face, and his heart slammed in his chest.

Allison was right behind him, but she wasn't awake.

"Allison?" Stiles said, slipping out of his chair. Allison's eyes held that horrible blankness they'd had that first night she'd sleepwalked through the house, tearing things apart, looking for that Morgan person before she woke up and started screaming.

"Where's Morgan?" Allison asked, her voice rough. She swayed slightly. "I have to take Morgan to preschool, she's going to be late."

That flipped most of Stiles' ideas on their head. So, Morgan wasn't the alpha guy Allison had to kill in France, the one that messed her up so bad. Preschool meant young, maybe three? Four? When the hell had Allison been spending time around kids?

But there was no time to think about that now. Allison was starting to sway alarmingly, and if she woke up and reacted as badly as she had the last time… Stiles leapt at the closest dangling thread. "Morgan's having a nap," he blurted out. "You don't want to interrupt her nap, right?"

Allison turned her head, her eyes on the floor. "No."

"Okay." Stiles licked his lips. "How about we let Morgan sleep, and you can also go have a nap, how does that sound?"

"We can't be late."

"You won't be late," Stiles said. He held out his hands, loose and non-threatening, and took a step towards Allison. "I promise you won't be late."

Slowly, Allison turned around and retraced her steps into the living room. Stiles followed, carefully not touching her.

Allison went back to the couch and lay down, pulling the black blanket over her shoulders. Stiles chanced coming in close enough to pull the blanket over her legs, wondering again at how the fabric clung to his fingers. Then he yelped as Allison grabbed his wrist.

She said something in a language he didn't understand, her eyes wide and fixed on his face. "Okay," Stiles said when she stopped on a tongue click. "Okay, we will do that. Just as soon as you finish your nap."

"Promettez-vous?"

"I…"

"She asked if you promise?" Lydia said from somewhere behind him.

"I promise," Stiles said. Allison took her hand off his wrist and closed her eyes. Stiles backed up to the living room entrance, where Lydia was half-hiding behind a wall. They stayed there for an incredibly long time, until Allison's breathing evened out, until the tension in her body faded away. "Holy fuck."

"What just happened?" Lydia whispered.

"Sleepwalking." Stiles ran his hand over his face. His heart was still going a million miles an hour. "It happened before."

"Is she okay?"

"Probably not." He turned on Lydia. "Come on, let's go outside. I don't want to wake her up."

Reluctantly, Lydia let herself be chivvied out the back door into the hot afternoon. They sat on the deck in the shade, in the corner where the wind carried down through the trees. "That was really weird," Lydia said after a minute.

"Yeah."

"Who's Morgan?"

"I don't know, and I can't ask."

"Why not?"

Stiles looked at Lydia. Her eyes, while still a bit red from crying, were clear and green as emeralds. "You really want to know?"

Lydia's chin went up. "If it's about Allison, then yes."

"All right." Briefly, Stiles told Lydia about the first time Allison had sleepwalked all over the house, and how when Stiles had shaken her awake she had screamed and screamed. "And she said she'd tell me anything I ever asked, but not about Morgan. I thought Morgan was some guy she'd met in France, the one who…" Stiles made a vague hand gesture around his eyes. "But if Morgan's a little kid…"

"This is really weird," Lydia said.

"I know. When would Allison have met a kid she didn't want to talk about?" Stiles went on. "Like, she's told me some really terrible shit. But why won't she talk about Morgan?"

They fell silent, thinking. Well, Stiles assumed that Lydia was thinking. His brain was ricocheting around at sixty miles an hour, thinking about Allison and children and preschool and birthdays and that thing Allison said about any kids she'd have would be werewolves and that Victoria Argent would certainly know that and Allison was a year older than everyone else in their grade and she was eighteen now and—

"Oh my god!" Stiles burst out, nearly startling Lydia off the deck.

"What?" Lydia demanded, brushing her hands against her shorts. "What are you doing?"

Stiles stared at her, mouth open. "What if Morgan is Allison's kid that she had to give up for adoption?"

"What?" Lydia hissed. "That is the stupidest idea you have ever had."

"Is it?" Stiles' mind raced. "It could work, if Morgan is three and Allison had her when she was fourteen."

"That's creepy!" Lydia settled back against the wall. "Stiles, you've seen Allison in a bikini. She doesn't have a single stretch mark on her. She did not have a secret baby."

"She could have!"

"And I could be a fairy-tale princess," Lydia retorted. "Stiles. Allison didn't have a baby."

Stiles slumped against the deck. "She could have," he mumbled. "It would make sense, why she won't talk about Morgan."

"Ugh." Lydia turned around. "If I tell you something, will you shut up about Allison and this baby idea?"

"Okay." Stiles sat up, expectantly.

Lydia looked at her hands. "Did Allison tell you how we got out of the creepy underground torture room?"

"She said that Chris showed up and distracted everyone."

Lydia slowly lowered her gaze. "That was part of it."

There was something happening here, something deep. Stiles' head itched. "Okay."

Lydia breathed for a minute. "Do you know what a banshee is?"

"Banshee?" Stiles scratched his forehead. "Like a wailing woman?"

Lydia nodded. "In the room, when Dupont was going to cut off Allison's arm, I just got so scared and angry and I screamed and it knocked everyone out except Allison."

"It—" Stiles stopped dead, a sudden thrill running through him. "Lydia, you're a banshee?"

"I think so."

"This is awesome!" Stiles exclaimed, bouncing up to his knees. "Lydia, you're amazing!"

Lydia stared at him for so long that Stiles wondered if he had something on his face. "Do you mean it?" she asked, voice cracking.

"Of course!" Stiles collapsed to Lydia's side. "Wow, this is so cool!"

"It's not cool," Lydia said, shaking her head. "Allison said that I'm going to start knowing when someone's going to die."

"You can tell the future?" Stiles squeaked. This got better and better

"Stop thinking this is neat!" Lydia demanded, slapping his arm. "It's not cool. My grandmother was crazy and my dad says that anyone like her was a bit crazy, and I always thought he said that because he didn't like that she was a lesbian but if she was a banshee too, then am I going to go crazy?"

"Of course not," Stiles said, touching Lydia's arm in reassurance. "We're going to help you, Lydia, all of us. I promise."

Lydia's lower lip trembled. "How can you promise that?"

"Because we're not going to accept anything less."

"Who's we?"

"Me and Allison," Stiles said. "I don't know about everyone else, but if we can deal with werewolves and kanimas and ghosts—"

He broke off when Lydia grabbed his hand. "Do you hear them too?" she demanded.

Stiles' jaw dropped. "What?"

"In the tunnels, after we got out, Allison took me towards the school and it was pitch-black and there was someone else there with us, I could feel her. Allison called her Laura."

"Laura Hale," Stiles breathed. "Oh god, we heard them on the night of the kidnapping up on the preserve. Derek and Peter said they heard Laura and Talia."

"You heard them too?"

Stiles nodded, mind racing. "Allison said something about them in the jeep on the way down with Dupont, but there was so much else going on, I forgot to do anything about it." He grinned then. "This is all so cool."

"How is this cool?" Lydia protested. "There are ghosts in the woods, I'm a banshee, Allison is a human alpha, and my werewolf boyfriend broke up with me on the night of a full moon."

"I know, right?" Stiles said. "This year is going to be epic."

Lydia groaned. "You are such a freak."

"I know." Stiles bit his thumbnail. "All right. We can't do anything about the ghosts right now. Werewolves are so last year. Tell me all about being a banshee."

"I don't know anything about it," Lydia said. "All this stuff started after Peter bit me. The asshole." She rubbed at her midsection. "And I can never wear a bikini again."

"We all agree, someone should totally stab Peter," Stiles said. "What else?"

Lydia elbowed him in the ribs, then settled down against the wall, so close their arms touched. "Allison said that I can scream really loud as a weapon or to…" She closed her eyes. "This sounds so stupid. To channel my precognitive powers."

Stiles gasped. "You can tell the future?" This kept getting better and better.

"I guess," Lydia said. "I don't know. It's sure as hell not for anything useful."

"You said you thought Jackson was going to break up with you, that's something."

"The supernatural has nothing to do with that." Lydia pulled her legs up to her chest. "Allison also said I might be able to hear beyond what normal people can, but that might happen later."

"Huh." Stiles bounced his fingers over his knee. "Allison knows a lot of things, doesn't she?"

"It's creepy," Lydia agreed. "She asked me to come over for dinner so we could do banshee research."

Stiles blinked. "She didn't say anything about that to me."

"It was before that terrorist guy blew her up."

In spite of himself, Stiles shivered. "How fucked up was that?"

"Is she okay?" Lydia asked. "All this bad stuff keeps happening to her and I don't know what to do."

"Me either." Stiles rubbed his hand over his forehead. "I don't know if she's okay. She talks a good game, but she's not sleeping and she's so hungry all the time and won't eat and sometimes she just starts crying and doesn't notice. Like, I have no idea what to do either."

They were quiet for a while, with the distant sound of a lawnmower drifting through the air. "What happened to Allison this summer?" Lydia finally asked.

"I don't know." Stiles looked at her. "There's the alpha thing, you know what that means."

"That… that she killed someone?"

"She said it was a friend." Stiles pulled his knees up, an echo of how Lydia was sitting. "That he was her friend, and other werewolves ripped him apart, and he asked her to kill him so his sister would become the alpha. But Allison became the alpha instead."

Lydia pressed her hand over her mouth. "That's terrible," she whispered.

"Yeah." Stiles let his head rest against the wall. "And there's all this bullshit with Dupont and being kidnapped as a baby and having her real father being an absolute douche and being blown up by terrorists. But I don't think any of that really bothers her as much as it should."

"None of this makes any sense," Lydia said.

"No." Stiles looked over at her. "But you know what does?"

"What?"

"She'd do anything for you. You know that, right?"

Lydia went red and looked down at her hands. "She would?"

"She would. She…" Stiles stopped. There was that thing that Lydia didn't know yet, that Allison had endured so much at the hands of Dupont and his gang in order to keep Lydia alive.

"What?" Lydia demanded.

Could Stiles tell Lydia about that? Should he? Peter had told everyone that terrible story, him and Dad and Deputy Rushman and Tony fucking Stark and Pepper Potts and everyone, and Allison had just sat there listening like what she'd gone through was no big deal.

But that story was about Lydia, and Allison had told Stiles that she would talk to Lydia about it. Somehow.

"Stiles."

"It, uh." He coughed. "There was this thing that Peter said. About you. And Allison."

Then he stopped talking, because he had no idea how to go on.

But Lydia did. She put her hands on Stiles' arm and yanked until he nearly fell over. "Stiles," Lydia said, voice fierce. "Explain _now_."

"Uh, maybe Allison should tell you," Stiles said, trying to pull himself up.

"When does Allison tell me anything?" Lydia demanded. "She drops hints like _you're a banshee_ and then just bolts like that answers anything. Tell me."

"Okay, okay." Stiles sat up, facing Lydia. In spite of the isolation of the backyard, he moved in close so no one could accidentally overhear. "When Tony Stark was here and he was saying things about Allison like she got into trouble and couldn't get out, Peter said…" How the hell had it gone again? "He said that Tony was missing part of the puzzle, that Allison wasn't alone when Dupont grabbed her. That you were also there, and..." Stiles took a deep breath. "That Dupont held a gun against your head so they could do whatever they wanted to Allison,"

The words were practically seared in Stiles' memory, in Peter's precise tenor, and he hated it.

"Peter said that Allison could have gotten away, could have killed them all before they started peeling the skin off her back. But she chose not to."

Lydia's eyes were huge and trembling. Then, to Stiles' shock, she nodded. "I know."

"You do?"

Lydia nodded again. "I know that Allison could have gotten away. When I screamed... She tore through her bindings like they were nothing. She could have gotten away whenever she wanted." Tears were starting to form in Lydia's eyes again. "But there was a guy with a gun at my head and they said they'd kill me if Allison did anything."

"Hey." Stiles took Lydia's hands in his. "Allison said that it was her choice. That she'd do anything to keep you safe."

"Is that supposed to make me feel any better?" Lydia asked. A single tear rolled down her cheek. "That my best friend let herself be hurt because I couldn't do anything to stop them?"

"She's fine with it," Stiles said. "Really, and I know this won't help, but Allison is really okay with what happened. I have no idea _how_ , but she is."

"I should have done something," Lydia said. "I should have screamed sooner."

Stiles shook Lydia's hands. "Had you ever done it before? The screaming thing?"

Lydia shook her head.

"Okay, then how would you know?" he went on. "You never did it before, and when you did, you knocked it out of the park."

"Stop trying to make me feel better," Lydia said.

"Can I help it if you're awesome?" Stiles said. Lydia squeezed his hands. "You're a genius, Lydia Martin, we all know that. You're also a badass. You knocked out five psychopathic assholes with one scream."

"Six."

"Huh?"

"Six. Mr. Argent was there too."

Stiles beamed. "Six! A half-dozen Hunters at once. I can't even count to six when I'm tied up in an underground lair."

He grinned at Lydia. She was so amazing. How many other people in the world were banshees? He might not know all of what a banshee could do, but he was going to find out, and he was going to help Lydia be the best banshee in the whole world.

He just didn't know why Lydia was staring at him like that. "What?" he asked after a moment.

That was when Lydia leaned forward and kissed him.

Stiles' brain stopped working. Because holy crap, Lydia was kissing him. If he'd thought the hand-holding had been intense, this was a thousand times more… more _everything_. Lydia, kissing him, and her lips were soft and she smelled really good and it was probably lucky that Lydia was still holding his hands because he didn't know what else he was supposed to be doing with them—

"What the fuck?" came Allison's voice across the back-yard. Lydia jerked away from Stiles and nearly fell into his lap. Stiles blinked to see Allison bracketed in the back doorway, hair flying, thankfully conscious. "How long was I asleep?"

"Allison!" Lydia squeaked, struggling to sit up. Stiles tried to help, and only succeeded in knocking them both off balance. "Are you really awake?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Allison came outside, closing the door behind her. She dropped to the deck beside them, looking amused as Lydia assumed an upright and locked position. "When did you get here?"

"An hour ago." Lydia tossed her hair over her shoulder.

Allison frowned at Stiles. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

Stiles threw his hands into the air, frustrated beyond belief. Why had Allison chosen that moment to come outside? "For starters, Dad would kill me."

"And you were sleepwalking," Lydia said, pulling Allison's attention.

"I was?" Something close to horror came into Allison's eyes. She reached out, one hand on Lydia's shoulder, one on Stiles' arm. "Are you okay? Did I do anything?"

"Yes," Stiles said. "No."

"What?"

"You didn't do anything." Lydia nudged Stiles with her knee. "You just said some stuff and Stiles got you to go back to the couch."

If anything, the horror in Allison's eyes grew deeper. "What did I say?"

"Some stuff in a language we didn't understand," Lydia went on, smoother than Stiles could ever be. "Your tongue was clicking."

The anxiety fell away from Allison. "Like this?" She said something that sounded similar to what she had in the living room, the soft tongue clicks flowing seamlessly in the language.

"Yes. What is that?"

"Xhosa."

Lydia narrowed her eyes. "They speak Xhosa in Africa."

"It is a popular language," Allison agreed. She leaned back, putting her arms behind her.

"Why do _you_ speak it?"

Allison sighed. "Why do I have to keep explaining this? I'm an arms' dealer's daughter. It's helpful to know enough to negotiate with the locals."

Stiles frowned. "But you're not an arms' dealer's daughter. You're Tony Stark's daughter."

Something in Allison's eyes went hard. "Some things never change," she said. "My mother is dead and my father made a fortune selling weapons. The players might change but nothing else does."

Lydia shifted over to Allison's side. "I'm your friend," the girl said. "That doesn't change either."

"Good." Allison frowned a bit. "What was happening out here? Why were you kissing Stiles?"

"It seemed like a good idea," Lydia said. She looked at Stiles, blushing, but there was a challenge in her eyes.

He lifted his chin. "Still seems like a good idea to me."

"Oh my god," Allison muttered. "Okay, will someone tell me what's going on?"

Stiles thought for a moment. "Jackson broke up with Lydia, her parents are getting a divorce, and she's a _banshee_."

Allison stared at Stiles. "But why did she kiss you?"

"Because," Lydia cut in. "I told him I'm a terrifying supernatural screaming witch, and he thought it was the coolest thing ever."

"It is!" Stiles protested. "Wait, are you a witch? Is a banshee a witch?"

"No, a banshee isn't a witch," Allison said. "I borrowed some books from Peter on this. They're upstairs."

Lydia and Stiles looked at each other at the mention of Peter's name.

"What?" Allison demanded.

Lydia kept staring at him, so Stiles reluctantly said, "I might have told Lydia what Peter said on Wednesday. Accidentally."

Allison's eyes turned a little red. "Accidentally?" she repeated.

"It's okay," Lydia said. She put her arm around Allison's shoulders. For a moment, Allison stayed stiff and upright, before leaning against Lydia. Lydia rested her forehead against Allison's cheek. "I knew you could have gotten away from Dupont and the others." She took a ragged breath. "I'm just glad you didn't leave me there alone."

"Never," Allison said with alpha power in her voice. She practically pulled Lydia into her lap with a strong hug. "I am never leaving you behind, all right? Not you." She glanced up at Stiles over Lydia's shoulder. "And not Stiles."

"Good," Lydia said, muffled against Allison's neck. "Can you let me go? You're really strong."

Allison released Lydia, and the girl sat back, only slightly ruffled. "Sorry."

"I'll live." Lydia shook herself. "Okay. So. You're an alpha. I'm a banshee. Stiles is…"

"Practically perfect in every way?" Allison suggested.

"Funny," Stiles said. "Although I did want to be Julie Andrews for Halloween when I was four."

"Do you mean Mary Poppins?" Lydia asked, distracted for a moment.

"No. Julie Andrews." Stiles smiled a little ruefully at the memory. "My mom made me a costume and everything. My dad wouldn't let me wear it out of the house, but I had fun in my room."

Allison frowned. "Noah should have been encouraging your creativity."

"Yeah, well, I was the weird kid of an underpaid deputy sheriff, that was the least weird thing I did all summer."

"So Stiles is human," Lydia said, bringing them back with a bump.

"Yup, old boring human."

Allison pointed her finger at him. "Don't do that," she said. "Listen to me, Stiles Stilinski. You are the most human one of all of us."

"I just said that."

"And that's what makes you the most dangerous."

Stiles frowned. "Why does that make me dangerous?"

"Because you know that the only thing you have to fall back on is yourself." Allison's eyes were dark in the bright afternoon. "No claws, no fangs, no sonic scream." She leaned forward. "And that's why we're always going to win."

"Because I'm human," Stiles said.

Allison nodded. "Because you're human."

"That doesn't make any sense."

Allison patted his arm. "It will one day."

Stiles stared at her, then looked at the sky. "There is one hundred percent no reason for you to be so cryptic," he complained.

"I'm not being cryptic," Allison said as she stood up. "It's something you need to figure out on your own."

"This isn't helping." Stiles looked at Lydia. "Right?"

Lydia held out a hand. "Help me up."

Both Stiles and Allison reached out at the same time, and Lydia took Stiles' hand to get up. He tried not to feel overly smug about it, especially considering the smile on Allison's face. "I need a snack," Allison said, turning towards the house. "You two come inside when you're ready."

"We can go inside now," Stiles said, but Lydia held on to him. "Or, um. This."

Allison vanished inside, and it was just Stiles and Lydia on the deck. "I just want to say," Lydia began. "Don't expect anything."

"I, um. Don't?"

"Good." Lydia stood straight, her shoulders back. "I've had a very traumatising time this last year."

"I know, I've been there for like, half of it."

"I don't know where I'll be living in a month and my mother continues to try to ruin my life and my best friend is insane."

"Again, not disagreeing."

"Fine." Lydia crossed her arms over her chest. "However."

Stiles' heart sank. Oh god, here it came, the _never tell anyone I kissed you_ speech. He tried to rally. "What?"

Lydia's green eyes snapped in the sunlight. "I already bought my dress for Homecoming and Jackson has another thing coming if he thinks he can just wander up with a date after dumping me."

Stiles blinked. "Do you want me to find you a date?"

"No." Lydia steeled herself. "I want you to go with me to Homecoming."

Stiles stared. "What?"

"As a friend," Lydia rushed on.

"Oh my god," Stiles breathed out, his heart pounding in his chest. "Wait, are we friends?"

"We could be," Lydia said.

Stiles wanted to punch the air. Instead, he contented himself with grinning like a maniac. "Okay, let's be friends."

"Don't make this weird," Lydia ordered.

"Oh, I absolutely will."

Lydia shook her head. "What are we going to do now?"

"Go inside? Read books about your cool new superpowers?"

"I guess." Lydia looked over her shoulder, then back to Stiles. Lowering her voice, she said, "Are we going to ask Allison about Morgan?"

"No," Stiles said quickly.

"But we're not going to stop trying to find out?"

"Of course not, this is us."

"Okay." Lydia paused. "And don't you say one word about that stupid 'Allison had a baby' thing." She went into the house.

"It's not outside the realm of possibility!" Stiles shouted after her. The door banged shut. "It's just highly improbable and not remotely likely."

But, oh, wow, okay. What had just happened? Allison went nuts in her sleep. And Lydia had kissed him.

Stiles did a little happy wriggle. Just wait until Scott heard about—

Then he stopped, good mood punctured like a water balloon. Scott wasn't going to hear anything, because he and Scott still weren't talking. He could tell Derek, but Derek wouldn't care.

Or would he?

Stiles rubbed his ear. Derek was so confusing. Sure, Stiles knew he had a crush on Derek, it wasn't like that was rocket science to figure out. But all Derek ever seemed to think about Stiles was that he was annoying. He'd never even looked at Stiles like he was more than a friend, no matter what Dad or Allison kept hinting.

But, whatever. Whatever happened, would happen.

Shoulders up, Stiles went into the house. Thank god Dad was going to buy him a new suit for the dance. His old suit still had stains of Lydia's blood on it from the Winter Formal when Peter bit her.

Stiles took a deep breath. No matter what happened, Stiles was going to take Lydia to the Homecoming dance as a friend, and they'd dance, and no alpha werewolf or other supernatural bullshit was going to ruin this moment for him.

But holy _shit_ , Lydia had kissed him. This weekend couldn't get any better.

### Kira Yukimura

Kira walked down the halls of her new high school, clutching her notebook to her chest. She didn't want to be here, in a new school, in a tiny town, with no friends. Why her parents had moved to Beacon Hills from New York, she didn't know. Sure, her mom may have had family history here, not that she'd said what it was. And her dad, dropping a full course load at Columbia University to teach high school history? All in search of a quiet life?

None of it made any sense.

So it was Monday, the first day in October, and Kira walked the halls of the high school trying to find her locker.

Half the kids looked right through her, the other half didn't register her at all. She hated it. At her old school, she'd known her friends since they were in first grade. She didn't know _how_ to make friends as a teenager. What did people in Beacon Hills talk about?

And then there was that other thing, that thing Kira didn't want to think about, about cameras and lens flares and fire on a phone background.

So she wouldn't think about that at all.

Kira glanced down at the map of the school again. Her locker was 1523, on the second floor, and she had no idea how many flights of stairs she'd climbed. One? Two? How many flights did this school have, anyway?

The lockers beside her were numbered in the twelve-hundreds, so Kira kept walking.

Finally, she found the fifteen-hundreds, only to be presented with a different problem. A gaggle of kids stood in front of the place her locker should be, all gathered around one person, all talking, and all effortlessly at ease. Kira's heart sank. She couldn't start at her new high school by bothering the cool kids.

There were five of them, three boys and two girls. The blonde girl was smiling up at the black boy who had his arm around her shoulders, while the two white boys bantered. And at the very centre was a white girl with brown hair, wearing a black leather jacket and putting an honest-to-god motorcycle helmet into her open locker, and Kira might have swooned just a little. She wanted a motorcycle so badly, but her mother wouldn't let her even get on the back of one.

It wasn't fair.

Then the brown-haired girl turned around and saw Kira and stopped absolutely dead. For a fraction of a second, Kira thought she had done something wrong, when the girl's face broke into a huge sunshine smile. "Kira!" she said.

Kira froze, then turned around, in case there was someone else named Kira standing right behind her that the girl knew. But there was no one there, so Kira turned back around. "Um, hi?"

"You're here," the girl went on, to the surprise of Kira and, apparently, all the kids gathered around her. She shoved her locker closed, still beaming. "Guys, this is Kira."

"Who's Kira?" asked the tallest white boy.

"This is," said the blonde, elbowing him in the ribs. He groaned. "I'm Erica, and this is Boyd." The black boy smiled down at Kira. "This nincompoop is Isaac."

The brunette reached out for the other white boy. "This is Jackson," she said. "And I'm Allison."

"I'm Kira," said Kira, then felt herself going red. "But you knew that." She paused. "How did you know that?"

"I was walking past the office and heard there was a new kid in school," Allison said. Her smile had dimed slightly, something sad in her eyes, and all Kira knew was that she wanted to see that big smile again. "And I know everyone else, so it had to be you."

"It is," Kira said. "Um. My locker…" She indicated behind Boyd. Erica hauled him out of the way, and Kira moved in. "Are you juniors?"

"Everyone but me," said Boyd. "Are you?"

"Yes." Kira got the locker open.

"Where did you come from?" Isaac asked.

"New York." Kira slung her backpack off and tried to put it in the empty locker, misjudged the distance, and her phone nearly toppled to the ground. Allison dove in with surprisingly quick reflexes to catch it before it hit the floor. "Thanks."

"No problem," said Allison. Kira took the phone back, not understanding the glances that the other four kids were sending at each other. "I've been the new kid in school a lot of times."

"You moved from New York to Beacon Hills?" Jackson said. His eyebrows did something physically impossible. "That's going to suck."

"What does New York have that Beacon Hills doesn't?" Isaac asked, turning on Jackson.

"A far lower death rate?" Erica said. "Hey, were you there when the Chitauri attacked Manhattan?"

"Yes," Kira said, retrieving her gym clothes. She had gym class first thing, which was probably the worst thing anyone had told her since her mother announced they were moving across the country. "My art class was at the Museum of Modern Art when it happened."

"Exciting," Isaac said.

"Terrifying." Kira tucked her phone into her backpack. "I think I saw Captain America, that was cool. And we saw Iron Man flying around the city all the time."

As one, everyone turned to look at Allison. Her smile had vanished. "You see one flying superhero, you've seen them all," she said, visibly trying to rally. "Did anyone tell you that Captain America came through our history class a few weeks ago?"

Kira stopped, trying to figure out if Allison was making fun of her. "What?"

"He totally did," said Jackson, as another boy came over to them. "Danny, tell Kira that Captain America was in our history class."

"He was," the new kid said, and smiled at Kira with amazing teeth.

Kira gripped the edge of her locker. No one in the whole world knew, except for Faiza back home, but Kira had a huge crush on Steve Rogers, helped in no small part by her dad's World War II obsession. "Was he nice?"

"He was," Danny said, turning his grin on Allison. "After Allison got through with him." Allison rolled her eyes. "Plus he smelled really good. Like apple pie and patriotism."

"He did not smell like apple pie," Allison said.

"After Allison got through with him?" Kira echoed. What on earth was going on?

"Allison called Captain America a patriotism muppet," Jackson said with glee. "And then she called him lame, and that was when she realised he was standing right behind her."

"And I stand by it," Allison said.

"My dad's going to be jealous," Kira said. "He's our new history teacher. Do you think Captain America might come back?"

"With my luck, probably." Allison glanced over her shoulder at two approaching figures. "Hey, Lydia, is your mom not teaching history anymore?"

"No." In Kira's line of sight appeared a vision, a small red-headed vision with green eyes and a really short skirt and Kira might have fallen in love, just a little. "She's teaching biology for reasons she will not explain." Those green eyes landed on Kira. "Who's this?"

"This," Allison said, moving around to put her hand on Kira's shoulder. The pressure and warmth sent a zing down Kira's spine. "Is Kira. She's new."

Then another boy appeared at Lydia's shoulder, his dark hair spike up around his head, his eyes big and brown and full of mischief when he smiled down at her. "Lucky us. I'm Stiles."

Oh, no, it wasn't _fair_ how everyone in this school was so cute.

"What's your schedule like?" Allison was asking, as Stiles and Lydia kept looking at Kira. "We all have gym first, but after that?"

"Um." Kira tore her eyes away from Lydia to find her schedule, knocked her gym clothes to the ground, dropped her armful, and watched her pencil case break open, sending pens everywhere.

Distantly, she wondered if it was possible to die of embarrassment.

"Oops," Stiles said, and went to grab the pencil case.

"Why are pens so round?" Kira muttered, trying to retrieve her belongings. To her intense surprise, everyone else helped, instead of standing around staring at her like she was an alien creature. Well, everyone but Danny.

"Hold this," Allison ordered, shoving something at Danny, as she got down on the floor to fish out a pencil that rolled under the lockers.

"I have bruised ribs," Danny said in explanation as Kira looked at him. "Lacrosse accident."

"And unfortunately that means I have to play goalie, and I have no idea what I'm doing," Stiles said, stuffing a highlighter back into the pencil case.

"That's for sure," Jackson said. Erica hit him. "What? He's terrible!"

"You're on the lacrosse team?" Kira asked Stiles. Oh, no. She was crushing on a _jock_.

"Surprisingly, yes." Stiles held out the case so everyone could put pens into it. Allison bounced up, dusted herself off, and dropped the pencil into its place.

"Not surprisingly." Allison was looking at Kira with an intense expression. Kira wasn't sure why, but the look reminded her of how her mother looked at her these days. "Everyone here is awesome. Jackson is the co-captain of the lacrosse team and the swim team, Danny's on lacrosse and is the best computer science student in the state, Isaac and Lydia just got elected to student council—"

"I'm also on the lacrosse team," Isaac interjected, holding out one of Kira's shoes.

"—and Erica and Boyd are super smart." Allison grabbed her backpack out of her locker and clicked the lock shut.

"What about you?" Kira asked, shoving her stuff into her locker before any worse fates befell her.

"Me?" Allison's smile turned sharp. "I'm a cautionary tale."

"What does that mean?" Kira wondered.

"It means that in the staff room right now, my mother is probably telling your father how Allison is a menace to society." Lydia handed Kira back her gym clothes. "I mean, she only solves crime in her spare time."

Kira looked around, but no one seemed to be laughing at that. "Like, Nancy Drew?" Kira asked, then winced.

"I work at the sheriff's station." Allison said. She reached for the class schedule dangling from Kira's fingers.

"How does that make you a menace?" Kira asked, puzzled.

"It's complicated." Allison scanned the sheet. "You're in gym with us all, then math with Lydia and Stiles and Isaac, then history with me and Stiles and Jackson and Danny. After lunch you've got biology, fun times there, and then French with Isaac." She gave the sheet back to Kira. "Est-ce que tu parles français?"

"A little," Kira said.

"Bonne." Allison looked over Kira's shoulder. "Oh, hey, here's someone else you should meet. Scott, this is—"

Kira turned to see another dark-haired boy walk past the group. He barely spared Kira a glance, glaring at Allison and Stiles. He never broke stride, and was around the corner in a moment.

"Wow," Stiles said. "What the hell was that?"

"Scott's been a douche all weekend," Erica said. Overhead, the warning bell rang. "Great." She turned to kiss Boyd on the cheek. "Have fun."

"You too." Boyd gave everyone a wave. "See you at lunch."

To Kira's amazement, Lydia slipped her arm around Kira's and almost hauled her along. "Tell us all about New York."

"Yeah," Stiles said, on Kira's other side. "And aliens."

"Okay," Kira said, wondering if she was still asleep and this was all a school-anxiety-induced dream. "Why are you all being nice to me?"

"Because we're nice people," Stiles said.

"And any friend of Allison is a friend of ours," Lydia went on. "Well. All but one."

Stiles made a gagging noise.

"I can hear you," Allison said from behind them.

"Good."

"This isn't a trick?" Kira went on, because she had heard horror stories of kids starting a new school and getting hazed. Especially when that new kid had a teacher as a parent.

Lydia frowned at her. "No, of course not."

"Okay." Kira gave a nod as she was steered down the steps. "That would suck. You're all really cute." Then, horrified, she realized what she had just said. "I meant nice! You're all really nice!"

Lydia was grinning at her. "You're right, though," she said. "We are all cute." She flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Except Jackson."

"Hey," came a protest from the rear.

"You broke up with me," Lydia called without turning around.

"At least no one's going to accuse Jackson of being nice," Stiles said.

"Why is everyone picking on me?" Jackson asked.

"Because your head is a huge target," Isaac said.

There was a scuffle and a loud _oof_. Kira looked over her shoulder to see that Jackson had tackled Isaac into the lockers.

"For fuck's sake, the full moon is over," Allison said nonsensically before doubling back. "Boys, _stop."_

Something in her voice made Kira shiver a little, but Lydia just kept walking. "Ignore them," Lydia said. "They're so dumb."

They rounded a corner, and Stiles peeled off. "See you in class," he said, walking backwards to throw the girls a salute. Kira wasn't sure if he was smiling at Lydia or at her, but oh, damn it, she wanted it to be her.

It wasn't fair.

"Annoying, isn't it?"

Kira looked at Lydia, startled. "What?"

"Boys." Lydia looked back where they had come, to see Allison marching both Isaac and Jackson towards the locker room.

"Behave," Allison was saying as she shoved Isaac and Jackson after Stiles. "Do not make me come in there."

"I can think of a few people who might like that—" Isaac started to say, but clapped his mouth shut when he saw Allison's expression. "Right." He and Jackson vanished into the locker room.

Allison shook her head. "I give up."

"No, you don't." Erica breezed past them into the locker room. "Come on, we're going to be late."

They went into the girls' locker room. Kira tried to make herself as unobtrusive as possible as she changed. She hated gym class and hated locker rooms.

She was trying to remain so in the shadows that she didn't look up until she heard Allison say, "Lydia, what are you doing?"

Kira glanced over to where Allison was standing, naked from the waist up, halfway to pulling a sports bra over her head. And Lydia was staring right at her. "Nothing."

"Okay." Allison pulled the bra on, while Kira tried to think very heterosexual thoughts.

"But what are your thoughts on stretch marks?" Lydia pressed.

Allison frowned at Lydia as she yanked on a t-shirt. "That they happen to a lot of people."

"But not to you."

Allison's frown grew. "No, although that's because Victoria didn't feed me enough for all the gymnastics I was doing when I was going through puberty." She stepped into a pair of oversized basketball shorts. "Get changed."

Lydia harrumphed and went to her locker. Allison glanced around, and caught Kira looking at her. Quickly, Kira ducked her head and went on tying up the string on her gym shorts.

"See," Erica said, thumping down on the bench beside Kira. "This is a far better soap opera than anything that happens in the boys' room."

Kira really, really didn't want to know what that meant.

Eventually, they all got out into the gym. The teacher took roll, then recited the Pledge of Allegiance with most of the class joining in, before saying, "We're starting a unit on yoga. Everyone, get a mat."

Lydia whimpered. Danny smirked from the sidelines. Kira's heart sank. She was not a coordinated person, and her mother's attempts to help Kira master her limbs through traditional Japanese martial arts had not been a success. She doubted that yoga would be any better.

But, still, they all got mats, and the teacher walked them through some warm-ups. Kira wasn't overly flexible, this early on a Monday, but she could do nearly everything. Lydia had a bit of a harder time, but Stiles was very flexible.

And oh god, so was Allison. It wasn't _fair_ , how Allison could bend herself into all those positions without any apparent effort. Right now, she was in the splits, with her spine contorted into something Kira would have said was impossible.

Out of the corner of her eye, Kira caught Lydia looking at her. Lydia nodded at Allison. "I know, right?" she muttered as she tried to bend her arm. "It's so unfair."

Glad that Lydia had mistaken her attention on Allison for envy and not whatever was actually going on in her head, Kira focused on her foot position.

Gym finally ended, Kira changed without embarrassing herself in front of anyone, and they all split up in front of the locker rooms. "Have fun in math," Allison called as she headed off with Danny. "Lydia, Stiles, be nice to Kira."

"Yes," Kira said as both teens rounded on her. "Please be nice to Kira."

"Always," Lydia said with a grin. "Now, tell us all about yourself."

"Um." Kira went blank. "My dad teaches history?"

It was going to be a long hour.

Math went okay, even if she had to sit next to Isaac and not Lydia or Stiles. Then they all went back to their lockers before history, and Kira finally realized the danger she was in.

Oh no. She was going to be in a class with all her new acquaintances (friends? Were they friends?) and her _father_.

Kira knew her father, and knew that she wasn't going to come out the other side of this class alive.

Still, Stiles and Kira left Lydia and Isaac behind arguing about something related to the student council, and walked down the hall. "It's a lot," Stiles said. "Isn't it? First day in a new school?"

"Yes," Kira said in relief. "But everyone's being so nice! Especially Allison. I didn't expect anyone to know my name."

"Allison knows a lot of things," Stiles said. "I'll poke her at home to see what else she knows. It's a crap shoot, sometimes."

"At home?" Kira echoed. "Oh, is Allison your sister?"

A funny smile came over Stiles' face. "Sort of? She lives with me and my dad. She's my, uh. Like my foster sister."

Kira's eyes went wide. "She doesn't have a real family?"

"Oh, now, see, that's the problem." Stiles paused by a door to usher Kira inside. "She has far too much family."

That made no sense, but Kira had no time to worry about it, because her father had seen her. Her father had seen her talking to someone. And now he was walking over, oh no. "I'm so sorry," Kira whispered.

"About what?"

"Kira!" Dad said, grinning at her. "You made a friend."

Kira clutched her notebook to her chest. "Yes. Dad, this is Stiles. Stiles, this is my father. Mr. Yukimura."

Dad looked puzzled. "I don't think I have a Stiles on the class list."

"Oh, it's not on there, it's—" Stiles let out a string of consonants. Then he made a face. "So. Stiles."

"Stiles it is," Dad said. "Everyone, sit down." He gave Kira a meaningful look as he moved away.

Damn it.

"I saved you a seat," Allison called. She poked at Jackson until the boy got up from his desk and moved to Danny's other side. "Here you go."

"Thanks." Kira sat down, between Allison and Stiles near the front of the room, and smiled. "You didn't have to."

Allison beamed at her.

The bell rang and Dad took attendance. Since Kira knew him so well, she was probably the only one who heard the hesitation as he read out Allison's name. But she did know him, and her heart sank. She liked Allison, and she didn't want her dad to not like her. What had Allison said? Think of her as a 'cautionary tale'?

He ran through the rest of the class list, ending on Kira's name. After her feeble "Here," he laid the list aside and beamed at them all.

"I am Mr. Yukimura," Dad said. "I hope that we will have a great year in class. I know some of you have met my daughter," and he paused long enough for Kira to feel everyone's eyes on the back of her neck. "I've been hearing some very interesting stories about this year's junior class."

"Are you talking about Captain America?" Jackson asked.

"I am." Dad perched on the desk. "It must have been very interesting, having a real war hero in class."

At her side, Kira saw Allison's eyes narrow.

"It was okay," Stiles said in a hurry. His eyes were also on Allison. "You know. Superheroes in Beacon Hills."

Allison sucked in a breath.

"Miss Argent?" Dad asked, catching the sound. "Is there something you would like to add about Captain Rogers?"

Oh no, Kira thought, all hopes of being friends with Allison spiraling out the window. If she trash-talked Steve Rogers to Dad, he was going to lose it. "Steve Rogers," Allison said deliberately, "Is a textbook example of being in the right place at the right time, and but for that, a world would be lost."

"How do you mean?" Dad asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I mean." Allison straightened up. "If Steve Rogers hadn't tried to illegally enlist in the Army at the Stark Fair _yet again_ , he never would have met Dr. Abraham Erskine, and would never have been involved in the scientifically dubious and ethically challenged Project Rebirth. If General Phillips hadn't taken one look at Steve and told him that there was no way he was fighting in the war, Steve never would have signed up with the USO tour to boost moral."

Around Kira, kids were in various stages of melting. Jackson had sunk so low in his desk she could barely see his head, while Stiles was literally chewing the edge of his history textbook.

Allison seemed oblivious to anyone but Dad. "And he never would have been on tour in Italy when he performed to the remains of the 107th, and learned that his best friend in the entire world was MIA." She sat forward. "We all know the story of the rescue from Kreischberg, but picture, if you will, Johann Schmidt, head of Hydra and all-around Nazi douche-nozzle, walks out to find the 1943 equivalent of Taylor Swift on tour, breaking all his Nazi toys."

"When you put it like that, it does sound highly improbable," Dad said. He was watching Allison closely.

"I've seen the projections, the ones declassified in '74," Allison went on. "If the Howling Commandoes hadn't started their tactical strikes against Hydra targets, they never would have liberated the prison camp in Nice, and the French Resistance would have faltered just as the last Allied push began."

"I've seen those projections," Dad said, shifting on the desk. "I would have said they were farfetched."

"They were put together by Margaret Carter and General Phillips," Allison replied. "If anything, I would say they were the most accurate picture in the European theatre in the moment."

Danny sighed.

"But the point is," Allison continued. "If the Nazis hadn't fallen when they did. If the Allies hadn't stepped on the Axis powers in Europe." She hesitated. "A lot of things would be very different. None of us would probably be here."

Kira wrapped her hands around her notebook. Her dad was born in Korea in 1968, and her mom was Japanese, both countries that had a very different experience in World War II than the west. Did Allison know that?

"So," Allison said into the silent room. "In 1943, Steve Rogers broke the law by trying to enlist because he was a punk-ass little bitch with something to prove. And we're here because of it, sixty-nine years later."

From the back of the room, someone snorted. "Nice," came a mutter.

Dad frowned at the malefactor. "You make it sound like one man could change the entire course of history."

Kira didn't understand why Allison went pale. "Yes and no," Allison said. "One person's actions caused a ripple effect, but there was already a huge undertaking going on. I'd say Steve shifted the course of action, rather than changed anything. But one person can change history. At least, I hope so."

"Can you give us an example?"

Allison took a deep breath and sat up. "Stanislav Petrov. He was a lieutenant colonel in the Soviet Air Defense Forces. On September 26, 1983, he was on duty at the command center of the _Oko_ , the Soviet early warning satellite system. He got a warning that the United States had launched a missile attack against the Soviet Union. He should have hit the button to return fire, ending in a complete nuclear counter-attack." Allison tapped her desk. "But he thought it was a false alarm, because why would the Americans send one missile instead of all of them?"

"What did he do?" Kira asked.

"He did nothing." Allison rested her chin in her hand. "He checked everything else, talked to monitoring stations who had spotted nothing, and reported that the system was having a malfunction."

And now Kira could see that Dad was smiling, just a small smile. "When one person does something, it can have a huge impact," he agreed. "With good results, or bad." He stood up. "Mrs. Martin tells me that you all have an assignment to hand in today." Groans arose from the class. "Hand them forward."

In the resultant flurry of paper, Kira watched Allison. She didn't understand why the girl was still so pale, or seemed so troubled.

"Now, my particular area of interest is World War II," Dad continued. "I would like to know what parts of history you're interested in. Let's spend ten minutes putting together an essay proposal, based on something that you're interested in, then we'll spend the rest of the hour finishing up last week's unit."

Kira opened her notebook, used to her dad's method of teaching, but everyone else looked stumped. "Can, um, you provide a little more direction?" Stiles asked when no one else said anything.

"Of course." Almost as if he was expecting the question, Dad went up to the board, chalk in hand. "I'd like you to focus on the following areas."

Out of the corner of her eyes, Kira could see that Allison had zoned out, and had her phone out hidden behind her textbook. She was typing rapidly.

Kira bent her head over her notebook. If she could just get through class and to lunch, everything was going to be okay. The day was almost half over.

Mercifully, nothing else happened in history class. Kira handed over her proposal, to look at the impact of the 1977 New York blackout, a topic she'd covered in Civics class the year before that Dad didn't know about, and Dad read stuff from the textbook, inviting commentary from the class. Allison remained quiet, occasionally texting.

When the bell rang, Dad called out, "Finish the reading!" as the class bolted. Then, "Kira?"

Kira froze, mid-way out of her chair. "Hi?"

"Kira."

"Dad." Kira eased out of her desk. Stiles was hesitating at her side, but Allison slipped around to haul him bodily away.

"Come here."

With a groan, Kira gathered her stuff and walked to the front of the room. "What did I do now?"

"Nothing." Dad reached into his desk drawer, and pulled out her lunchbox. The lunchbox she had very carefully left on the kitchen counter that morning. "Your mom brought this."

"Thanks," Kira mumbled, taking it.

"She spent a lot of time on that," Dad reminded her. "And she had to drive it all the way in after you 'forgot' it."

Kira looked down, at the chubby cartoon rice ball that she'd thought was so cute when she'd gotten the box at the start of the year. Now, it was just going to make her stand out. "Thanks."

"Kira." Dad put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a hug. "I know this is hard for you, really hard. And I'm so glad you're trying, making friends, putting yourself out there."

"It's okay," Kira said. "The kids here, they're nice."

"Good." Dad kissed the top of her head. "Now, go have lunch with your new friends."

Or Kira could curl up in a corner so no one would see her eating out of a lunch box like a little kid. "Sure thing."

"Just…" Dad hesitated as he let her go. "That girl. Allison Argent."

"What about her?"

"Is she one of your new friends, too?"

Suddenly annoyed on Allison's behalf, Kira stuck her chin out. "Yes."

"Okay." Dad hesitated again. "Is she…"

"Is she what?"

Dad smiled ruefully. "Do you like her?"

All Kira's annoyance dissipated. "Dad, she has a motorcycle," Kira said earnestly. "Can I—"

"No."

"Dad!"

"You are sixteen, Kira, you need to get your driver's licence first. Then we'll talk motorcycles."

Kira's shoulders slumped. "You never let me have any fun," she grumbled. "Bye."

"See you at home!"

Still grumbling, Kira got her bag and left the classroom, where she nearly walked into that boy from the morning, Scott. "Oh, hi," he said cheerfully, all sour scowls gone. "I'm Scott. You're new, right?"

Kira frowned. Had he really been so busy glaring at Allison that morning that he had totally missed her? "Yeah, I am," she said slowly.

The boy's smile slid away. "You, uh. Know Allison."

"Yeah."

They stood for a moment, then Scott said, "Fine. Sorry to bother you." And he turned, and walked away.

Kira watched him go. What was that all about?

"Kira!"

Kira turned, and was nearly pounced upon by Lydia. "Hi," Kira said, struck anew by how big Lydia's green eyes were.

"Lunch," Lydia demanded. "I'm starving. Oh, that's a cute lunchbox."

"It's a bento," Kira said, letting herself be hauled along the hallway.

"So cute," Lydia said. "I'm lucky if my mother remembers to buy milk. We are not a culinarily inclined family."

They entered the cafeteria, and the wave of noise was like a slap in the face. By the window sat Kira's friends from that morning. Stiles waved, big and wide, until Jackson and Isaac hauled him bodily down.

"Boys," Lydia said, but it didn't sound upset. "Come on."

They got through the crowd, with some kids giving Lydia a strangely wide berth. But Lydia just marched on, her head up until they got to the table. After some pushing and shoving, Kira ended up beside Allison, with Stiles on her other side while Lydia landed beside Erica on the other side of the table. "What did your dad want?" Stiles asked, pulling off the lid of a Tupperware.

"To give me my lunch." Kira put it on the table. She had a suspicion of what was in here, and the last thing she wanted to do was to open it in front of all these white kids and their small-town sensibilities.

"That's nice." Allison had an identical Tupperware container to Stiles', but larger.

"Hey, was Derek over at your place last night?" Isaac asked.

"Yeah, him and Cora. Why?"

"No reason," Isaac said.

"He wants to ask Cora to the Homecoming dance," Boyd said from the depth of his cafeteria lunch.

Everyone stopped and stared at Isaac. "What?" the boy said defensively.

"Derek's going to rip you in half," Jackson said.

"Forget that, Cora's going to step on him," Allison said.

Isaac looked her square in the eye and said, "I hope so."

"Ew," Lydia said.

Kira opened her bento, and winced. Her mother had put in all her favourite foods, and all Kira could see was how weird it would look to these kids.

"Oh wow," Allison said. "Is that sanma? Where did your mother get that in Beacon Hills?"

"You know what sanma is?" Kira asked, staring down at the fish head in her lunchbox.

"I haven't had sanma since we lived in Seattle." Allison looked imploringly at Kira. "Want to trade lunches?"

"Yeah, okay, sure," Kira said, half relieved, half reluctant. "What do you have?"

"Derek Hale's chicken souvlaki and Greek salad extravaganza," Stiles said. "Cooked over an actual charcoal barbecue, which I wasn't expecting after what happened on Tuesday, but, I'm going to count this as a growth moment for Derek."

"What happened on Tuesday?" Kira asked, taking Allison's lunch container. It held a truly staggering amount of food.

"The Hale house burned down." Jackson took a bite of meatloaf. "Again."

"Oh no," Kira breathed. "Is everyone okay?"

All eyes moved to Allison, who was busy sucking the eyeballs out of the fish head. "What?" she asked, popping the fish out of her mouth. "I will tell you what I told the FBI at length. I was running for my life."

"The world's most wanted terrorist blew up at the house," Isaac said. "Which was sort of his own fault, as he was trying to kill Allison."

Kira stared at Allison. "Are you okay?"

Allison put down the fish, looking at Isaac in annoyance. "I'm fine," she said to Kira. "I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, but that's all over now. No one's in any danger." She picked up the grape that Kira's mother had carved into an octopus. "This is really cute."

Kira looked around the table. No one appeared baffled that Allison had just admitted being chased by a terrorist, or looked like they didn't believe her.

What was going on?

"And they blew up your friend Derek's house?" Kira asked after a moment.

"His old house." Stiles shoved half a potato into his mouth. "The house burned down six years ago and, um."

"Killed most of Derek's family," Lydia supplied. "Derek and his sister Cora survived."

"That's terrible," Kira whispered.

"Cora's our age," Isaac said. "She doesn't go here."

"She's still trying to get herself declared not dead," Boyd put in. "Everyone thought she died in the fire, only she ran away to South America."

Kira looked around at everyone again. "Is this a trick?" she asked after a long moment.

"No, this is all true," Allison said, sucking the meat off the fish bones. "You can talk to the Sheriff if you want. He'll confirm everything."

"That's my dad," Stiles said, swallowing.

Kira's head was spinning. "This is all weird," she said. "I thought nothing ever happened in Beacon Hills."

"Who told you that?" Allison asked, reaching for the tamagoyaki.

"My mom."

Allison's hand went still. "Your mother said that nothing ever happens in Beacon Hills," she repeated.

"So?" Kira said, suddenly defensive. "That's why we moved here. Mom wanted some quiet after what happened in New York with all the aliens."

Something on Allison's face changed. "No, I understand that," she said. "Wanting quiet. It's just that I've never found Beacon Hills to be a particularly restful place."

"Amen," Erica said, and stole a carrot off Jackson's plate.

Slowly, Kira started eating. The chicken was really very good, almost good enough to make up for having to watch Allison eat her mother's onigiri.

* * *

"Kira?"

Startled, Kira yanked too hard on her backpack and nearly had a repeat of that morning's disaster, before Allison caught the bag on its way to the ground. "Hi."

"Long first day?" Allison asked. She handed the bag to Kira. "How was French?"

"Bueno."

Allison grinned. "Yeah, I think it helps being able to speak French before you walk into that classroom."

"You speak French?"

"The Argents are French, originally," Allison said as she went to her locker. "I've spent a lot of time in France over the years."

Kira slumped against her locker. Of course Allison spoke French, because Allison could do everything.

Then Kira shook her head. She wasn't jealous of Allison, not really. It was just that Allison fit in at the centre of everything in this school, and Kira didn't know how to do that.

"Are you okay?" Allison asked, pulling out her helmet.

"Sure," Kira said, forcing a smile on her face.

"Okay." Allison bit her lip. "Look, I was midway through math when I realized that I shouldn't have been so quick to grab your lunch. I hardly gave you a chance to say no."

"No, it was fine," Kira said, although, it kind of wasn't. She really loved her mother's grilled sanma, even though a lot of people thought it tasted bitter.

Allison quirked up the corner of her mouth in a wry smile. "It was really good," she said. "And I…" She shook her head. "As Stiles tries to remind me without actually saying it, I have a weird relationship with food."

Kira frowned. What did that mean? Then it hit her, and she was shocked. Oh no, did Allison have an _eating disorder?_ Was that why Lydia was staring at her in the locker room? Kira vowed to herself that she would never bring it up with Allison. "It's okay," she said quickly. "I'm glad you liked it."

Allison pulled her backpack out of her locker as Stiles and Lydia reappeared, arguing about something. "I'm just saying," Stiles bit out.

"And I'm just saying," Lydia shot back.

Allison looked skyward. "My life."

"Hi Kira," Stiles said, beaming at her. "You survived your first day! How was that?"

"Good." Kira pulled on her backpack.

"What are you doing now?" Lydia asked.

Kira shrugged. "My dad has to work late to get up to speed on the class work, so I was going to go try to find the bus."

"Stiles can drive you home," Allison said.

"Stiles can?" Stiles wondered. Then his face cleared. "Oh! Stiles can."

Lydia put her hand on her hip. "I can drive Kira home, my car's much nicer than your jeep."

Allison was watching the banter with amusement. Kira didn't know what to feel. Were they fighting over who got to spend time with her? That was… not something that Kira normally had happen to her.

She liked it.

"You can both come over to my house," she offered, clutching at her backpack straps. "Maybe you can help me catch up on the classwork? My mom can make snacks."

Stiles and Lydia looked at each other, then they turned to Kira as one. "Yes," Lydia said. "That is a great idea."

"Gets you out from under your mom's eye?" Allison muttered.

"Shut up. And yes."

Then Kira's newfound courage deserted her. "Allison, do you want to come too?"

Allison looked up and blinked. "I could," she said slowly. "Noah told me to be at work by five, but it's only three now."

Stiles was distracted. "Why five?"

"One of the cases he wants me to look at, he has to be there when I look at the evidence," Allison said. "To preserve the chain of custody."

"What case?"

Allison pressed her lips together. "The Shaver homicide in 1983."

Stiles frowned at Allison, but Lydia clapped her hands. "Okay, no more talk of gross murders on a Monday," she announced. "I'll drive Kira."

This pulled Stiles' attention. "I can do it," he said.

"Your jeep is disgusting."

"It's not!" Stiles protested. "Just a little… lived in."

Lydia exhaled.

"Look," Allison said, slamming her locker. "I'll meet you there. What's your address?"

Kira gave it to her. "Can you find it?"

Allison grinned. "This is my town, I know every part of it." She was already moving down the hall. "See you there!"

Kira watched Allison bounce away with a little longing in her heart. Geeze, what she wouldn't give to be normal, and not have crushes on girls who could do everything perfectly.

"Ready to go?" Lydia asked.

"Yeah," Kira said, turning to the two teenagers. Her heart skipped a beat. They were both being so nice to her. Maybe they would want to be her friends even after they figured out how weird she was. "Wait, no, I need to get a form from the office."

"Then let's go," Stiles said. "Leaving Allison alone too long without supervision always ends up strange."

"The last time, she stopped a terrorist attack," Lydia reminded him.

"The exception to prove the rule," Stiles agreed. "Come on, we're burning daylight." He smiled at Kira as they fell into step. "You don't need to worry about the school secretary, Amelia, she's more bark than bite. Rare in this town, but—"

Lydia smacked him in the arm. "Careful," she said. "I want to get out of here. Too much school for one day."

Kira wholeheartedly agreed.

### Noshiko Yukimura

Noshiko sat in the living room of the new house, surrounded by boxes, staring at her katanas mounted on the wall, wondering what she was doing.

She had to stop the nogitsune, that was non-negotiable. The monster was back in Beacon Hills because of her, because of her actions in 1943. She thought she had buried that chapter of history forever, but now the nogitsune was on the loose again.

Two nights before, their first in Beacon Hills, Noshiko had been to the old forest grove, found the desecration of the large tree under which she had buried the jar containing the nogitsune. The jar shattered, the nogitsune gone.

Noshiko knew what she needed to do.

But why had she brought Ken and Kira with her?

Ken had been adamant that they go together, as a family. It would be best for Kira to have her mother around, he had said, and at the time, Noshiko agreed. But now… It had only been two days in this town, and Kira's fox spirit was already growing stronger.

Noshiko was going to have to tell her daughter about their history, their heritage. But how? How could anyone explain to their sixteen-year-old daughter that she wasn't human, but kitsune? How could Noshiko explain that she herself was nearly one thousand years old?

Noshiko didn't know what she was going to do about Kira.

With a sigh, she got up. Kira would be home from school soon. Noshiko hoped that Kira had eaten her lunch, and had a good day at school. In any event, Noshiko should get dinner started.

The doorbell rang, and in an instant Noshiko had her sword in her hand. Ken had a key. Kira had a key. No one else knew they were in town.

No one.

Slowly, Noshiko put the sword back on its mount, and reached instead for the kaiken dagger Ken had forged for her when they were married. On silent feet, she walked to the front door, senses open, but she could feel no malevolence.

She opened the door to find a girl. The next moment, Noshiko's mind screamed that no, this was no child, this dark-eyed stranger.

Then the girl bowed. "Noshiko Yukimura," the girl said, her voice sliding over the name as it was meant to be said. "I am Allison. I would say that you are welcome back in Beacon Hills, but unfortunately time is short."

The girl's Japanese was perfect, and Noshiko was so strongly reminded of her friend Satomi Ito that Noshiko just stood there.

Then the girl's eyes flared with the red of the alpha werewolf, and Noshiko steadied her grip on her knife. "May I take your meaning that I am not welcome here?" Noshiko asked.

"Never," said the girl. "But your presence here can only mean that the nogitsune is free, and that means that we are running out of time."

Noshiko's heart pounded in her chest. How could this girl know about the nogitsune? How could she know who Noshiko herself was?

Unless this was the body the nogitsune had chosen to possess. In which case, Noshiko readied herself to fight to the death.

"May I come in?" the girl went on.

Noshiko took a step back. She had weapons in the living room and knew the lay of the house. Better to fight on familiar territory. "You may."

The girl stepped inside, putting her motorcycle helmet on the bench and shucking out of her backpack. The backpack was a jarring note, and Noshiko opened her eyes to this wolf child. A few inches taller than Noshiko herself, all long limbs. She carried herself like a wolf, but under it, there was something else that Noshiko did not quite comprehend.

"I know this may sound a little strange," the girl said. "But I know that the nogitsune is a threat. Have you started trying to find out who it's possessing?"

Noshiko turned her head. "Before I say anything to you, explain how you know so much."

"I guess that's fair." The girl rubbed her hands together. "My name is Allison, as I said, and I just know a lot of things that happen in this town."

"Are you part of the Hale pack?" Noshiko asked. They had been the local wolves when she had lived in town the first time.

"No, but the Hale pack is still here," Allison said. "Derek Hale is the alpha."

"This town has two alphas?" Noshiko asked. That sounded wrong.

"Sort of," Allison said, and smiled a sharp smile as her eyes flashed red again. "Derek and I get along."

Noshiko was silent for a minute, the house quiet around them. "You are telling me far too many of your secrets, child," she finally said. "And you know too many of mine."

The smile vanished. "We need to stop the nogitsune as soon as possible. I know that. You know that. And normally I would love to do the slow dance around unveiling each other's secrets through trust, but I don't want any dead bodies piling up while that happens."

"You expect me to trust you?" Noshiko asked. "A strange white girl who shows up at my door speaking Japanese, with alpha eyes, telling me outlandish tales?"

"I know, it's a lot," Allison said.

"How do I know you're not the nogitsune yourself?"

The girl's jaw dropped. "Wow, I hadn't even thought of that one," she said after a moment. "I'm not, but that is a good question." She looked around. "It's still light for a few hours, so the Oni can't test me for you."

"You know about that," Noshiko said, a headache building behind her eyes.

"Yes." Allison tapped her hand against her leg. "Is there any other way?"

"Not reliably," Noshiko said reluctantly. "But I cannot believe that a true nogitsune would be so open about its intentions."

"So we're at an impasse," Allison said. "We'll figure this out." She straightened her shoulders, and there was suddenly a power in her presence that Noshiko had seen few times in her long life. "Maybe we can make a deal."

"I'm listening," Noshiko said.

"I will do everything in my power to help you stop the nogitsune," Allison said. "But you have to let me try to save whoever they're possessing."

"No," Noshiko said immediately. "It's not possible."

"It is," Allison said. "It's extremely difficult and probably won't work, but there has to be a way."

"And if in trying to save one person, others die?" Noshiko demanded. She could remember the Oak Creek camp, all the blood and death soaking the ground. "Would you trade a life for a life?"

"No," Allison said, her eyes steady on Noshiko. "But I have to try. I have to try to save everyone."

"At what cost?"

"I don't know," Allison said. She held out her hands, open and empty. "Still, I have to try."

Noshiko let out a breath. If this was indeed the nogitsune facing her, it was extremely convincing. So convincing, in fact, that Noshiko was thinking of agreeing to this girl's terms. "I will consider it," Noshiko said. "On one condition."

Allison waited.

"First, I see if the person the nogitsune has possessed is yourself."

Noshiko was not expecting the girl to shrug so nonchalantly. "Reasonable. Tonight? After dark? I have work, but I can meet you somewhere after that."

Noshiko stared. "You would willingly walk into what might be a trap?"

"What trap?" Allison asked. "You have control of the Oni, right? And you're no danger." The girl hesitated. "Well, I mean, you are dangerous, but you're a trickster."

"What about your parents?" Noshiko asked. Her headache was getting worse. "What will you tell them about going to meet a stranger in the dark?"

Allison waved that away. "It's not a problem."

At the front door came a flurry of noise, a key fumbling in the lock. Noshiko looked at Allison. "I am not making any decisions until after I know if you are possessed by the Nogitsune."

"Deal," Allison said, as the door flung open and Kira burst inside, followed by two strange teenagers.

"Mom!" Kira exclaimed. "Allison, you're here already!"

"I know where the speed traps are," Allison said in English, stepping slightly away from Noshiko.

"Mom, I met Allison at school today," Kira went on. "And this is Lydia and Stiles, they're all going to help me catch up on my classes."

Of course, Noshiko thought in resignation. Of course her daughter had managed to find and befriend a teenage alpha wolf on her very first day in school. Only Kira. "It's nice to meet you all," she said in English, slipping her kaiken into her pocket. "Welcome to our home. Please accept my apologies that we are still surrounded by boxes."

"We just got here," Kira told the two teenagers, a small red-headed girl and a taller dark-haired boy. "Moving, you know?"

"Where can we set up?" Allison asked, looking at Noshiko with mischief in her eyes.

Noshiko needed an aspirin. "The living room?"

"Okay." Kira bounced into the house, the others behind her. "You have to see my mom's sword collection, my dad makes swords and weapons in his spare time."

"Makes swords?" the red-head echoed. "All my father does in his spare time is read the business news and complain."

"Same on the complaining angle," the boy said, following the girls. "Only my dad tends to complain mostly about me."

"He does not," Allison called after them. She looked at Noshiko. "Shall we put a pause on everything until tonight?"

"Tonight," Noshiko agreed.

"Allison, come on!" Kira yelled.

Noshiko shook her head as Allison went after the teenagers. "Would anyone like a snack?" she asked as the four teens settled down on the one couch not covered with boxes.

The chorus of yeses, ranging from shy to boisterous, sent Noshiko into the kitchen – where she had a perfect view of the living room, to keep an eye on Allison around her daughter.

* * *

Ken got home at four-thirty, and seemed startled to find his living room full of high school juniors. "What's going on?" he asked in Japanese when he joined Noshiko in the kitchen.

"Kira made friends at school," Noshiko replied. She saw the tension in Allison's shoulders, even though the girl wasn't looking at them. Of course, alpha hearing. "They're helping her to catch up." She held a finger to her lips.

Ken blinked at her. "That's nice."

"It is." Noshiko reached for a pad of paper. "Dinner will be ready for six."

On the paper, she wrote, _Allison came to me to say she will help me fight the nogitsune. She is of the supernatural._

Ken took the pen. _The other teachers at school told me that she's a disaster. She was kidnapped and hurt a few weeks ago, then she was attacked by a terrorist last week._

Noshiko went back to chopping vegetables for a moment, then put them into the pot on the stove before picking up the pen. _Those are things that were done to her, not things she did._

_But why her?_ Ken wrote. He kissed Noshiko on the cheek. "How was your day?" he asked.

"Confusing," Noshiko said. "Go, unpack your bag."

He smiled at her, then made a detour through the living room to say hello to the teenagers. Noshiko wondered if he saw what she did; how Kira and Stiles and Lydia were orbiting around each other, with shy smiles and silly jokes, while Allison sat back, detached, watching them with a slightly sad smile.

Was that the life of an alpha? Noshiko wondered. To always be alone?

Ken was back in a few minutes. "I see that the kids have food, what about me?" he asked.

Noshiko shot him a look. "What about you?"

Ken grinned. "Do you mind if I make popcorn?"

"Only if you make enough for everyone."

He kissed her cheek again and started rummaging around. Noshiko wiped her hands on a dish-towel and pushed the note she had composed in Ken's direction.

_Can you keep Kira company tonight? I need to go out again after dark. I have a potential ally to test, and more searching to be done. Beacon Hills is not as I left it._

After Ken tossed the popcorn into the microwave, he picked up the pen. _Are you sure this is a good idea? Going out alone?_

_I will not be alone._

_I'm worried._

_I know. As am I._

"Oh, shit," Allison said from the living room. "I have to get to work." She stood up. "Stiles, see you at home. Kira, Lydia, see you at school tomorrow."

"Okay," Lydia called.

"Do you have to?" Kira asked.

"Yes," Allison said. She was scribbling something on a piece of paper. "Here's my number if you want to text me about anything."

She ripped the paper and handed it to Kira, all while casting a quick glance at Noshiko.

Noshiko put down her knife. "Let me see you out," she said, moving into the living room.

"Mom, I can do it," Kira said.

"No, you stay buried in English," Allison said. She gave a wave. "Bye."

Noshiko followed Allison to the door, then outside. "I will see you this evening," she said.

"Sure." Allison hesitated. "Where? This town's full of dark corners."

"You decide."

"Oh." Allison appeared surprised. "Okay." She hesitated again. "If I bring anyone with me, will you want to test them too?"

"Yes." It was Noshiko's turn to hesitate. "Who would you want to bring?"

"I'm thinking about that. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone who you are."

"Are you not going to ask for the same consideration?"

Allison frowned. "To what end? Who are you going to tell? Mr. Yukimura? I doubt he'll be all that shocked. And you're not going to tell Kira."

"How do you know?"

Allison stepped away, that strange expression in her eyes again. "Because my being an alpha isn't nearly as interesting as her being a kitsune, and from the sounds of things, she doesn't know that yet."

Noshiko pressed her hand against her leg, feeling the sheathed dagger in her pocket. "Are you going to tell her?"

"No. That's the sort of thing a girl should hear from her mother." Allison turned and walked down to the street. "Thanks for the snacks!" she called in English.

Noshiko watched as Allison drove away from the house. She had no idea what she was going to do. Was Allison going to be a hindrance, or a help in Noshiko's quest to stop the nogitsune?

A small burning flame in her chest made her hope for the latter. Noshiko had returned to Beacon Hills to fight the nogitsune alone. But maybe, just maybe, she would have help.

And that? Would not be something the nogitsune would expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can only imagine the conversations happening in the staff room with Ken after all the other teachers realized that Allison adopted Kira on her first day of school.
> 
> I was halfway through this chapter when I realized that all of Allison's weirdness (can't sleep, occasional lapses into sleepwalking and other languages, a big change in personality) could look like Nogitsune possession to the outside world. Isn't that interesting...
> 
> The [1983 Soviet nuclear false alarm incident](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1983_Soviet_nuclear_false_alarm_incident) was a real thing and literally, the level head of one man saved the world from nuclear annihilation.
> 
> Kira's stolen bento lunch menu:
> 
>   * [Tamagoyaki](https://www.justonecookbook.com/tamagoyaki-japanese-rolled-omelette/)
>   * [Grilled sanma](https://www.justonecookbook.com/sanma-shioyaki-salt-grilled-pacific-saury/)
>   * [Onigiri](https://www.justonecookbook.com/onigiri-rice-balls/)
> 

> 
> See you next week!


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allison has to prove to Noshiko that she’s not the nogitsune, only two-thirds of her dads are getting in the way. Then Tuesday turns serious when someone tries to kill one of the werewolves, all in a mission to stir up strife and discord in Beacon Hills...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a reminder of the canon divergence in the setting – as in the first run at the timeline, Allison was out of Chris’s life by the start of junior year, he wasn’t around during the nogitsune arc and so there’s some pertinent information that he is missing. 
> 
> Content warnings: a character cuts herself. Also, another of our characters almost dies. Description of someone vomiting.

* * *

Allison wrapped her arms across her chest, shivering a little in the darkness. The nearly full moon hung overhead, sending an eerie cast over the clearing that once held the Hale house.

"Are you sure about this?" Noah asked, leaning against the side of his squad car.

"Absolutely not," Allison replied. The stench of burned timbers lingered, even though most of the debris had been cleared out. When Peter decided on a course of action, he spared no expense. After the FBI and the ATF had finished their investigation into Aldrich Killian's timely demise, a demolition crew had gotten rid of most of what remained of the house. Now, all that stood in the clearing was the far west wall, poking up against the sky like broken teeth.

"We can go home."

"You can go home." Allison paced over the ground. "I have an engagement."

Noah sighed. "You asked me to be here."

"I did." Allison turned around. "Sorry I'm so antsy. This place…" A shiver raked down her spine. "This place."

"Tell me again why we have to meet this mysterious stranger in the dead of night in the middle of the woods?" Noah asked.

"It's not the dead of night, it's not even ten o'clock."

"In the middle of the woods," Noah repeated.

"It's far enough away from town that no one will hear any screaming?"

Noah fixed Allison with a glare. "You're really not selling it."

"I'm kidding," Allison lied. "We have to meet after dark because of reasons that will become apparent. And I don't want any interruptions."

"Because this person has information on something dangerous in town and can't come into the station to tell law enforcement like a normal person." Noah shook his head. "I really don't like this."

"Trust me when I say that I don't, either." Allison unwound the shadow silk from her neck to twine around her arm.

"Is this the sort of thing that Talia Hale would have handled?"

"Probably." Allison turned around again, searching for any sign of her dead sister-in-law, but the clearing was completely ghost-free. That was probably for the best. "I mean, I don't know anyone else in town who would want to."

"That bad, huh?"

"Yup." Allison walked back over to the car. "Do you ever wish you went into a different job?"

"Frequently," Noah said. He shook his head again. "You know, the very first thing I had to do after I was elected sheriff was to go tell a man his entire family was dead?"

Allison looked out at the dark forest. "The Tates."

"How did you know that?" Noah asked, startled.

Allison was yanked back to herself. She knew because she'd heard this story the first time when Noah was re-investigating the disappearance of Malia Tate, but in this timeline, it had never come up. She searched for a plausible explanation. "I made a list of all the suspicious deaths in town over the last forty years," she said quickly. Noah was looking at her with a weird expression on his face. "Trying to see if there were any patterns. Anything that might be supernatural." She wound her scarf between her hands. "And I know when you took office. I'm sorry."

Noah exhaled. "Don't be. That one just sticks with me." He rapped his knuckles on the side of the car. "It took us three days to find the wreckage. I keep thinking, if we'd gotten there sooner, would we have found that other girl's body?"

Allison bit her lip to keep silent. She really had to find Malia. It was going to be getting cold soon, with winter on its way The fact that the werecoyote had survived so long on her own in the forest was a miracle.

"And that's just one case." Noah crossed his arms over his chest. "For a town this small, we sure do have a lot of bad things happen."

"Luckily for the tourism board, they're mostly classed as accidents."

"Allison."

"I'm just saying." Allison pushed off the car to pace across the clearing again. "How long do you think it will take Stiles to notice that neither one of us is home?"

"I'd say give it until eleven."

"Maybe twelve, he had a long day at school making new friends," Allison said. There was a faint darkening of the shadows in the deepest part of the trees circling the house. Straining her senses, Allison could hear a faint heartbeat. Not Talia or Laura.

"Allison—"

Allison held up her hand for quiet, and Noah stopped talking. They waited in silence as a figure detached itself from the darkness and moved forward on silent feet. It was Noshiko Yukimura, and she appeared alone.

"I hoped you could find the place," Allison said as Noshiko paused on the edge of moonlight.

"I could." Noshiko looked over as Noah joined Allison. "Who is this?"

"Sheriff Noah Stilinski," Noah said. "Ma'am."

Noshiko's eyes went back to Allison. "Why?"

Allison took a deep breath. "Because he knows about this town's secrets," she said. "And because he needs to hear about the danger we're all in."

Noshiko circled Noah and Allison. Allison endured the examination, but Noah turned to keep Noshiko in his sights. "You can understand why I do not have full trust in what you say," Noshiko said.

"Of course," Allison returned. "But if bodies start piling up, Noah is going to find out about it, and it's far better he knows the real reason behind things."

"Hang on," Noah interrupted. "What bodies? What's going on."

Allison and Noshiko stared at each other for a long moment, then Noshiko looked to Noah. "What has Allison told you?"

"That I needed to come out to hear something important," Noah said. "And I didn't catch your name."

"Indeed."

Allison edged into the conversation. "At the risk of making the upcoming parent teacher night really awkward, can we get on with things?"

"Hold on," Noah said. "Allison, enough with this cryptic shit. Stuff," he corrected, glancing at Noshiko. "Someone needs to start talking. Now."

Allison and Noshiko looked at each other again. "I wish to know how much Allison knows," Noshiko said. "Perhaps you can start."

Fair enough. Allison took a moment to gather her thoughts, absently running the shadow silk through her fingers. She hadn't had to pull together a briefing presentation in the field in over a month, and her skills had grown a little rusty. "In Japan, supernatural creatures are referred to as yōkai," she began. Noah's eyebrows shot up. "This includes the kitsune, a fox shapeshifter."

Noshiko moved her feet. Behind her, the darkness was still.

"As with most supernatural creatures, or all sentient creatures, really, most kitsune are on the side of good. These days, they're like other supernatural creatures. Most have jobs, pay the bills, live their lives."

"Most," Noah said. "Why do I get the feeling we're about to start talking about the exception?"

"Sometimes, a human can be possessed by the spirit of a fox," Allison said in agreement. "The nogitsune is a rare type of kitsune that feeds off chaos and pain." She wrapped her hands in the shadow silk and pulled it taught. "It can possess someone and use their body to wreak havoc and destruction, all to get the energy it needs to feed."

Allison paused. Noah was just looking at her. She continued, knowing she had come to the part of the story that was the most tricky.

"In 1943, there was a riot at the Japanese internment camp at Oak Creek. All but a few of the prisoners were killed—"

"Murdered," Noshiko murmured. "How do you know this?"

"I spoke with someone who was there," Allison said, which was true. Noshiko and the werewolf alpha in the neighbouring territory, Satomi Ito, had told Allison and the others the story the last time the nogitsune came to town. "A nogitsune spirit was summoned to seek vengeance for the dead. And it killed everyone."

The clearing was silent. Even the wind was holding its breath.

"In the end, the nogitsune was removed from the body it was possessing, and sealed away. Now, all these years later, there is the very real possibility that the spirit has escaped its prison and has possessed someone in Beacon Hills."

"It is not a possibility, it is a fact," Noshiko said.

"How do you know?" Noah asked.

"I have been to its resting place." She turned to face him. "I have seen the broken jar. And I know what danger we are all in."

"So you came to town to stop this evil spirit that might or might not be possessing someone." Noah did not sound convinced.

"Yes."

"Why you?" Noah pressed. "Are you a Hunter?"

Noshiko's visceral shudder was apparent in the dark. "I am not," she said. "It is my responsibility to stop the nogitsune before it hurts anyone."

Noah blew out a breath. "This is a hell of a story," he said, looking between Allison and Noshiko. "But here's the thing. There was never a Japanese internment camp in Beacon Hills. The closest one was in Tule Lake, up near the Oregon border."

"It was at Oak Creek, where Eichan House is now," Allison said. "That whole place is built on decades of pain. They covered it up after everyone died."

"I know how much you don't like Eichan House," Noah said. "Allison. There was no internment camp in Beacon Hills. There would be no way that an entire camp could just vanish from history. The people there would have families that would come looking for them. The people who worked there would talk."

Allison draped her scarf around her neck to free up her hands. "You don't get it, Noah. Everyone died. Everyone imprisoned in the camp, everyone who worked there. Everyone. There was no one left to talk."

"Those camps were government-run," Noah said. "You can't just vanish people like that, not on that scale."

"Fine," Allison said. "You want proof?" Across the clearing, Noshiko stirred. "I will get you proof. Give me a day with Jarvis and I will pry every single classified detail out of the US military archives."

"Allison—"

"Why won't you believe me on this?" Allison interrupted. "Have I been wrong? Have I _ever_ been wrong?"

"What you're saying doesn't make any sense."

Noshiko started to walk across the clearing as Allison said, "When does anything in this town make any sense? We had a giant lizard man running around town last year paralyzing people. There is a non-zero amount of people coming back from the dead. Hell, I had gym class today with four werewolves and a banshee."

"That, I can believe," Noah said. "But an actual government cover-up on this scale working? That was only fifteen years before I was born. Someone in town would have remembered."

Noshiko had drawn close enough now that she was in a triangle with Noah and Allison. "I was there," Noshiko said, cutting off the conversation. Noah stared at her. "In Oak Creek, in 1943." She took a very deep breath. "I was there. I watched everyone die. I watched the carnage the nogitsune wrought."

"Oh," Noah said. "You're, uh…"

"Older than I look." She took a step towards Noah. "My name is Noshiko Yukimura."

She held out her hand then, and Noah shook it. "Ms. Yukimura. My apologies. I'm a bit new to all this stuff."

"I gathered." Noshiko's voice was as dry as a desert. She turned to Allison. "How would you find the details on what happened at Oak Creek? Ken and I have been trying for years."

"The Director of the FBI owes me a favour."

Noshiko looked at Allison with dark, unblinking eyes for a long moment, then shook her head. "How is that the truth?"

"That's the least weird thing about me," Allison said. "All right. Noah, I asked Noshiko to meet us here tonight because I—"

Her phone rang with Jarvis's warning trill.

"What the hell?" Allison said, yanking out her phone. On the screen was a message from Jarvis.

_Chris Argent's cell phone is in a vehicle approaching your location. He is approximately one-half mile away and on the road to the Hale House._

"Son of a syphilitic goat," Allison swore in Russian.

"What's going on?" Noah asked, his hand on his service revolver.

"Chris has apparently decided to take up midnight drives to the scene of the crime," Allison said. She texted Jarvis back with, _I'm with Noah so I'm as safe as I can be. Thanks for the heads up._

 _If you required backup, I can summon Agent Romanoff,_ came the immediate reply.

 _I think we're fine, thanks. Will check in later._ Allison shoved her phone into her pocket. On the night air, she could make out the approaching growl of a vehicle. "Noshiko, my apologies, if you can stick around I can get rid of him."

"Get rid of whom?"

Allison looked up at the moon. "Chris Argent. One of the Hunters in town."

"Ah," was all Noshiko said.

"What do we do?" Noah asked. His hand hadn't moved from its holster.

"I don't know," Allison said. "But I sure as hell am going to find out what Chris thinks he's doing."

Headlights bounced down the track. Allison put her hand over one eye as the SUV turned into the clearing, the headlights breaking through the night. The car pulled to a sudden halt. No one moved.

Then the driver's door opened. "Allison?" Chris called in disbelief. "What's going on?"

"Just running over my statement from last week with Noah," Allison said. "After dark in the woods. Feel free to either leave or turn off the lights."

A moment's hesitation, then the SUV's engine died and the headlights fell dark. Allison let her hand drop, closing her light-blinded eye to watch Chris approach on foot. He wasn't carrying a rifle or shotgun, but Allison knew him far better than to think he wasn't armed to the teeth.

"Glad you could join us," she said.

"Sheriff Stilinski," Chris said. He was moving slowly, likely trying to get his bearings as his eyes adjusted to the dark. "It's a school night. Allison should be getting ready for bed."

Allison whirled to snap at Chris's comment, like he had any right to comment on her bedtime. But then she saw the expression on his face, the wariness and contemplation, and she realized that he had done it intentionally. Asshole. "Well, golly gee, thanks for caring about my wellbeing," Allison said with as much sarcastic innocence as she could pack into the sentence. Then she dropped it to ask, "What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here?" Chris shot back.

Allison opened her other eye, better able now to see in the soft light from the moon. "Seeing as how I'm dating the legal owner of the property, and you are trespassing, I say you answer first."

Chris looked at Noah, who shrugged. "We could always call up Hale to see if he wants me to run you in. It's probably a fine and a night in the cells."

"Fine," Chris said. "One of my guys overheard some of the FBI agents who were working the terrorist attack ask if this place was haunted."

"Who?" Allison asked.

"Saul."

That made sense. Saul had a tendency to hear the most interesting things. "Go on."

"And so I decided that given everything that had happened in the house over the last year or so, to come check it out."

The last year? Allison was puzzled. The Hale family was murdered almost seven years before. Laura died out in the woods, and only buried at the house. In fact, the only person who had died in the house over the last year was—

Realization hit Allison like a slap. "It's not Kate," she said. Both Chris and Noah went still. "The ghost in the house. It wasn't Kate."

Because of course, Kate Argent wasn't actually dead, but off in Mexico being unable to control her transformation to the werejaguar after Peter's attack. However, Allison doubted that now was the best time to bring that up, as everyone in town still thought that Kate was dead.

Chris's mouth twisted. "Why do you think that's who I thought it would be?"

Allison took a step towards him. "Because if you thought that the ghost was one of the Hales, you would have come with a team to get rid of her."

"Her?" Noah asked. "Allison, is this place _haunted?"_

"The house was," Allison said, shifting around so she could keep both Chris and Noah in her line of sight. "Talia Hale's ghost was trapped in the house. I guess when the place blew up, whatever was keeping her there went with it. I don't know where she is now, but she's not hanging around."

Chris's incredulous expression was growing. "How do you know that?" he demanded. "Did you see her?"

"Of course I did, how else could I know all this?"

"Ghosts are real?" Noah asked the air. "Really?"

"Yes, and they are extremely few and far between. Thankfully."

But Chris wasn't finished. "You knew there was a ghost in the house and you didn't do anything about it?"

"Nothing to do with ghosts except ignore them until they go away." Allison crossed her arms. "Now, if there is nothing further, you can go home."

No one moved. "Why are you out here?" Chris finally asked. "Really?"

Noah looked at Noshiko. Noshiko had her eyes on Chris. And Chris didn't look away from Allison. "It's none of your concern."

"If it has to do with the safety of this town, then it is my concern."

"This isn't Hunter business."

"Fine. If it has to do with you, then it's also my concern."

Noah coughed. "Technically, it's not."

Chris glanced sideways at Noah. "If you found out tomorrow that Stiles wasn't your son, would you stop caring about what happens to him?"

"Of course not."

"Then I'm sure you can understand my position."

Allison rolled her eyes to the sky. "Noah's not the one you need to convince," she said.

Noshiko was standing very still, shadows over her face. "This is one of the Beacon Hills Hunters," she said. "Can you explain this?"

"I'm not a Hunter," Allison said. "To make an extremely long story short, Chris's now-dead wife murdered my mother before I was born and stole me away to raise in the place of her stillborn daughter. We all found out just a while ago."

Noshiko's eyes slid to Noah, then back to Chris. "And you don't have any problem with your kidnapper being here?"

Allison waved her hand. "We're fine. Technically, according to Hunter code, I'm his boss, so he has to do what I say." She looked at Chris. "Right?"

Chris's jaw twitched. "Right," he said after a minute.

Noah looked as if he was torn between laughter and having an aneurysm.

Allison turned to Noshiko. "If you want him to leave, he will."

Noshiko considered this. "It might be better if he knows what is coming," she said reluctantly. "If only to prevent him from stepping fully into the path of the storm."

That was nicely evocative yet cryptic at the same time. Allison had almost forgotten Noshiko's flair for the dramatic. "All right." Allison clapped her hands together. "First things first. Chris, disarm."

"Excuse me?" Chris exclaimed.

"Weapons on the car hood." Allison pointed to a spot vaguely beside Noah. "Don't worry, Noah's not going to run you in for anything illegal."

"He's not?" Noah wondered.

Chris looked as if he was going to object, but, without word, stalked over to the cruiser and began to remove weapons from his person.

It took a while.

As the last _clink_ from the brass knuckles hitting the hood faded into the darkness, Chris stood back. "All right?"

Allison knew he still had a few knives on him, but she could let that pass. So did she. "Fine."

Noah looked between the pile of weaponry and Chris. "Do you walk around my town carrying all this crap?" he asked.

"Only when I'm on patrol."

"For fuck's sake," Noah muttered.

"Can we get on with it?" Chris asked. "Can someone tell me why we're all here?"

"Noshiko, do you want to?" Allison asked.

"No need for you to stop now," Noshiko said.

Fine. She could at least give it to Chris in supernatural short-hand. "There's a type of kitsune called the nogitsune, a void kitsune that feeds on strife and pain."

"Right," Chris said. "I've heard of kitsune, but I don't think we've ever come across one."

"Foxes hide," Noshiko said.

"Anyway, for reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture, a nogitsune possessed a human in 1943 in Beacon Hills, its host was killed, and the spirit of the nogitsune trapped in a jar and buried up on the preserve."

"Why do I get a feeling I'm not going to like the next part of this story?" Chris asked.

"Because it's 2012, the jar is broken, and the nogitsune is out. Now we," she indicated between herself and Noshiko, "Need to find who it's possessing and stop it before people start to die."

Chris frowned. "Why you?"

"That's what I was trying to ask," Noah said.

Allison held out her hands. "I don't know, because I'm the Alpha? I'm head of the Hunters?" Anger was starting to simmer in her chest. "How about because I refuse to sit back and let people die in my town when I can do something to stop it?"

Noah rubbed his hand over his eyes. "Look, as much fun as this has all been," he said. "It's getting late and we need to get home before Stiles decides to come looking for us."

"Fine." Allison turned to Noshiko. "Let's do it."

"Do what?" Chris asked.

Allison could sense a gathering in the darkness as something stood waiting. It had been twenty-seven years since she had last been in the presence of the Oni, and she still had the occasional nightmare of their silent presence. "Noshiko has agreed to let me help her find the nogitsune." Around them, the darkness began to move. "But first, she has to do one thing."

"What's that?" Noah asked.

"Make sure I'm not the nogitsune," Allison said, as the Oni stepped into the light.

Behind her, Chris's heartbeat exploded. "Allison, no!" he exclaimed. The next moment Chris had his hands around her arm and was dragging her back. The unexpected violence of the action made Allison react without thinking, pushing Chris away and drawing her knife. Noah had his hand on his gun, and Chris was reaching for her again.

The alpha rose. "Stop!" Allison shouted, voice thick with power. Everyone in the clearing froze. The five Oni turned as one to face Allison. "Noshiko, do you have them?"

"Yes," Noshiko said. "What is this?"

"Allison, you have to get away from them," Chris said, His eyes were huge, and Allison could smell the fear roiling off him like rotting blackberry leaves. "Allison, _now_."

"Everyone stop," Allison said again, putting her hands out as she stepped between Chris and Noshiko. "Noah, it's okay. Everything's okay."

"What are those things?" Noah asked, staring over Allison's shoulder at the Oni. His gun was drawn, but it was still pointed at the ground.

"Oni demons," Allison said. "They've been summoned to help locate the nogitsune."

"I've seen them before," Chris said. He had his hand out towards Allison, but he wasn't reaching for her. "In Japan. They killed an entire Yakuza gang without any hesitation."

This pulled Allison up short. "When were you in Japan around the Yakuza?" she asked.

Chris never looked away from the Oni. "In 'eighty-eight. Gerard sent me over to do an arms deal, only he failed to mention it was with the Yakuza. While I was there, things like those," and he indicated the Oni ranged motionless around the clearing, "Burst in and killed the Yakuza boss and everyone who stood in their way."

Allison's jaw nearly dropped. "Okay, sidebar, but Gerard sent you to run guns to the Yakuza when you were _eighteen?"_

"Can we focus on the killing part?" Noah asked.

"The Oni only pursue those who they are summoned for," Noshiko said. "I do not know who or what the Oni you encountered were doing, but that has nothing to do with the situation at hand."

"Yes it does," Chris snapped, finally turning his attention on Noshiko. "What on earth would make you think Allison is a nogitsune? And what are you going to do to find out?"

"Chris—" Allison began, but Noshiko cut her off.

"She knows too much," the woman said, the words a lash on the air. "I am in Beacon Hills for two days and she appears on my doorstep, having befriended my _daughter_. She knows things that no living person can know, and I am not expected to wonder if she is the one possessed by the nogitsune spirit?"

"She's not," Chris said, but there was a shakiness to the words. "She's not, please."

"She's not acting different?" Noshiko went on. "Others who have seen a nogitsune inhabit a loved one, they speak of how the person changed, stopped sleeping, didn't eat, would wake from terrible nightmares."

Beside Chris, Noah had gone absolutely still. His eyes moved to Allison.

Allison swallowed. She knew why she was acting so oddly, but she doubted that _time travel_ would sound like any more of a plausible explanation than nogitsune possession. "That's probably not it," she said. "I'm probably just really fucked up."

"What are you talking about?" Chris asked.

"Allison…" Noah stopped and tried again. "Since she came to live with us, Allison's been having trouble sleeping. She wakes up screaming a lot. And she's not eating enough to keep a cat alive."

Chris looked at Allison, and something in his face changed. Like his heart was breaking. Of course, Allison thought distantly. Because he knew what this would mean.

A Hunter would do whatever they had to, to not become the monster they hunted.

"I know what this sounds like," Allison said. She took a deep breath. She was certain that she wasn't the nogitsune.

Well.

She was _almost_ certain that she wasn't the nogitsune.

But if she was… if the worst had happened, and the spirit of the nogitsune lived inside her, trying to claw its way out?

Allison could not let that happen. She was too powerful, too dangerous, to let her possessed body be used by the nogitsune.

With steady hands, Allison unzipped her jacket. "I'm pretty sure I'm not the nogitsune," she said, draping her jacket on the car hood next to Chris's guns. "I'm not losing time or anything."

The others were silent.

"But in Beacon Hills, anything is possible." Allison reached into her pocket for a hair elastic. "I mean, it would really suck to have come all this way just to die before Christmas."

"What are you doing?" Noah asked as Allison twisted her hair up into a bun.

"Clearing the playing field." Allison took a deep breath as she unwound the shadow silk from her neck. "I don't suppose there's any point in putting this off any longer."

"Putting _what_ off?"

"She's going to let them find out if she's possessed by a nogitsune spirit," Chris said heavily, because of course he had put together all of the pieces. "And if she is, she's making sure that they have a clean shot."

"No," Noah said, stepping forward. The Oni blocked his path. "Allison, come on, we're leaving."

"It's all right, Noah." Allison wrapped the silk around one hand, making sure her grip was tight. "If I'm not, there's no harm done. And if I am, someone has to stop me. I can't become the monster."

"This is insane!"

"No, just more of my life." Allison flicked her eyes to Chris, and the man stepped forward to grab Noah's arm. "If this goes badly, Noah, I'm sorry. Tell Stiles I'm sorry."

"You can't just let this happen," Noah said to Chris, who was now holding Noah back.

"Do you think I want to stand here and watch Allison die?" Chris demanded. "But she's right. And it's her choice."

"Noah, please."

"She's just a kid!" Noah shot at Noshiko. "You're going to let these things kill a kid?"

Noshiko's dark eyes were on Allison. "She is not a child," Noshiko said as Allison stepped in front of her. "And she offered to withstand this test."

Allison took a deep breath. She put her hands behind her back, wrapping her wrist in the end of the shadow silk. If everything went wrong, this would at least give Noshiko a fraction of a second before the nogitsune could get free to attack.

"Do it," Allison said.

An Oni stepped between her and Noshiko, darkness swirling around it. Allison stared back at the black mask, deep into the void where eyes should lay.

Then, the Oni's eyes began to glow the yellow-green of the firefly, and the world narrowed to light and pain and cold, cold, so much cold.

It went on forever.

And then it stopped.

Allison collapsed, the ground hard under her body. Her hands wouldn't move and she bashed her cheek against a rock, and all she could feel was cold.

"Allison!"

It was a man's voice and something was coming for her and Allison was back in the woods in France in 2023 knowing that she was going to die. She kicked out, finally ripped her hands free to scramble back. "Don't touch me!"

"Leave her." A female voice. Noshiko's voice. Someone moved to stand between Allison and the others, then another. It took Allison a moment of blinking to see it was the Oni, standing as a wall between her and Noah and Chris.

"What did they do to her?" Noah asked. Allison couldn't stop shaking. She was cold, so cold, and the scrape on her cheek wasn't healing. This was bad.

"The more powerful the supernatural creature, the more intense their reaction to the Oni," Noshiko said. "Allison is an alpha, this reaction is to be expected."

Great. Allison dug deep inside to find the alpha, but the power was curled up in a ball, cold and afraid.

"But she's not the nogitsune," Chris said. "Allison's not the nogitsune. Right?"

"She is not," Noshiko said. "Which of you is next?"

"What?" Noah asked.

"The nogitsune is not in Allison, but it is somewhere," Noshiko said. "You, Sheriff, Allison brought, but this other man happened upon us. By chance? Or design?"

Oh, crap. Allison had to get herself together, and that meant desperate measures. With shaking hands, she pulled the knife out of her waistband.

"I really did come here looking for a ghost," Chris said.

"Then you will not object."

Bracing herself, Allison put the knife blade between her lips and sliced along her tongue. The rush of pain and blood in her mouth shocked the alpha awake. Allison dropped the knife and dug her hands into the dirt as pure power flooded through her.

"Allison, what are you doing?" Chris demanded.

Allison lifted her head. Her eyes burned red as blood dripped down her chin. "Factory reset," she said, then spat blood onto the ground.

"Is that like what Peter did to you?" Noah asked. "The arm thing?"

"Yes." Allison sat back and brushed dirt off her hands. The shakiness was gone, the fear was gone. All that was left in her was a burning anger at the nogitsune that dared invade her town. "All right. What's next?"

"I am too fucking old for this," Noah muttered. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Allison picked up her knife with one hand, her shadow silk with the other, and hauled herself to her feet. "I mean, it's always nice to know that one is not possessed by the bad guy." She shoved the silk into her pocket as she wove her way through the wall of Oni. "Now that that's out of the way, we have a deal to make," she said to Noshiko. "Are you going to let me help you find the nogitsune?"

"Yes," Noshiko said with what sounded like resignation. "But it is dangerous work. I cannot guarantee your safety."

Allison shrugged. "No one gets out of this life alive, so may as well do something worthwhile in the meantime."

As she spoke, Chris reached inside his jacket. Allison had her knife poised and at the ready, in case he did something stupid, but he only pulled out a handkerchief. "I thought you might want to wipe the blood off your face," he said, handing over the cloth.

Allison let out a breath. "Thanks." She took the handkerchief, first wiping the blood off her knife's blade, then tucking the knife away before rubbing at her chin. The blood on the white cloth was nearly black in the moonlight. "So, like Noshiko said, let's get on with things." She held out the handkerchief. "I'll wash this and give it back."

Chris nodded.

"And while you two roshambo to see who goes next, I have to get something."

Allison headed over to the cruiser. Behind her, she could hear Noshiko ask, "Is she always this pragmatic?"

"Pragmatic isn't the word I'd use," Noah muttered.

"Allison's had to do a lot of growing up over the last year," Chris said. Allison went to her bag in the backseat, pulling out the thermos she'd filled at the station with the hot yet tasteless coffee. "A lot has happened since we moved to Beacon Hills."

"A lot's happened in the last few weeks," Allison pointed out. She popped open the trunk to pull out the emergency rescue blanket. "We're at the point now where mysterious Oni demons appearing in the dark of the woods isn't even in the top half of weirdness in this town." She returned to the group. "So?" she asked brightly. "Who's up next?"

After some glaring between the men, Chris stepped forward. "I don't trust those things," he said, casting a nervous look at the Oni."

"Do you trust me?" Allison asked, putting her handfuls on the car hood.

It took Chris a moment, but he finally said, "Yes."

Allison smiled, the admission warm in her heart.

Then Chris turned and faced the Oni. One of them moved up to stare Chris in the eyes. From the outside, the whole process looked simple, no sound, no fuss. Chris held his breath, his heart pounding so loud Noah could probably hear it, then the Oni reached up to touch Chris behind the ear, and Chris stumbled back, shaking.

"He is not the one," Noshiko said.

"Nope." Allison shook out the blanket as Chris almost fell against the side of the cruiser. "You're all right." She draped the blanket over his shoulders and bullied him into sitting on the car hood. "You just need a few minutes."

"I'm fine now," Chris said with chattering teeth.

Allison, who was used to handling stubborn men in the field, just said, "Okay," and poured him a cup of coffee. "Drink that slow."

Chris took a sip and made a face. "What is this?"

"Law enforcement coffee," Allison said. "Provided by your taxpayer dollars."

"The city should raise my taxes," Chris muttered.

"Yeah, you're going to be fine." Allison turned her attention on Noah. "Are you ready?"

Noah had his hands on his hips, surveying the scene. It took him a minute to speak. "You could have come out here alone," he finally said. "Far less fuss. Even telling me the story about the nogitsune could have happened at home."

"Yes," Allison said.

"So why am I really here?"

Allison sighed. "Because there are a lot of people in town who Noshiko's going to have to check. Most of them are supernatural, like the werewolves." She paused for a moment. "And others are supernaturally adjacent."

Noah let out a breath. "You're talking about Stiles," he said.

"Yes," Allison said again. Because last time this whole disaster had gone down, Stiles had been at the very heart of it, a boy possessed by a dark fox spirit. But this time was different. This time, Stiles wasn't showing any of the signs he had last time. He was sleeping well, eating, not losing time or losing the ability to read or any of the other terrible, terrible things the nogitsune had done to wrest away control of Stiles' body.

"Stiles isn't supernatural," Chris pointed out from the car.

"Stiles is human," Allison agreed, never taking her eyes off Noah. "He has lived in this town his whole life, and that can change people."

"You wanted me to go through this test before Stiles," Noah went on.

"I need you to know that it's not going to hurt him."

Noah's gaze moved to Chris. The other man shrugged. "It's not painful. Just terrifying and extremely cold."

"Great," Noah muttered. He rubbed his hand over his face. "Save some of that coffee for me, will you?"

"I will," Allison promised. Noah walked over to the Oni, and the same process was repeated. Allison was at Noah's elbow when the Oni stepped away, and she caught him and led him over to the car. "Blanket," she said to Chris, who handed it over. Allison wrapped Noah up and got a cup of coffee into his shaking hands. "All right?"

"Yeah," Noah said shortly. He sipped coffee, spilling some of it on the blanket. "God, that was cold."

Allison squeezed his shoulder, then turned to face Noshiko. "Here's the deal," Allison said. "You find the nogitsune, you tell me and we deal with them together."

"Wait, deal how?" Noah demanded, nearly dropping the thermos cup.

"Swords and death?" Chris asked.

"No," Allison snapped before Noshiko could reply. "I don't know what we're going to do, but we'll figure it out. No one is going to die."

"It might not be possible," Noshiko said, subdued. "Death may be the only way to stop the nogitsune."

"There are a whole lot of other things we can do first," Allison said. "You don't want anyone else to die any more than I do. Can we just _try_ to save everyone?"

"You have no idea how much I hope that will be the case," Noshiko said. "All right, child, yes. We will try."

"Good." Allison brushed her hands against her jeans. "Time for everyone to go home. It's a school night."

Without another word, Noshiko faded back into the darkness, the Oni following her. Allison gave a wave, then went to sit beside Noah on the car.

"That was an incredibly reckless thing to do," Chris said after a long pause.

"It was the most efficient way of addressing the situation," Allison returned. "We all know that I'm not the nogitsune now, and Noshiko knows she can trust me to help her."

"There had to be a different way," Noah said.

"Whatever happened to you backing me up as long as I told you what I was doing?" Allison asked.

"Not when it's something this dangerous."

"This?" Allison jerked her thumb over her shoulder. "Was nothing."

Noah poured himself more coffee. His hands had stopped shaking. "And you?" he said to Chris. "You were fine with standing back and letting those things take Allison out?"

"It was Allison's call to make," Chris said.

"Is that some sort of Hunter bullshit?"

"It's not bullshit," Allison interjected before Chris could respond. "If you swear to protect people, you cannot turn into the thing that hurts them."

"You said that's why Victoria killed herself," Noah said. "She got bitten by a werewolf. That's why you couldn't let Chris find out that you were an alpha, because the Hunters might just find a way to help you out with that."

"This is different," Allison said. "Being a werewolf doesn't make you evil. But the nogitsune feeds on pain. Its entire purpose is to cause pain and torment. There is absolutely no way I was going to let myself be used for evil. I'd cut my own throat first."

Chris let out a soft, pained sound.

"Okay, that I understand." Noah set the thermos down. "But here's what I don't understand. You made that woman promise that she wouldn't kill whoever the nogitsune is possessing, and she agreed. But why didn't you ask the same thing if it was you?"

"Because it's different," Allison said.

"How?" Noah pulled the blanket off his shoulders.

"How?" Allison repeated. "How could I help Noshiko stop myself?"

Noah gestured a little wildly at the surrounding trees. "You are not the only one here!" he exclaimed. "You're not the only person in town who can help with this!"

There was a strange little tremor in Allison's chest. Maybe it was a delayed reaction to the Oni. "I'm an alpha, that means I have to do something!"

"That's not what I meant," Noah said. "You could have asked Noshiko to let us help, me and Chris, if you were the nogitsune, but you didn't. You want to help everyone, but why won't you let anyone help you?"

The tremor was turning into a lump of ice in Allison's stomach. "Because I have to do this!" she said again, knowing it was nonsensical, knowing she had no other answer.

"But why alone?" Noah pressed. "I don't send in my deputies alone on dangerous calls. I'm going to assume that Hunters work in groups."

"When we can," Chris said.

Allison pulled the shadow silk out of her pocket to wrap around her left hand. She was getting cold again, she distantly realized. Maybe the knife she took to her mouth hadn't been enough. "You're human," she pointed out. "I'm not."

"Wolves don't hunt alone," Chris said. His eyes were almost silver in the moonlight as he looked at her.

The ice in Allison's gut turned to knives, raking at her. She was across the clearing in a moment, in Chris's face so fast he didn't have time to pull a knife. "Wolves have packs," Allison said. Chris's heartbeat was rapid, but he didn't move. "Hunters have a coven." She clenched her left hand in the silk so hard her bones creaked. "I have _no one."_

Because that was the real crux of things. She'd driven her father away; her mother's family was embroiled in chaos just because Allison was alive. The werewolves in town were Derek's.

And, worst of all, Allison had completely and irrevocably lost Bucky in a future that would never happen. Even if she got the Bucky of this timeline away from Hydra, he wouldn't know her, wouldn't trust her.

She might be an alpha, but Allison was completely alone.

"It doesn't have to be that way," Chris said.

"Allison," Noah said, almost too quietly. "Look, it's been a long day. How about we head home?"

Allison didn't move. "You have no idea how much I wish things were different," she said, still looking straight at Chris. "But they're not."

"Allison," Noah said again.

This time, Allison stepped away from Chris. "You should go home," she said as she went to the car. "You have to go into work tomorrow. Mike always needs help with casting on Tuesdays."

She gathered up the thermos and the blanket and moved around to dump them in the backseat.

"That's a good idea," she heard Noah tell Chris. "I'll get Allison home safe."

Chris didn't say anything, but the various clinks and thunks told Allison he was gathering his weapons from the hood.

"One more thing," Noah said, as Allison closed the car door and drifted back around to where the action was, just in time to see Noah taking the brass knuckles from Chris's hand. "Stop carrying illegal weapons around town, or I'm going to start having my men search you every time they pull you over."

"That sounds like a threat of police harassment," Chris said, holstering the small Beretta at his ankle.

"It's not harassment if I have probable cause," Noah pointed out.

Chris stood back from the car, giving himself a quick shake to settle everything. "Take care of Allison, will you?" he asked.

Allison narrowed her eyes as Noah said, "I'm trying to."

"Right." Chris turned to Allison. "Goodbye."

"Bye."

Reluctantly, Chris walked to his car, and backed out of the clearing with no fuss. That left Allison and Noah alone by the car.

"Let's go home," Noah said. "Stiles is going to start worrying about us."

"He hasn't called, so he probably hasn't realized how much time has passed," Allison said. "You might want to get him a doctor's appointment, his ADHD meds might need adjusting."

"He's actually better than he was at thirteen," Noah said. "Middle school was a nightmare."

"For everyone," Allison agreed. She held out her hand. "Can I drive?"

Noah looked at her, a familiar bemused expression on his face. Then, to Allison's shock, he tossed over his keys. "No sirens," he said as he went over to the passenger door.

Allison was so surprised that she just stood there for a moment. Then, before Noah changed his mind, she practically ran to get in the car. "Deal." She got in, adjusted the rear view mirror, and started the car. The warm rumble of the engine was almost as soothing as a wolf's growl. "Is this legal?"

"You have your licence, you're employed by the city, and you're with the sheriff, so, yes."

"Good." Allison put the car in reverse and off they went. The thing drove a hell of a lot smoother than Stiles' jeep.

"So, tonight was a surprise," Noah said when they were back on the road.

"Everything worked out."

"It did." Noah pulled the in-car computer around to scan the feeds. "But can I ask a favour?"

"What?" Allison asked, accelerating down the mountain.

"Next time, can you fill me in _before_ we walk into a supernatural situation with weird Japanese demon guys?"

"That's fair," Allison said. "Okay."

"Good." Noah closed the computer. "That thing Noshiko was talking about, you making friends with her daughter? What was that about?"

"Kira's the new kid at school," Allison said. "I remember being the new kid, like, every six months, so I wanted to help her out. She's a sweet kid. And everyone was very nice."

Everyone but Scott, Allison thought, but that wasn't something to lay before Noah's feet.

"Wait," Noah said. "The new girl, the one Stiles didn't stop talking about at dinner? That was her _mother?"_

"Yup," Allison said. "Her father's the new history teacher, but that's about seventy percent less interesting than immortal nogitsune hunter."

"Oh god," Noah muttered. "That's why you made that quip about parent-teacher night."

"Just think how awkward it's going to be if Stiles decides he wants to start carrying Kira's books around and buying her flowers and inviting her to Homecoming."

"Didn't Stiles say at breakfast that he's going to Homecoming with Lydia?"

"Yes."

"He's been pining for Lydia since he met her."

"And Kira is extremely cute."

"Oh god," Noah said again. "I don't know if my heart can take this much high school drama."

You don't have to have a front row seat to it," Allison pointed out. "I'm in the splash zone."

Noah made a face. "You couldn't pay me enough to be a teenager again."

Allison kept her eyes on the road. "Once was enough," she said, keeping her voice even.

"All right," Noah said, settling back in his seat. "Let's run the details on the Shaver case. What do you think so far?"

Relieved, Allison fell into police work as they drove along the Beacon Hills backroads. There was always another case to focus on, and no use in lingering over things one couldn't control.

* * *

Tuesday at school was, objectively, hilarious.

Lydia spent her time alternating between plotting with Isaac on student council shenanigans, and making heart eyes at Kira. Stiles tried to sit where he could look at Lydia and Kira at the same time, with the stupidest expression on his face. Jackson spent the whole day looking like he was sucking on a lemon, and Erica was so amused by it all that Mrs. Martin had to tell her twice in class to pay attention.

Allison was already exhausted.

At the end of the day, Allison was at her locker when Kira and Lydia arrived. "Where's your shadow?" Allison asked, loading up her backpack.

"Who?" Kira asked, puzzled.

"Stiles," Lydia said. She opened her locker, then set about applying a new coat of lipstick. Kira watched, enraptured. "He has lacrosse."

"Well, I have work, and I have to be there in twenty."

This tore Kira's attention. "Do you have to work all the time?" she asked.

"Going to high school does not pay the bills," Allison said, and closed her locker. "Are you going home?"

"I don't know," Kira said. "My mom's acting kind of weird."

"You could come with me to watch the boys play lacrosse," Lydia said, turning a bright red smile on Kira. "We can sit in the stands and cheer to boost their egos."

"Lydia, be gentle with the teenage male psyche," Allison chided.

Lydia tossed her hair over her shoulder. "I know how to handle the teenage male psyche. I dated Jackson for two years."

Allison gave up. "Both of you, have fun, and I'll see you tomorrow." Allison kissed the air by Lydia's cheek, nearly bumped into Kira, gave the new girl's arm a squeeze, then booked it down the hall.

"Why does she smell so good?" Allison heard Kira say behind her. Lydia's reply was lost in the shuffle, and soon Allison was out of the school and on the road.

Her shift at the station was not exciting. As Noah was busy, she couldn't spend any time with the Shaver evidence, so she took up the massive stack of paperwork from the 'in' tray by Ibarra's desk and began the laborious process of filing.

The afternoon wore on. She had gotten everything in numerical order and more than half the papers into their respective case folders when her phone rang.

Allison looked at the call display, and frowned. Why was Isaac calling her? Isaac never called her. He barely even texted.

A little worried, Allison put the phone to her ear. "Isaac?"

Isaac's voice came over the line, high-pitched and panicked. "I'm pretty sure Jackson just turned into the kanima again and he's upstairs and I don't know what to do!"

Pure adrenaline surge through Allison's veins. In the last timeline, Jackson went his whole junior year before a near-death experience had forced him into his kanima form. It had saved his life, but the emotional cost… "Where are you?" she asked, already dropping into alpha mode, making plans, running scenarios.

"At home," Isaac said. "We just got home from lacrosse."

"Is anyone else there?" Allison asked as she moved away from the filing cabinets. The Whittemore home was a five-minute drive from the station, as long as no trains blocked the by-way.

"Mrs. Whittemore."

"Go outside," Allison said firmly. She went into Noah's empty office to grab her wallet and keys from her backpack. "Take Mrs. Whittemore outside and wait for me."

"She doesn't want to go."

"Give her the phone." Allison went over to Noah's desk to fish out the pen knife he had stashed there. There was a shift in sound over the phone. "Mrs. Whittemore, you need to go outside with Isaac, right now."

"Is something wrong with my son?" the woman asked. "Isaac won't let me go upstairs."

"Jackson is going to be fine," Allison said smoothly, grabbing her helmet from the sofa on her way out the door. "He is going to be just fine, and you need to go outside."

"Is this because of the full moon?" asked Mrs. Whittemore. "Isaac's fine, why isn't Jackson?"

"I don't know." Allison crossed the lobby and was out of the sheriff's station in a few steps. "I am going to be there in a few minutes. Right now, you need to go outside, because whatever's happening with Jackson, he's going to want you to be safe, and you need to be outside. Isaac," she called over the line, "Call Derek, I'll be there in five."

Then Allison ended the call and broke into a run to the far corner of the lot where she'd parked her motorcycle, pocketing both phone and wallet as she went. When she got to the bike, she jammed on her helmet, cranked the engine, and was off.

As she sped down the road, Allison thought furiously. Jackson hadn't had a single sign of the kanima all month, and he hadn't talked like anything weird had happened that summer, either. In their first senior year, it had taken Jackson a while to gain control of the kanima, of the physical shift, but also the emotions it pulled up in him. Later in life, Jackson had grown to master the dual nature of the beast. But now, Jackson hadn't even turned seventeen.

If he was conscious of the state he was in, he must be terrified.

There was no train at the crossing. Allison gunned it over the tracks, then shot east.

She evaded any traffic snarls, and only had to cut into the bike lane once. In hardly any time at all, Allison pulled up with a screech in front of the Whittemore house, relieved to see Isaac and Mrs. Whittemore both on the sidewalk. Isaac was still in his lacrosse practice gear.

"Allison!" Isaac exclaimed as Allison hopped off her bike.

"Isaac," Allison said, trying to exude alpha calm as she pulled off her helmet. "Is Jackson still inside?"

"I guess, he didn't come out."

Mrs. Whittemore stepped in. "What's wrong with Jackson?" she asked.

Allison put her helmet on the bike handlebar, then took both of Mrs. Whittemore's hands in hers. Alpha calming sometimes worked better in humans through physical contact. "I am going to go inside to find out," Allison said. "And you two should stay out here. Everything is going to be fine."

"He's my son, I should be in there," the woman objected.

"He needs you to stay out here, and to be safe," Allison said. "Whatever is happening with Jackson, it's better for him to know that you are safe."

"If he's sick—"

"Then I will let you know." Allison let the woman's hands drop. "Isaac, did you call Derek?"

The tall boy nodded. "He's in Redding with Cora, it's going to take them forever to get here."

Allison thought about calling Peter, but disregarded that as a bad idea. "Call Erica and Boyd and get them here, Jackson might need a wolf pile." Allison started towards the house.

"I should be in there," Mrs. Whittemore said again.

"Tammy, everything's going to be okay," Isaac said. "I'll call Erica and Boyd and they'll come over to help."

Allison slipped in through the open door. There was noise in the house, from a television or radio, and a distant rumble of a clothes dryer.

And there was a faint heartbeat overhead.

"Jackson? It's Allison." She stepped deeper into the house, pulling up her full alpha power. "Jackson, your mom and Isaac are outside. There's no one else in the house. Just me, and I'm here to help you."

Stillness, then a scratching, unmistakable slither of scales over hardwood. Allison moved on.

"Jackson, everyone is safe." She got to the foot of the stairs. There was a pool of blue-tinged vomit on the fourth step. "Everyone's okay. Now I'm here to help you."

Another slither, then a door slammed hard against a wall.

"I'm coming up." Allison kept walking. At the top of the stairs was more vomit, only this one had red chunks in it under the blue. Kneeling, Allison took out the pen knife to prod the clumps. Fresh blood clots, Allison realized, and felt a little sick herself.

Jackson must have eaten something that had ripped into his digestive tract, if the swift progression of undigested blood was any indication.

Allison stood and looked around. A shredded Beacon Hills lacrosse uniform lay along the hall, in the direction of Jackson's bedroom. "Jackson, I'm coming your way," Allison said. "I'm alone. I'm here to help. Do you understand me?"

A softer shift of scaled over fabric, then a hoarse "Yes," came from the open door of a bedroom.

Allison almost smiled. Jackson might be in kanima form, but he knew what was going on. He wasn't in the mindless fugue state the kanima had originally existed in. "I'm almost there. I have a little knife with me, but I'm not going to use it on you."

"You should," came Jackson's voice, then rough gagging. Allison hurried forward, making it to the doorway in time to see Jackson, fully the kanima now, throwing up something thick and black. Allison nearly gagged herself at the sight.

Jackson heaved and puked up more goo, then rolled to the side, his tail smashing into his desk chair and sending it spinning across the room. He gasped for breath.

"Jackson, it's me," Allison called. "What's going on?"

Jackson slowly rolled onto his side, wrapping his arms around his body. In the light from the window, the tips of his claws gleamed with venom.

"Jackson." Allison came closer. "I need you to tell me what happened."

"Go away," Jackson rasped. "I'm not safe."

"Yes, you are." Allison knelt down by Jackson's side. "You're you. You're in control."

"But I'm _this."_ The last word was said with such horror that Allison could taste it.

"It's just like at the game, after Danny was hurt." Allison put her hand on his forehead. His lizard-like skin was clammy. "You knew you were changing, so you got somewhere safe where you wouldn't hurt anyone."

"Mom's home," Jackson said.

"Yes, she is. She's outside with Isaac. No one's hurt."

A soft keening cry came out of Jackson's mouth.

"Are you in pain?" Allison asked.

"It hurt before," Jackson said. He pressed his cheek against Allison's leg. "Not now. But before. Before I turned."

"Okay." Allison ran her hand over Jackson's head. "That means you're healing. That's good. Whatever happened to you, the kanima helped you."

"I don't want to _be_ like this."

"I know." Allison looked around. "Jackson, I want to help you, but I also don't want to spend a few hours in a coma. Can I get you something to put your claws in?"

A pause, then Jackson nodded.

"How about a pillow?" Allison moved towards the bed, hand outstretched.

She stopped when Jackson said, "Not the green one."

Allison changed course, picked up a blue pillow that looked decorative, and returned to Jackson's side. "Sit up," she ordered. Slowly, Jackson did so. He awkwardly tried to find something to do with his tail. "Bring that around here." Jackson settled into a cross-legged position, his tail wrapped around his leg. "Good."

She handed him the pillow, and he sank both hands into it, pulling it against his stomach. If anything, it seemed to calm him down a bit.

"There." Allison knelt at his side, putting her arm around his shoulders. "You're safe. It's okay."

"I'm a monster," Jackson muttered at the top of the pillow.

"You're special," Allison corrected. "You're the only kanima in the world. And look at how good you're doing with your control."

"I hate it."

Allison rubbed his back ridges. "Listen to me, Jackson. There is a whole world of difference between having a different physical shape and abilities, with doing bad things and hurting people. Today, you did good things, amazing things, to keep from hurting your mom or Isaac. I'm so proud of you."

Jackson was quiet, kneading the pillow.

"Now, here's what we're going to do," Allison said. "First, we…"

She trailed off at sounds from below. "You can't go in there," came Isaac's panicked words.

Then, to Allison's dismay, she heard Natasha Romanoff's voice. "One of our interns was seen speeding over here," Natasha said. "I need to make sure she's okay."

"Allison's fine!" Isaac yelped.

"Oh, fuck a donkey," Allison muttered. "Jackson, stay calm, and let me handle this." The boy nodded, his lizard eyes wide. "Natasha, stand down," Allison yelled out into the hall. "Everything's under control."

"Are you sure about that?" Natasha asked loudly.

"Perfectly," Allison replied.

"I need more than that."

Allison wanted to scream. In Russian, she said, "Come on, little spider, I am very tired and a good friend of mine is hurt. Please knock it off."

Silence, then, "Fine."

"Jesus," Allison muttered. "See?" she said to Jackson. "It's all fine."

That flew right out the window when she heard Natasha say, "Ma'am, you might not want to go up there."

"My son is up there," Mrs. Whittemore said.

Jackson made a sound in his throat. "Don't let her see," he whispered, tucking his face against Allison's jacket.

"It's okay," Allison said. "You're safe."

Footsteps grew closer. Jackson shivered under Allison's arm, while she tried to figure out what she was going to do. She couldn't remember what the Whittemores had thought about Jackson's kanima form. Would Mrs. Whittemore be appalled? Terrified of her son?

"Jackson?" Mrs. Whittemore said as she appeared in the doorway. "There's sick on the stairs. Are you…" Her voice trailed off when she saw the large lizard-man on her son's bedroom floor. "Oh."

"Jackson's going to be all right," Allison said. "Whatever happened triggered his shift to the kanima. But he's still the same Jackson in here, even if he looks a little different."

Walking carefully, Mrs. Whittemore crossed the floor, skirting the pile of black liquid. "Jackson?"

Slowly, slowly, Jackson lifted his head from Allison's jacket. "Mom?" he said, eyes yellow, teeth sharp in his scaled face.

To her credit, Mrs. Whittemore's only reaction was a slight widening of the eyes. "Jackson, baby, what happened?"

"I don't know."

Isaac appeared in the doorway, practically vibrating. "That cop's behind me," he hissed in a stage whisper.

"Only to ensure the safety of civilians," Natasha said, standing just out of sight. "Should I come any closer?"

"No," Allison said. "The plausible deniability is better for your report." She looked at Jackson. "Do you want to try to shift back to human?"

Jackson gave a jerky nod. "But… what if I throw up again?"

"Then we will figure it out. Do you feel sick any more?"

Jackson shook his head, then looked over as his mother put her hand on his shoulder.

"You're warm," she said, sounding surprised.

"Shapeshifting is very weird," Allison said. "When he's like this, make sure you don't touch his claws, you could be accidentally paralyzed." She pulled the pillow away from Jackson, careful to avoid the claw rips or venom patches. "He doesn't want to hurt you, so the best you can do is to help him with that."

Mrs. Whittemore nodded, her hand still on his shoulder.

"Jackson, I'm going to do something like what I did in the locker room. Okay?" Allison waited for Jackson to nod before reaching out with alpha power. In the locker room, she'd had to shove the wolf down so fast it hurt. But here, with the luxury of a little time, Allison was able to be gentle as she brought the wolf up in place of the kanima. Slowly, Jackson shifted from lizard to wolf, and then, just as slowly, back to human. "There we go." She ran her hand through Jackson's hair. "How do you feel?"

"Gross," the boy said. He looked down. "And very naked."

"Any pain or nausea?" Allison asked as she tactfully stood up.

"No."

Allison grabbed the pajamas that were in a ball by the hamper and tossed them in Jackson's direction. "Get dressed before Deputy Rushman comes in."

Mrs. Whittemore put her hand under Jackson's elbow. "Let me help you," she said, guiding Jackson up.

"Mom, I'm fine," Jackson said unconvincingly.

"I know." She shook out the pajamas and let Jackson step into them.

Isaac was leaning against the doorjamb now, arms crossed. "Can I speak for everyone when I ask what the fuck happened?"

"I don't know," Jackson shot at Isaac as he yanked the pajama top over his head.

"You can come in now, Natasha," Allison said.

Natasha poked her head around the doorframe. "Mr. Whittemore, glad to see you on your feet," she said gravely. "Were you the one who threw up in the hall?"

"Yeah." Jackson scratched at his arm. "It wasn't drugs."

"I don't care about that."

"You're a cop."

"I'm not that kind of cop," Natasha said with a wry smile that soon faded. "But there is a large amount of blood in that vomit, and that," she pointed at the black sludge, "Is what happens when someone has a major stomach bleed. How do you really feel right now?"

Jackson froze. "I, uh…"

"It's fine," Allison said. "Natasha knows all about supernatural creatures and she's not going to put a single word of this into her report." She turned to the woman. "Why are you even here?"

The glare Natasha fixed her with was sardonic. "Callahan radioed that you peeled out of the station like your hair was on fire, and then I see you speeding down Main while I'm on patrol? I'm following up."

"Fine." Allison put her hand on Jackson's arm. "Do you remember what happened?"

"Yeah, I got home after practice. I mean, me and Isaac got home."

"Jackson drove," Isaac said.

"Mom was in the kitchen and she told us to unload our bags so she could do the laundry." Jackson rubbed at his mouth. "We did and Isaac went into the living room and I was thirsty so I grabbed my sports bottle and went to drink it, only…" He shuddered. "It was like drinking battery acid or something, everything was burning."

"I saw him drop the bottle and change," Isaac supplied. "Then he ran for the stairs."

Natasha edged into the room and crouched by the puddle of goop. "Why do you say battery acid?" she asked Jackson.

"Huh?"

"Have you ever tasted battery acid?"

"What? No."

"Then what exactly did you taste?" Natasha stood up.

"It's okay," Allison said encouragingly, even though anger was growing in her gut at the very real possibility that someone had spiked Jackson's water.

"It…" Jackson frowned. "When you chew tinfoil, that metal taste? All down my throat. It burned. And was really bitter."

"Okay," Natasha said. "Thank you. That's good detail." She glanced at Allison. "How about we all get out of here for a bit?"

"Where to?"

"This room's a bit close. I think Jackson could use some water and a bit of rest. Living room?"

"Let's go."

Allison shooed Isaac into the hallway, and sent Natasha after him while she waited for Jackson and his mother to walk out. The boy was walking slow, but his footing was steady. "I was so worried about you," Mrs. Whittemore was saying.

"Mom, I'm fine," Jackson said, ears red.

"We lost you once," Mrs. Whittemore said, and patted Jackson's hand. "That was once too much."

Allison was prudently quiet as she followed the two Whittemores down the stairs, around the various pools of vomit.

They had just reached the ground floor when Mr. Whittemore burst into the house, his eyes wild. "What's going on?" he demanded, taking in the scene. "Why is there a cop car outside?"

"Just doing a welfare check," Natasha said, hooking her thumbs in her belt. "And everyone's okay."

"Tammy?" Mr. Whittemore said, dropping his briefcase and speeding over to his wife and son. "Jackson? What happened?"

"We have reason to suspect that someone may have put something in Jackson's sports bottle," Natasha said. She pointed at the kitchen. "Is that it down there?"

Everyone turned. A sports bottle lay on the ground, with _Whittemore_ in clear black marker along the side. "Yeah," Jackson said.

Then Isaac said, "That was mine."

"What?" Jackson said.

"I used that one today," Isaac said. He had gone pale. "You were using the other one." He pointed at the kitchen table, where another sports bottle, also marked _Whittemore_ , stood untouched.

Mrs. Whittemore held out her hand to Isaac. "Come here," she said, pulling the other boy in at her side. "Are you sure?"

Isaac nodded.

Allison moved over to the bottle on the floor. "Did you drink out of the bottle at all today?" she asked,

"Yeah, I filled it up before practice and drank half of it," Isaac said. "It was just water. But I took it out with me and left it on the bench during practice. I don't…" He rubbed his arm. "I don't like it when the water gets all warm, so I didn't touch it after that."

"Hang on." Natasha pulled latex gloves out of her pocket. "Get me a glass."

Allison went to pluck a glass out of the drying rack to put on the table. Once Natasha had gloved up, she carefully lifted the bottle, holding it awkwardly to avoid the most obvious places for fingerprints, and tilted it over the glass.

Dark purple liquid dripped down from the spout, a shade of purple Allison knew far, far too well. "Wolfsbane," she whispered, sudden panic screaming through her. "That's liquified wolfsbane."

She had seen a werewolf forced to swallow liquified wolfsbane once, in a distant future, and the agonized screams of that man as he died still rang in her ears.

"If Isaac had swallowed that, he'd have died in a few minutes," Allison said to Natasha.

"Someone tried to kill Isaac?" Mr. Whittemore asked. "What about Jackson?"

Natasha put the first water bottle down and went to the second, while Allison fetched another glass. This one produced only water.

Isaac had crossed his arms over his chest and was hunched in against Mrs. Whittemore. "Why would someone do that?" he asked. "I didn't… I'm not interesting."

"I don't know," Allison said, swiftly running over things in her mind. "But that explains why Jackson reverted to his kanima form. There's only one thing that can kill a kanima. That saved his life."

"Wait, what?" Mr. Whittemore asked. He looked like he was developing whiplash.

"I have to call this in," Natasha said, peeling off her gloves.

"No!" Jackson said, horrified.

"Mr. Whittemore," Natasha said, turning to Jackson. "The good news here is that wolfsbane, aconite, monk's hood, whatever you call it, is almost as deadly to humans as it is to… other people." She pointed at the contaminated bottle. "Someone put enough aconite in Mr. Lahey's water bottle during practice to kill half the people on your lacrosse team."

"And there's no telling if anyone else got hit," Allison said. She glanced at Natasha, who nodded. Allison yanked out her phone and called Noah, stepping into the hall to let Natasha deal with the Whittemores.

"Stilinski."

"Noah, it's Allison," she said. "Someone put poison in Isaac Lahey's water bottle at lacrosse practice and Jackson Whittemore drank it."

"Is he dead?" Noah asked, all business.

"No, he's alive and he's okay, but it was just a chance that he drank the stuff instead of Isaac. But I have no way of knowing if anyone else had the same thing happen to them."

"Stiles," Noah breathed.

"You call Stiles, I'll call Scott, and then you call the school," Allison ordered.

"What was it?" Noah asked. "Is there a cure?"

"It's aconite," Allison said. "Wolfsbane."

Noah swore. "I have to call Stiles," he said, and hung up.

Allison quickly tapped on Scott's number in her contacts. The phone rang and rang, every moment like a knife on her already raw nerves. Not Scott, she prayed. Please let Scott be okay.

"Allison?" Scott's voice came over the line, a little confused. "Are you, uh, did you mean to call me?"

"Scott," Allison said in relief. "Thank god. Someone put wolfsbane in Isaac's sports bottle at practice."

"What?" Scott demanded. "Is he—"

"He's fine," Allison interrupted. "Jackson drank it instead. And Jackson's also fine. Are you okay? Can you go check your sports bottle?"

"I didn't have one," Scott said over background sounds of rummaging. "I had to buy a bottle of water in the cafeteria."

"Is there anything in it? Any purple bits?"

"No, it's clear."

"Scott, be careful of anything in your bag until we figure out who did this, all right? Did you see anyone by the bench at practice?"

"There was a lot of people," Scott said. "The marching band was doing drills, and there were some people in the stands. Lydia was there with that new girl."

Lydia and Kira. Maybe one of them saw something. "Scott, be careful," Allison said again. "Erica and Boyd are coming over to the Whittemores if you want to join."

"I, um."

"I have to call Lydia," Allison went on. "Stay on the group chat for any developments."

"Okay. Allison…"

"Yeah?" Allison prompted when Scott fell silent.

"You be careful, too."

"Always." Allison hung up. On her phone was a message from Stiles.

_WTF WTF Dad called!!!!_

Allison called Stiles. He picked up on the first ring. "Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yes!" Stiles exploded. "Is Isaac okay? Is Jackson okay? How is Jackson okay?"

"The kanima's back," Allison said.

_"What?"_

"It's fine, Jackson's in control," Allison said. "Don't eat or drink anything from school and stay safe. Erica and Boyd are coming over to Jackson's place for puppy pile therapy. Did you see anyone near the bench at practice?"

"Like, everyone?" Stiles hazarded. "Coach was being a dick, I wasn't paying attention to the fucking _bench_."

"Great, I have to call Lydia." Allison smacked a kiss near the microphone. "Stay safe, Stiles."

"Oh my god," he breathed, and hung up.

Allison was about to go into the kitchen again when the shadow of law enforcement fell through the open front door. "Allison?" Deputy Ibarra said. Deputy Green was on his heels.

The voices brought Mr. Whittemore into the hall. "Now what?"

"Deputy Rushman called in an attempted murder," Ibarra said.

"I sure did," Natasha said as she popped up beside Mr. Whittemore. "Someone tampered with Isaac Lahey's water bottle at lacrosse practice and Jackson Whittemore almost drank some." Natasha's green eyes were guileless. "Luckily, the taste was so bitter that he spit it out immediately. He's going to be fine."

"Do you know what it is?" Green asked.

"Monk's hood," Natasha said. "Aconite. It's deadly."

"Oh, yeah, wolfsbane," Green said. Everyone looked at her with a range of surprise to shock. "What? My kid is a total _Harry Potter_ nerd."

Right. Allison remembered Trevor from the picnic, with his book and his questions. "Right. Point is, it's deadly, who knows if anyone else on the team was hit, I have to go question witnesses."

"I have to go question witnesses," Natasha corrected. "Can you two take statements and gather evidence?"

Ibarra rolled his eyes. "I've been doing this longer than you've been alive," he said.

"Doubtful," Natasha said. "I've got Allison, you've got the scene? Got gloves?"

"Do we need protective equipment?" Green asked.

"No, there's no danger from the vapors," Allison said. "Avoid touching the liquid with bare skin, but incidental contact isn't toxic."

"Just if swallowed?"

"Or injected."

"Copy." Green left the house.

"We've got this," Ibarra said to Allison. "Go."

She nodded, then went back to the kitchen. Mrs. Whittemore was still standing with Isaac and Jackson on either side of her. "The deputies will take care of everything," Allison said.

Jackson looked spooked. "What if… something happens?"

Allison went over to him and put her hands on his shoulders, making him look at her. "Then you run far away and I get to tell the cops that there must have been something in the fumes that made them see things, all right? We'll keep you safe."

"Me too?" Isaac asked.

"You too." She gripped his arm. "You're Hale pack. Nobody hurts the Hale pack and gets away with it."

Isaac nodded.

Allison looked down at Mrs. Whittemore, who was holding up remarkably well, given the circumstances. "You got this," she said, received a small brave smile, and left the kitchen.

Mr. Whittemore was arguing with Deputy Ibarra, with Natasha nowhere in sight, so Allison skirted the men and raced outside. Natasha and Deputy Green were talking, but broke off as Allison appeared. "Good luck," Green called as she hauled the evidence case towards the house.

"For what?" Allison asked Natasha.

"The Sheriff is in a state," Natasha said, pushing Allison towards her cruiser. "Callahan's on front desk, and he said that Noah's already got the school principal on the phone."

"His son's on the team," Allison said. "And my bike is right here."

"Get in," Natasha said. "I'm driving. You're on comms."

"Fine." Allison ducked in the cruiser. "I'm driving on the way back."

Natasha got behind the wheel and they were off before Allison had even dialed Lydia. It took a few rings for the girl to answer. "Allison, hi," Lydia said, distracted by something. "What's up?"

"Have you been getting any weird vibes in the last little bit?" Allison asked.

"Like what?"

"Like banshee stuff?" Allison ignored the look Natasha was giving her as she waited for Lydia to answer.

"No, why?" Lydia's voice had grown sharp. "Allison, why?"

Allison took a deep breath. "Someone put wolfsbane in Isaac's water bottle at lacrosse practice and Jackson drank it instead and shifted back into the kanima, which saved his life."

"What?" Lydia exclaimed. "Is he in danger? What's happening?"

"Nothing," Allison said, aiming at _reassuring_ and missing by a mile. "Jackson's fine. Wolfbane doesn't hurt a kanima, and after he threw all the water up, he healed up and is just fine. He's back to normal now."

"What about Isaac?"

"Isaac didn't touch it. He's fine. And Scott and Stiles are both fine, too. Noah's on the phone to the school to make sure the other boys on the team are okay. Lydia, you and Kira were watching the practice, right?"

"Oh my god," Lydia said. "Isaac and Jackson are really okay?"

Allison bit down her impatience. She had grown used to adult Lydia, who could react to danger in a moment and re-target based on whatever was coming their way. This Lydia was seventeen and had only very recently been exposed to all the supernatural problems in the world. Allison had to remember that. "Isaac and Jackson are okay. The pack's on their way over to the Whittemores' place. They're all safe."

"Oh god." Lydia sniffled. "Okay. Okay. What did you ask me?"

"Were you and Kira watching the practice?"

"Sort of. We were there, but I was filling Kira in on everything so we were only half watching the boys play. Kira was paying more attention than me. She thinks Stiles is cute."

Allison let that pass. "Do you remember seeing anyone by the bench who shouldn't have been there? Anyone that stood out?"

"No, not really," Lydia said. "It was really busy, with a bunch of the band kids around. And some of the seniors were doing homework on the bleachers. Kira might have seen something."

"But Kira wouldn't know what was out of place," Allison said. "Are you home now?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Stay there. And be safe. Maybe call Stiles."

"Allison," Lydia said before Allison hung up. "Are they going to be okay?"

"I'll make sure of it." Allison ended the call. "Lydia didn't see anything weird."

"So whoever did this was likely someone who was supposed to be there," Natasha said. "What's a kanima?"

Allison looked up. "I will answer that later," she said, and tapped on Kira's number. "It's going to require diagrams and a flow-chart."

Kira's phone rang and rang, finally going to voicemail. A little uneasy, Allison tried again, and got voicemail again. Then she tried the number Noshiko had used the previous night to arrange their rendezvous, but that went right to a _caller unavailable_ message.

Allison hung up. "Kira might have seen something," she said. "And now she's not answering her phone."

Natasha punched on the sirens and floored it. "Where does she live?"

Allison gave directions as she tried to call Kira a third time. Still no answer. Growing more worried by the second, Allison called Jarvis.

"Greetings, Allison," Jarvis said. "Are you in need of assistance?"

"Hi, yeah, a friend of mine might be in danger," Allison said quickly. "Can you tell me if there's a land line set up at her house?" She gave the address.

The briefest of pauses, then Jarvis said, "No, the phone company has a standing order to install the line on Thursday."

"No land line," Allison relayed to Natasha. "Thanks, Jarvis. We'll be there in a few minutes."

"May I take the sirens in the background to mean that you have police assistance?"

"I've got something better," Allison said. "I've got Natasha."

"Stop trying to butter me up, I'm not letting you play with the police scanner," Natasha said.

"I have to go," Allison said. "Jarvis, thanks for the assist."

"I am available for any other help you should need," Jarvis said.

"Because you're the best." Allison hung up and hung on as they rounded a corner. Just a few more streets. "I hope I'm overreacting."

"Someone tried to kill one of your friends this afternoon and now a witness isn't responding to calls," Natasha pointed out.

"Fair."

Natasha peeled up a street, then another. As they neared the Yukimura house, Allison could see the car that had been there yesterday. Natasha killed the sirens as they cruised that last block, braking to a stop as Allison flung herself out of the car. "Damnit!" Natasha exclaimed. Allison ignored her, and ran for the door.

She rang the bell and hammered on the door, then listened intently for any sign of life inside. She could hear movement. She knocked again. "Kira? Noshiko?"

The door opened abruptly, and Allison's next knock nearly hit Noshiko in the face. "Allison?" the woman demanded.

"Where's Kira?" Allison asked. "Is she okay?"

"She's in the kitchen," Noshiko said, as Natasha joined Allison at the door. "What is it?"

"Attempted poisoning at the school and Kira might have seen something," Allison said. Noshiko didn't ask any more questions, just turn and hurried into the house. Allison was on her heels.

They came out of the hallway into the living room, with a view through to the kitchen where at that very moment, Kira was in the process of putting something in her mouth. "Stop!" Noshiko shouted, and ran across to her daughter with supernatural speed. Kira jumped as her mother grabbed her arm and moved her hand away from her mouth.

"What?" Kira asked. "What's going on?"

"What is this?" Noshiko asked, taking the object out of Kira's hand. On closer inspection, it appeared to be a triangular cut brownie. Allison took in the scene. There was a small tin on the table with another brownie slice in it. "Where did you get this?"

"It was in my backpack," Kira said. She was looking between her mother, Allison, and Natasha with extreme confusion. "Someone must have put it there."

Natasha stepped in, pulling on another pair of latex gloves. "Did you see who did it?" she asked as she took the brownie from Noshiko.

"No, it was just in my backpack when I got home." For some reason, Kira blushed. "I thought…" She pointed at the tin. Allison used a fingernail to move the small tag tied there with a ribbon.

"From your secret admirer," Allison read.

"Kira," Noshiko said. "Who did you think it was?"

Kira got redder. "I thought that, um…"

"Lydia or Stiles put it there?" Allison said bluntly. Kira winced, but nodded.

Natasha broke the brownie in half. Little purple shreds of wolfsbane flowers were visible in the overhead lights. "Pure poison," Natasha said. Kira took a step back, and Noshiko pulled her into a hug. "Even a mouthful of this might have killed you."

"What?" Kira clung to her mother. "Why would anyone do that?"

"I don't know," Allison said. "Someone put the same poison in Isaac's water bottle at practice. Jackson nearly drank some when they got home."

"Are they all right?" Kira whispered, her eyes huge and horrified.

"They will be," Allison said. "And you will be too, okay? We're not going to let anything happen to you."

"Come on," Noshiko said. "Let's wash your hands."

"I have to call this in," Natasha said, and stripped out of her gloves before reaching for her shoulder radio.

Allison followed Kira and Noshiko to the sink. Noshiko had turned on the water and was holding Kira's hands under the flow, rubbing soap over Kira's fingers. "You're okay," Allison said again. "Aconite is really bitter. You would have taken one bite and spit it out."

A tear rolled down Kira's cheek. "I might not have," she said shakily. "I might have eaten it anyway because I thought someone was trying to be nice to me."

Noshiko turned off the water and got a towel for Kira's hands. "You shouldn't eat things if you don't know where they come from," Noshiko said.

"I thought it was from a friend," Kira said.

"Let me tell you something," Allison said, going over to put her arm around Kira's shoulder. The girl was shaking, so Allison tried to push alpha reassurance and safety at her. "Lydia and Stiles? Rampant egoists. If they were going to make you something, I guarantee they would have their name written across it in big letters and be there to watch when you opened it."

A few more tears slid down Kira's cheeks. Her mother pulled her in for another hug. "Mom, why would anyone do this?" Kira asked, clutching at Noshiko.

Noshiko looked at Allison with dark eyes. "I do not know, but we are going to find out," she said.

Allison nodded, letting her eyes flash red where Kira couldn't see. "The sheriff's department is on the case. That's why I'm with Deputy Rushman. You and Lydia were in the stands, watching the practice. I talked to Lydia but your phone just kept going to voicemail."

Kira pulled back from her mother. "I didn't hear it ring," she said. She went to her backpack and pulled her phone out of a side pocket. "The ringer's off. I never turn the ringer off."

"Whoever put the tin in your bag could have tampered with your phone," Allison said.

Natasha sidled in. "Which means fingerprints. We should take it to the station along with the rest of this."

"What?" Kira yelped. "No! I mean, I have photos on there that, um."

"We're not going to look at your photos," Natasha said. "Unless you have any from today's practice. Do you?"

Kira looked at Allison helplessly. "Yes?"

Allison wanted to put her head into her hands. "Will you excuse us for a moment?" she asked the two older women, then pulled Kira out into the hallway. "What is it?" Allison asked. "Nudes?"

"No!" Kira exclaimed. "It's just…" She stared at Allison with imploring eyes. "There's something about me that I don't… There are pictures on there that I can't explain."

Hell, it must be photos with Kira's kitsune aura showing. Fortunately, Allison had a tried and true answer for that. "Can whatever those pictures are, be explained away as being photoshopped?"

Kira went still. "Maybe?"

"Good." Allison dragged Kira back into the kitchen. "Some of the pictures on that phone are embarrassing to Kira because she's been experimenting with photo filters," Allison said at Natasha. "No nudes, nothing illegal."

"Can I take this into evidence?" Natasha asked.

"When will I get it back?"

"Tonight," Natasha said. "We'll need to fingerprint it and then take a look at those pictures you took at practice, and that's it."

Kira looked at her mother. Noshiko nodded. "As long as no one pays too much attention to the silly photos Kira has been taking," she said.

Natasha sighed. "It's above my paygrade to be too curious," she said as she pulled an evidence bag from her back pocket. "Now, I just need to get a quick statement about what happened between the last time you opened your bag, and when we got here."

Noshiko put her arms around Kira again as Kira explained, haltingly, her afternoon with Lydia on the bleachers and then Noshiko picking her up at school. The story was interrupted midway when Ken Yukimura came in, wondering why there was a police car in the driveway. He was horrified at learning of the threat to Kira's life, and joined Noshiko and Kira on the couch as Kira finished her statement.

"Why is this happening?" Ken said once Kira was finished.

Allison glanced at Noshiko, whose expression was so blank it was a little scary. "It might be someone who wanted to play a prank on the new kid," Allison said.

"You don't really think that."

"Not at all. But it is a possibility that the cops are going to have to consider."

"Oh, god," Ken muttered, kissing Kira's forehead.

"I should have left you both in New York," Noshiko said in Japanese.

"Absolutely not," Ken replied in kind. "This is our problem, and we'll face it as a family."

"We have been here four days and already someone has tried to kill our daughter!"

Kira was looking between her parents with incomprehension. Of course, Allison thought. At this point in the timeline, Kira could only speak Japanese when her kitsune spirit was in control. "Uh, guys?" Kira said. "Are you mad at me?"

"No," Ken said, hugging her.

Noshiko stood up. "Do you need anything else from us?" she asked Natasha.

"No." Getting the hint, Natasha got up. "I'll bring the phone back when we're done with it. Can I suggest that we go through the rest of Kira's things before I go, in case there's anything else?"

"Okay," Kira said, resigned. She was bouncing back from the attempt on her life with equanimity.

"I'll come help," Ken said, and the three went back into the kitchen. This left Allison looking up at Noshiko.

"I'm sorry this happened," Allison said softly in Japanese. "I had no idea that anyone would make an attempt on anyone's life, not Kira, not the others."

"You said that young Lydia did not see anything out of the ordinary at the school," Noshiko said. "If there had been a stranger, an adult no one knew, would she have seen them?"

"Yes," Allison said. "Whoever did this, has to be either a student or a teacher at the high school. I'll tell Noah."

"And I will continue my hunt," Noshiko said.

"All clear!" Natasha called from the kitchen. "Allison, come on, time to go."

Allison stood. "Good luck," she told Noshiko in English, then turned to Kira. "Are we at the stage in our friendship where I can give you a hug and tell you I'm glad that you're okay?"

"I guess?"

Allison stepped into hug Kira. The girl squeaked. "I am so glad that you're okay," Allison said, letting a wave of alpha power cover them both. "If you ever need anything, any time, you can call me, okay?"

"Okay," Kira said. "You're really strong."

"Sorry." Allison let Kira go. The girl was blushing a little. "We've got you."

With a few more words, Allison and Natasha left the house. Natasha waited until they were back in the car before she asked, "What exactly am I going to have to ignore on Kira's phone?"

"She's been experimenting with anime-inspired photo filters," Allison said blandly. "She thinks it's embarrassing. She wouldn't want Stiles or Lydia to know."

"You have an answer for everything," Natasha complained as they drove off. "You're just like your father."

Allison winced at the comparison. "Can we not?"

"Sure."

"Hey," Allison said when Natasha turned the wrong way. "The station is that way."

"It is," Natasha agreed. "I'm taking you back to your bike."

"So I can drive in on my own?"

"So you can go home," Natasha said.

"Excuse me, three of my friends were almost murdered this afternoon."

"Which is why you need to stay away from the case," Natasha said. "Noah's orders."

"This is such bullshit," Allison protested. "I can help!"

"With what?" Natasha asked. "You're not a cop. We don't need anyone to hack into anything, or menace anyone into a confession. Your presence at the station during this investigation could compromise the case."

Allison bit her lip. "What if someone else is in danger?" she asked. "If there's information you figure out in the investigation that I need to save someone's life?"

"I will pass that along to you," Natasha said. "Or, Noah will."

"Fuck," Allison muttered. "I want to help."

"I know you do. It's all very noble."

Allison's phone rang. "God, now what?" she muttered as she pulled it out. "What the fuck does Chris want?" She tapped the screen. "What?"

"Allison, are you okay?" Chris's voice came over the line, so worried.

"Yeah, why?"

"One of the guys was driving past the Whittemore house and saw you getting into a police car."

Allison went still. Oh shit, the last thing she needed was the Hunters setting their focus back on Jackson or Isaac. "Everything's fine," she said.

"Allison."

"How about, everything's under control?"

Chris sighed. "That sounds more like it. What happened?"

Allison calculated the odds. If she told this story right, she could get Chris on their side to at least leave the wolves alone. "Someone spiked Isaac's water bottle with liquified wolfsbane," she said. Chris sucked in a breath. "He's fine. But there was enough in that bottle to kill everyone on the team."

"Liquified wolfsbane," Chris repeated. "Even we don't use that."

Allison bit down a quip about Victoria trying to murder Scott with something similar. "And then someone slipped a wolfsbane-laced brownie into my new friend's backpack and she nearly ate it, so, I'm a little annoyed at the world."

"Do you want us to do anything?" Chris asked.

Allison looked out at the road. "Does anyone have a list of places that sell wolfsbane?"

"I can ask Saul," Chris said. "But you can get it from any online herbalist."

"Do I want to know where you get your supply?" Allison asked.

There was a long pause. "Is it relevant?" Chris finally replied.

"It might not be. Can you check to make sure you're not missing any?"

"I will."

"Good." They turned another corner. "I have to go. Let me know if you hear anything."

"Same for you. Be careful, sweetheart."

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" Allison wondered. "Bye."

As she shoved her phone in her pocket, Natasha said, "You're talking with Chris Argent a lot these days."

"Yeah, well, we both have a vested interest in keeping this town safe."

"What do you think Tony would think of that?"

Allison turned to look at Natasha. "Deputy Rushman," she said after a minute. "As I keep telling everyone, I am an eighteen-year-old girl trying her best in fucked-up circumstances. I am not responsible for the emotional reactions of the adults surrounding me."

"You don't care what Tony thinks?"

"If Mr. Stark wants to say something to me, he can come to Beacon Hills and say it to my face," Allison said. "Not run it through back-channels."

"I'm not asking because of anything Tony said to me," Natasha said, sounding annoyed. "I'm curious."

"Are you?" Allison leaned closer to Natasha. "What are you curious about, little spider?"

Natasha pulled the car to a stop in front of the Whittemore house, put it in park and turned to Allison. "You," was all Natasha said.

Allison exhaled. "That's too bad," she said, and turned to get out of the car. "Tell Noah I left my backpack at the station, if he can bring it home."

"I will." Natasha waited until Allison was out of the car before driving away.

More cars were arrayed outside of the house. Allison identified Derek's Camaro and Boyd's mother's pick-up as she headed up the walk. Mrs. Whittemore let her inside. "They're in the living room," she said. "I'm making spaghetti if you want some."

"Thanks." Allison went into the living room, to find everyone in a heap on the couch, ignoring a movie. Well, everyone but Derek, who was on the love seat by himself. "Everyone still alive?"

"Yes," came the chorus. Jackson was buried under Erica and Isaac, Boyd's arm across his shoulders. Cora was stretched out on top of Isaac and Erica's legs, looking mighty comfortable. Allison was slightly surprised that Scott wasn't there, but, he'd been weird about the pack for a while now.

Allison pushed the problem of Scott out of her mind. The pack was all here, and safe.

And they didn't need her.

Swallowing the sudden wave of grief at losing them as _her_ pack, Allison smiled at the room. "Good," she said. "So, update, someone tried to kill Kira with a wolfbane-laced brownie. She's fine."

"Why?" Erica asked, as the wolves on the couch exchanged a look. "Kira's been here, like, two days."

"I don't know," Allison said. "The cops are looking into it."

"See, this is what I mean about Beacon Hills," Cora complained, sending Derek a glare. "Stuff like this doesn't happen to other packs."

"Stop looking at me like I can do anything about this," Derek snapped.

"We're doing everything we can," Allison said. She should leave. She didn't really have any reason to be here. The pack had their alpha. "If anything happens, or you think of anything, call me, okay?"

"What if Jackson grows a tail again?" Isaac asked. Jackson tried to elbow him, but he was wedged in too tight.

"Ask him to stop?" Allison stepped back. "I'll see you all, all right?"

"Okay," Erica said. Cora was eyeing her oddly, but said nothing.

Allison gave Derek a nod in alpha solidarity, and turned around. She missed her pack so much it _hurt_ , but they weren't hers.

And she was going to have to live with that.

Outside, Allison sat on her bike as she tried to figure out what to do next. She couldn't go to the station to continue her shift. She couldn't do homework, as her backpack and laptop were behind enemy lines. She didn't really want to go home, where Stiles would be full of ten thousand questions.

Unless.

Feeling a little underhanded, Allison pulled out her phone. She opened up a new message to both Lydia and Stiles. _Someone slipped something into Kira's bag at practice and now the cops are involved,_ Allison wrote. _They took her phone. She's a little shaken up. Can you two go over to her house and try to cheer her up?_

The responses from both teenagers were immediate and affirmative. Somewhat satisfied, Allison reached for her helmet, when her phone rang. Her heart jumped when she saw that it was Peter.

"Are you okay?" Allison demanded on answering.

"I'm fine," Peter said, sounding slightly annoyed. "Cora texted me to tell me that I had to ask you about the latest assassination attempt on the pack because she thought you looked sad."

"What?" Allison turned around to look back at the house. Cora was standing in the big living room window, watching Allison. She waved, and Allison gave her the finger before the girl vanished from sight. "I'm not sad."

"That wasn't the part of the sentence that bothers me so much."

"Didn't Derek tell you?"

"Why would Derek tell me anything?"

Allison looked at the sky. "Can I come over?"

"I take it from the lack of urgency in your voice that no one's actually dead."

"No."

Peter sighed. "Fine, come over if you want."

"Okay." Allison ended the call and put the phone in her pocket. The drive to Peter's didn't take long. No one texted or called her while she was on the road, and the lack of updates from Natasha made Allison's skin itch.

Peter had the door open before she even knocked. "Are you okay?" he asked as Allison trudged up the steps.

"Probably not." Allison walked into the apartment. She was suddenly so tired. "I'm fine."

Peter wrinkled his nose. "What's that smell?" he asked, closing the door and bolting it.

"What part of it?" Allison put her helmet down. "Eau du wolfsbane and blood-laced vomit?" She kicked off her boots. "Terrified werewolf sweat?"

"No, you smell like fox." Peter frowned at her. "What happened?"

Allison put her head in her hands. "Do I smell bad?"

"No, I just wasn't expecting it." He put his hands on her shoulders. "Come here."

Allison let Peter pull her into an embrace, and it was a hundred times better than anything that had happened to her in a long time. "I missed you," Allison whispered.

"It's been four days," Peter said in her ear.

"Too long." Allison pulled back. "I feel like shit. Can I take a shower?"

"Sure." Peter brushed a lock of hear behind her ear. "Do you want some company?"

"Absolutely." Allison pulled Peter towards the bathroom. "So, for starters, we have kitsune in town."

"Great," Peter grumbled.

"Shut up, they're nice." Allison outlined the events of the previous two days, as Peter undressed them and got them both into the shower. She washed her hair as she described finding the kanima in Jackson's bedroom, ignoring Peter's mutters about the town turning into a zoo, and recapped the attempted poisoning of her new friend at school, leaving out the kitsune connection, as Peter washed her back.

Then, having run out of urgent information to impart, Allison stopped talking, and let Peter demonstrate exactly how much he had missed her.

Eventually, they ended up on the couch, Allison wearing some of Peter's clothes as she combed out her hair. Peter lay with his head in her lap, telling her the stories he'd heard about kitsune and fox spirits and generally distracting Allison from the restlessness of not being able to _do_ anything.

Her phone kept buzzing with new messages, updating her on her friends' situation. Stiles and Lydia were at Kira's, where apparently Ken was teaching them to make sushi. Various werewolves sent Allison pictures of the meal Jackson's mom made, and if the amount of food on Jackson's plate was any example, he was feeling better.

After Cora sent her a picture of Derek taking the world's biggest bite of garlic bread, Allison's stomach grumbled. "I can make dinner," Peter offered.

"I don't want to be a bother," Allison said.

Peter sat up. "I could make dinner for myself and you can watch me eat."

Allison smiled faintly. That sounded more like the Peter she knew. "Want any help?"

"Sure," Peter said, and kissed her.

After a quick yet invigorating detour to the bed, they made it to the kitchen. Dinner didn't take long to make, and they were just sitting down when Allison's phone rang.

"Noah," Allison said on answering. "What's happening? Is everyone okay?

"Yeah, everything's okay. We figured out what happened."

"How?"

"Those security cameras out on the sports fields," Noah said. "We spotted it almost on the first pass. One of the kids in the bleachers came down during a busy moment and put something in Isaac's sports bottle. We brought her in, and she told us right away she did it."

"Wait, what?" Allison asked. Nothing was ever that easy in Beacon Hills. "Who was it? Why did she do it?"

"It was Dolores Demarko."

"Dolores?" Allison repeated, shocked. "Little Dolores? Drama kid Dolores? Why?"

Noah sighed. "Here's where it gets tricky," he said. "She said someone approached her online to pull a prank on Isaac and Lydia. Apparently she was okay with it because her best friend was running against Lydia in the student council elections and lost."

"But Lydia wasn't targeted."

"Dolores said she put the prank tin for Lydia into the backpack by Lydia's feet on the bleachers. She didn't realize it was Kira's."

"Did she know what she was putting in Isaac's water bottle?" Allison asked. "Where did she get it?"

"Both the powder for Isaac and the brownie for Lydia were left in the chemistry storeroom for Dolores to pick up before practice today. She was told it was a laxative. She didn't think it was harmful. Honestly, Allison, she's really broken up."

"Oh my god," Allison said. "How do you not see the big fucking warning signs about putting stuff in people's food? Who put her up to this?"

"We don't know," Noah said. "She doesn't know. The suggestion came in an online chat room, but we can't find the computer the person was using or anything about their account. We're still working on that."

"They have to be local," Allison said, biting her thumb. "To know everyone's schedule, and that Lydia likes to watch the lacrosse practice, let alone putting the poison where Dolores could find it. What are you going to do with her?"

"She's being released into her parents' custody pending a court appearance," Noah said. "Your principal was involved, he was the one who got us the footage, so she's suspended as well."

"She tried to murder two of my friends," Allison said. "I should fucking hope she's suspended."

"There's something else going on," Noah said. "That kid, she seemed confused as to why she did this in the first place. She did it, there's no doubt of that, but she knows it was wrong."

"Fuck," Allison muttered. "Okay, okay. I'll look into it."

"No, you won't," Noah said. "Not tonight. Leave this with us, okay?"

Allison put her hand over her mouth. "Someone needs to tell Lydia," she said. Peter put plates on the table, his eyebrows up. "She needs to know that someone tried to kill her."

"I'm going to go over to the Martin residence on my way home. I should tell them myself."

"Good. Oh, Lydia's not home. She's over at the Yukimuras' with Stiles. They're making sushi."

"Of course they are," Noah said. "Where are you?"

Peter's hands stilled where he was laying out the flatware. Allison held his gaze as she said, "I'm at Peter's. He's making me dinner."

"Oh." Noah took a fortifying breath. "Okay. Are you going to be home after that?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Then I'll see you at home. And Allison?"

"Yeah?"

"Good job today."

"I didn't do anything."

"Natasha says you talked Jackson down, not that she explained what that meant, and your quick thinking saved Kira's life. That's a win in my books."

Allison looked down. "All in a day's work."

"See you later."

Allison put the phone down. "Can I just go to sleep for three days?"

"No, because I put a lot of effort into that salmon and you're going to be suitably impressed by it," Peter said.

"Okay." Allison sat back.

"So someone tried to kill Isaac and Lydia and neither landed on their mark," Peter said as he went to get the pan. "That's either bad planning, or the world's worst luck."

"I don't understand why Dolores would do this," Allison said. "She seemed like such a nice kid."

"We all have our dark sides," Peter said. He sat down. "Do you want some wine?"

"No, thanks," Allison said. "So is this one failed example of nogitsune-induced chaos, or is there another player on the board right now?"

"Are you asking me?" Peter started filling their plates. "Because all I know is that it wasn't me."

"Please, you'd only kill for a reason," Allison said. Peter went still. "What? You're a rational man. And there's no reason for you to kill Isaac or Lydia."

"And you?" Peter handed her a plate. "Would you kill if you had a good enough reason?"

Allison picked up her fork. "We both know the answer to that." She bit into the fish, and nearly melted at how good it tasted. "Okay, this is amazing."

Peter smiled. "I can give you the recipe."

"If you're trying to trick me into cooking for you, Peter, it's not going to work." She took another mouthful. "I love this."

They ate, talking about things Peter had eaten in his travels. The conversation eventually wound back around to the nogitsune.

"It could be anyone," Peter said.

"Not anyone," Allison countered. "It's probably someone supernatural."

"In this town, that's not narrowing it down any. Things are going to get worse before they get better, aren't they?"

"Probably." Allison stretched out in her chair. "I'm worried, Peter."

"About what?"

"That I'm not going to be able to stop it. That someone's going to die."

Peter reached out to take her hand. "You could just leave town. Cut and run to L.A., leave us all in your dust."

She looked at him, not understanding why he was saying that. "This is my town," Allison said. "These are my people. I'm not leaving."

Peter ran his thumb over her knuckles. "You don't have to stay."

Allison wasn't sure if they were talking about the nogitsune or something else. "No, I don't have to stay." She leaned forward. "But here I am."

This town was hers. The pack was hers. Peter was hers.

And Allison would protect them at any cost.

_To be continued…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know that using "roshambo" as a name for Rock, Paper, Scissors is a northern California thing? [[Link](https://www.mentalfloss.com/article/80201/why-do-people-call-rock-paper-scissors-roshambo)].
> 
> Allison quotes Due South as Bucky loved the show in reruns for two reasons, and both of them are Diefenbaker.
> 
> Allison: I will move heaven and earth to help everyone at all costs.  
> Noah: Okay, sure. But can you, please, maybe just _think_ about letting us help you?  
> Allison: Why?


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In spite of the week in Beacon Hills starting off with a bang, everything has gotten quiet. Very quiet. Too quiet. Allison is on edge and Melissa McCall is just trying to make it through her day.
> 
> And that’s when everyone in town loses their memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a two-parter but as I start a new job next Monday (yay!) and will have to skip a week of writing, I wanted to get this out as a teaser. A 10,000 word teaser.
> 
> Content warnings: Midway through everyone gets amnesia and two of our characters wake up in bed together naked and memory-less. We get more into the concept of “what does consent look like when you don’t remember who you are” in the next chapter, will have additional CW then.

* * *

Allison spent the next few days on edge, but nothing happened. People walked around school talking in hushed tones, Dolores's friends went the other way when they saw Isaac or Jackson in the halls, and everyone had to sit through a dreary assembly on respecting boundaries and not bullying that Allison thought would melt her brain, but other than that?

Nothing happened.

Noah wouldn't let Allison go into the station until the case with Dolores was wrapped up and presented to the DA, so she spent a lot of her time after school at home looking over old case files and doing homework. Jarvis didn't call her about Extremis, Noshiko didn't call her about the nogitsune.

She didn't like the quiet.

About halfway through a boring Wednesday afternoon, with Stiles and Lydia over at Kira's house where they were trying to cheer the girl up after her first attempted murder, Allison picked up her phone and texted Peter. _What do you do when you're bored?_

His response came twenty minutes later. _I'm always bored._

_So? And? Give me more here._

_Why do you ask?_

_I feel useless._

_Go bake some cookies or something._

Annoyed, Allison called Peter. "Bake cookies, that's all you've got?"

"I'm sorry, am I familiar with a broad swath of your interests?" Peter shot back. "An overview of your hobbies besides showing up at my place to ride my dick?"

"I have hobbies," Allison protested.

"That don't involve bodily harm to werewolves?"

Allison snuggled down on the couch, the banter soothing. "Does it count if it involves bodily harm to non-werewolves?"

Peter sighed. "No."

"I like to solve mysteries."

"Doesn't count if it's for work. Next?"

Allison considered. "I tried painting once, but I don't have the patience for it. We never lived in the same place long enough that gardening was a thing." She stretched out her legs, remembering something that Shuri told her years in the future, about what helped Bucky in Wakanda. "A friend of mine suggested animal husbandry."

The sudden silence was worrisome.

"Peter?"

"Was that some sort of crack?" Peter finally asked.

"No," Allison said. "My friend said she thought I should go into goat farming."

"Goat farming?" Peter repeated. " _Goat_ farming?"

"That was my reaction."

"Okay, first off, goats smell," Peter protested.

"Only billy goats." Allison turned onto her side to keep flipping through the case file. "And as any rancher knows, you only need one breeding male."

More silence.

"Maybe pottery?" Allison hazarded. "Erica's mom takes a class down at the community centre. Maybe I'll see if they have any upcoming sessions."

"Why did you call me?" Peter asked.

"Maybe I missed the sound of your voice."

"You just saw me yesterday."

"I know." Allison looked at the harsh black marks on an autopsy report, tracing so much long-ago violence.

"You could see me again. If you wanted to."

"I could."

"Maybe even stay over."

Allison put the report down. She couldn't concentrate on murder with Peter's voice warm in her ear. "I'd like that."

"I could make you breakfast."

"Or maybe we could skip breakfast and just stay in bed?"

Peter sighed. "Right up until the sheriff gets a call that you're truant and comes and shoots me for disrupting your education."

"Don't be ridiculous," Allison said. "He wouldn't shoot you. Not in an election year."

Peter groaned.

"I don't have school on Saturday," Allison went on. "I could come over on Friday. You could make me dinner again."

"All this sounds like a lot of work on my part," Peter said. "I have to clean my place, go shopping and make you dinner. What's in it for me?"

Allison smiled at the ceiling. "What do you want?"

She was expecting some smug inuendo, or even outright obscenity. But Peter said, "I want the truth."

"About what?"

"I don't know yet."

Allison sat up. "Peter?"

"I want you to answer one question, honestly."

Allison frowned at the casefile. "What question?"

"Give me two days to figure that out."

Allison ran her fingers along the folder edge. "What if you don't like my answer?"

"Isn't that the peril of any relationship?" Peter said, slight mockery in his tone now. Allison couldn't tell if it was directed at her or at himself. "Too much bared honesty?"

"All right," Allison said after a moment. She'd had years in which to learn to tell the truth in a way that suited her, and besides, it wasn't like Peter would ask anything particularly damning, like _are you a time traveller?_ "One truth, and you make me dinner."

"Huh." Peter paused. "Okay. And wear that red lipstick."

"Fine."

Peter hung up, and Allison collapsed back against the couch. Why were men so much work?

Although.

Allison rolled up and reached for the autopsy report. Something about makeup… what was it?

Time to get back to work.

* * *

By the time Friday rolled around, Allison was ready to lose her mind. Nothing was _happening_. No running for her life, no monsters to chase, no cases to solve now that she'd found the breakthrough in the Shaver homicide, thanks to Peter's quip about lipstick, and nothing coming out of Los Angeles about Extremis or Hydra. Allison almost wanted to call Tony up and demand answers.

Almost. She wasn't sure she could handle any more rejection.

Also, the ever-evolving soap opera around her wasn't helping. Isaac had asked Cora to go to Homecoming with him, and to everyone's surprise, Cora agreed. Apparently the fact that someone had attempted to kill Isaac horribly was enough to make him 'interesting.'

Allison wasn't going to ask how Derek felt about that.

And, of course, Lydia and Kira and Stiles continued to rotate around each other like three little moons set loose from planetary orbit. It would have been adorable except for the slight edge of fear that held them together, of the attempt on Lydia's life that nearly cost Kira her own.

Finally, the bell rang and school was over. Over Mrs. Martin's calls for them to remember their homework for Monday, Allison dragged herself out of class and to her locker. She was so done with high school.

The first inkling that something was afoot was Isaac talking to Jackson as they got closer to their lockers. "You should tell her," Isaac was insisting.

"No," Jackson shot back. "She'll kill me."

"And if she finds that I'm keeping things from her, she'll kill _me."_

"Boys," Allison called, emerging from her locker with her bike helmet. "Who's killing who?"

"No one," Jackson said, at the same time Isaac said, "Lydia." They looked at each other, then away.

"Why is Lydia killing you both?" Erica asked, joining them.

"Because he's not telling her—" Isaac began, then stopped when Jackson jumped on him. "Ow!"

Allison put her helmet back in her locker before reaching in to separate the boys. "It's been a long week, and there has been enough attempted homicide," she said sternly, holding each werewolf by the ear. "Yes?"

"Yes!" Isaac said.

"Ow," Jackson said. "Let me go, I'm too pretty for this."

Allison released them as Erica laughed. "Lydia has her hands full," Allison said. "She might not notice either of you exist if you escape soon enough."

Jackson pulled himself up. "Fine. I'm going home."

"What about me?" Isaac called after Jackson's retreating back. Jackson replied with a raised middle finger. "Jerk."

"Okay," Erica said when Jackson was out of earshot. "What's going on?"

Isaac settled in for a quick gossip. "So you know how Jackson broke up with Lydia because he wanted to try dating guys? He asked someone to the Homecoming dance."

Erica gasped. "Who?"

"Vahan."

Erica gasped again. "A band kid? Jackson's dating a _band kid?"_

Allison rolled her eyes at the byplay. "You know what they say about trumpet players."

Both Erica and Isaac looked at her blankly. "Uh, good fingering?" Isaac guessed.

"A well-developed embouchure." Allison retrieved her helmet again.

"I have no idea what that means," Isaac said.

"It means I see Lydia, so it's time for you to run," Allison advised.

Isaac looked over his shoulder, yelped at seeing Lydia approaching with Stiles and Kira, and dashed away without another word.

"Why is he acting so weird?" Lydia asked, pulling up to the lockers. "He didn't answer any of my questions during biology."

"You know." Allison made a vague hand gesture. "Boys."

"What are you guys doing?" Erica asked, her eyebrow up.

Lydia made a face at Erica, but Kira was already responding. "I have to go home," she said morosely. "My dad has to leave for Sacramento to pick up something tomorrow from a place that won't deliver by mail, so I'm going to spend the night with my mom."

"And my mother is making me go to family counselling," Lydia said, viciously yanking her math text from her locker. "Because apparently _I_ have issues."

"Like what?" Erica asked. "Hunters kidnapping you and unknown strangers trying to murder you with mysterious baked goods?"

Kira shivered. Lydia slipped her arm around Kira's waist and glared at Erica. "Do you mind? Kira almost died."

Erica shrugged. "Welcome to Beacon Hills?"

Stiles moved around to Kira's other side and put his arm around her shoulders, his hand resting on the back of Lydia's neck. It was a move that Allison had seen in the wolves hundreds of times, just casual platonic closeness, but here, between a banshee and a kitsune and a human like Stiles…

Allison took a mental step back and looked at the three of them. Stiles didn't have any of that nervousness that he normally had around people he liked, more like the general bendiness he had around Derek or the other wolves. Even Lydia seemed more at ease than normal, concentrating on Kira.

But oh, Kira. Kira's cheeks were pink and she was biting her lip a little and Allison wondered how much of this was going to be a problem.

"What about you?" Stiles was asking. "Plans?"

"I have work," Erica said.

"Where do you work?" Kira asked, not moving from the centre of the Lydia-Stiles sandwich.

"Cy's steakhouse, up on the hill." Erica shouldered her backpack. "I just bus tables. But the servers tip out, and no one's grabbed my ass yet." This last was met with a look at Allison.

"Why would anyone grab your ass?" Kira asked, confused.

"Because old drunks are disgusting," Allison said. "And Erica is very cute."

Erica beamed, but Kira was still frowning. "I don't think anyone should grab anyone's ass," she said.

"Only when all parties have consented to a mutual ass-grabbing relationship," Allison agreed. "Stiles? You? Tonight?"

"Derek and Cora are coming over," he said. "There's apparently some lawyer bullshit about getting Cora declared back from the dead. I don't know why they want to talk to me, but Cora said Derek would pay for pizza."

"Everyone keeps talking about Derek," Kira said, looking up at Stiles. "When do I get to meet him?"

"Soon," Allison said before Stiles could reply. "We should do something this weekend. Like Sunday dinner?"

"I can ask," Stiles said, but he was looking at Allison a little funny. "You sure?

"Yes." She wasn't, but she was getting increasingly nervous. None of her friends were showing any sign of having been tested by the Oni of being possessed by the nogistune, not even Stiles or Lydia, who had been stuck to Kira's side like velcro. Maybe she could convince Noshiko to bring the whole demonic gang over to traumatize everyone together. Then they could go for ice cream. "Your dad would love it."

Kira's eyes went wide. "Do I get to meet your dad?" she asked. "My mom says he's nice."

Allison nearly dropped her phone. Stiles frowned. "When did your mom meet my dad?"

"So!" Allison said loudly, slamming her locker. "Have a good weekend!"

"Wait," Kira asked, distracted away from Stiles. "What are you doing tonight?"

"Nothing much," Allison said. "Just, you know. Plans."

"Like what?"

"Something that might be classed as a date," Allison said in a rush. She could feel Lydia and Stiles' eyes on her judgementally, and it annoyed her.

"I didn't know you had a boyfriend," Kira said. "Or," when no one said anything. "A girlfriend?"

"Boyfriend," Lydia said crisply. "Right, Allison?"

Allison pulled on her backpack, slipped her arm through her helmet's open visor, and looked Lydia square in the face as she said, "Yes."

"Oh." Kira was looking around in confusion. "Does he, um. Go here?"

"No," Allison said. "Erica, come on, I have to spruce up before I leave."

"Don't involve me in this," Erica said, but let herself be dragged down the hall. "See you Sunday!"

As they walked away, Allison could hear Kira ask Stiles and Lydia, "What did I say?"

"Nothing," Stiles said. "Peter is just… Yeah."

"He's older than she is," Lydia said.

"Like a senior?"

"More like a senior citizen," Stiles said.

"I can hear you!" Allison yelled over her shoulder, and Stiles flinched into the lockers.

"Come on," Erica said, pulling Allison around a corner. "You're going to traumatize the new kid."

"So?"

"So." Erica hooked her arm around Allison's. "How about you skip all that and tell me what you're worried about?"

Allison sighed. "It's complicated."

"Anything with your dad?"

"Tony? I wish. He's still pretending I don't exist."

"That sucks." Erica followed Allison into the girls' room. "Does it have anything to do with your mom's family?"

"No." Allison put her backpack on the sink to dig out her makeup. Behind her, Erica was checking to make sure the stalls were empty. "Not at all."

Satisfied, Erica came over to lean against the wall. "So what's up?"

Allison took a moment to consider Erica in the mirror. The girl had been acting normal for weeks, her usual self, not displaying any mood swings or odd tempers. Probably not the nogitsune, then. "I can only tell you part of the story," Allison said, pulling out her makeup kit. "Some of it isn't mine to tell."

Erica grinned. "I _knew_ there was something going on," she said. "Boyd didn't believe me."

Allison uncapped her eyeliner. "Boyd doesn't have all the detail."

Erica dropped her backpack and came over to nudge Allison. "So what's going on?"

Succinctly, Allison outlined the situation, leaving out Kira's connection to it all. The story, stripped of editorializing, was brief. "And that," she concluded, dabbing at her lipstick, "Is my current problem."

Erica pulled out the eyeshadow palette. "You should wear more eyeliner, you look less washed-out," she said. "The lipstick's a bit much."

Allison smiled sarcastically. "Peter likes it."

Erica dabbed a pinky in the silver eyeshadow, to smooth in the corner of her eyelid. "I didn't think you'd do anything just because Peter likes it."

Allison looked at her reflection. She had spent so long in the future with no makeup, hardly any time for self-care, that suddenly she felt like a kid playing dress-up. "Fuck," she muttered, reaching for some paper towels.

"I mean, you can if you want," Erica said in a rush as Allison wiped at her mouth.

It took Allison a few moments to scrub her lips clean. She gathered up the paper towels and threw them in the trash, then returned to the sinks where Erica was watching her, eyes wide. "I don't know what I want," Allison said after a moment. "Sometimes I wish…"

"What?" Erica asked when Allison fell silent. She put the eyeshadow back in the bag and went to lean against Allison. "Is this about Peter?"

"No." Allison turned to rest her forehead against Erica's. "It's about me wanting what I can't have."

"What's that?"

Allison thought about everything she had lost from the future, Morgan, Bucky, all her friends, and everything she had already lost back in the past… like her second chance with Tony. "It doesn't matter. Sometimes I wish…" She took a deep breath. "I wish I didn't have to remember everything so clearly."

"You could have epilepsy," Erica said with a crooked smile. "I used to forget whole days after a seizure."

Allison wrapped her arms around Erica in a hug. Erica hugged her back just as tightly. "I'm sorry you had to go through that," Allison said in Erica's ear.

"Me too," Erica said. "Sometimes I wonder if being a werewolf was the right idea, then I think, hey, I don't end up on the floor pissing myself in front of everyone I know."

"But your medication was working, right?" Allison asked as she pulled back. "Before the bite?"

"Not well enough." Erica's jaw was clenched, almost defiant, and Allison knew that look.

So Allison packed away the _the bite could have killed you_ and _the epilepsy wasn't who you were_ and just smiled at the other girl. "I'm glad you're happy now."

Slightly embarrassed, Erica went to get her backpack as Allison packed up her bag. "Really, though, would you do anything Peter wants?"

"It depends on what it was," Allison said decisively. "I only do things I want to do." And, she thought privately, there was no reason for an innocent like Erica to hear any details of what levels of depravity that might entail.

"Okay, good," Erica said, relieved. "Because if he wasn't being nice to you, we'd have to kill him."

Allison sighed. "Thanks, but you don't have to," she said as they left the washroom. "If Peter's not nice to me, I'll deal with him myself."

"Okay." Erica slung her bag over one shoulder. "I have to go. Text after work?"

"Sure thing."

Erica bounced off, her blonde curls streaming out after her. Allison watched her go, then turned towards the parking lot and her bike.

* * *

The first thing Peter said when he opened his front door was, "I thought you were going to be wearing the red lipstick."

Allison pushed past him into the hall. "I changed my mind."

Peter was left staring out into the afternoon air. "All right?"

"You know what I hate?" Allison continued, kicking out of her sneakers.

Peter sighed as he closed the door. "Oh god, you're in a mood."

"Maybe I am." Allison divested herself of backpack, helmet and jacket in one movement. "I hate this bullshit of not being able to do anything." She stalked into the apartment. "I practically solve the Extremis problem, and nearly get murdered by some psycho terrorist over it, and now that they have some real scientists on the case _they're cutting me out?"_

Wordlessly, Peter went over to the kitchen part of the apartment.

"And how many of Noah's cold cases have I solved, but the moment anything slightly connected to the high school comes up I get booted out of work?" Allison paced the length of the bookcases. "I'm not going to be able to make those hours up unless I drop out of school, but everyone's like, no, Allison, you can't drop out of school, you have to go to _college_ some day."

Peter reached into the cupboard for a glass. "You know, you should drop out of school," he said. Allison stopped to glare. "That'll show everyone."

Allison resumed her pacing. "And we have another bad guy in town and at first my new kitsune friend was all, sure, you can totally help me find them and now she's not getting back to me." Allison came to rest by the large window overlooking the city. "What is the fucking point of me if I can't _do anything."_

After a minute, Peter drifted over to her side. "Are you done?" he asked.

Allison rubbed her hand over her forehead. "I don't know."

"Drink this." He handed her a glass. Allison took it, automatically sniffed it for poisons, and came away with only the smoky scent of that old scotch Peter loved so much. She knocked back the glass, feeling the warmth of the alcohol pooling in her empty stomach. It wasn't enough to get her drunk, hardly enough to make her tipsy, but it would loosen things up for a while.

"Plying a teenager with drink?" Allison asked, handing Peter back the glass.

"Anything to stop the yelling." Peter leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. "What the hell brought that on?"

Allison went back to looking out the window. "I was at school putting on my makeup to come over to see you and I don't know if it was the lighting or what, but…" She trailed off. "What the fuck am I even doing here, Peter?"

"Here, as in my apartment?" Peter returned. "Or in Beacon Hills? Because we already had that conversation this week."

"That's not what I mean." Allison looked down at her hands. She had done so much with these hands, caused so much pain, so much death. But she'd also helped people. She had held Morgan's hand at their father's funeral, patted Sam on the back after a mission gone terribly wrong, spun Carol around the dance floor at Wanda Maximoff's wedding.

But… she hadn't. Because none of those things had happened yet. None of those things would ever happen.

And in this body, at this point in the timeline, Allison might have caused pain and damage to a few werewolves, and death to a rampaging supernatural creature or two, but she hadn't killed anyone.

It didn't make any sense. And it certainly didn't wash any of that blood away from her heart.

"What do you mean?"

"What is the point of me?" Allison asked, rubbing at an ink spot on her left thumb.

"Does there have to be a point?" Peter asked. Allison shifted over until he put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her in close. He was so warm and smelled so safe that Allison closed her eyes.

"There does for me," she said. "My mother was brought up to be the new alpha in Los Angeles. My father is Iron Man. I have to… There has to be a point."

Peter brushed his nose against Allison's ear. "That's a little arrogant, isn't it?"

Maybe it was the alcohol or the unexpected words, but Allison let out a little giggle. "What?"

"Thinking that you matter." Peter tugged Allison around until she was wrapped up in his arms. "Thinking that any of this matters."

"Nihilism doesn't become anyone at four in the afternoon," Allison said, muffled against his shoulder.

"But does it?" Peter held her, and slowly, slowly, the wolf inside her settled. "Once upon a time, I thought that I mattered. I thought what I did in this town, mattered."

"Then what? Derek cut your throat and buried you under the floorboards?"

"No." Peter kissed the side of her head. "Then I watched my mother die."

Allison went still.

"And I tried for a while, I did, I tried to listen to what Talia said about it mattering, what we did to protect Beacon Hills, but then the fire…" His voice broke off, and his hands tightened around Allison's back. She held him just as tightly. "Nothing we do matters, Allison. Everyone dies."

"I know everyone dies," Allison said, and she couldn't keep still as a memory of Morgan hit her so hard she shook. "That doesn't mean we shouldn't try to help."

"By putting yourself in danger?" Peter pulled back. His eyes were dry, but something haunted lurked there. "For what? Strangers who don't give a fuck about you? All trying to live up to some parents you never knew?"

Allison pulled away from Peter. She didn't want to be touching him anymore. "Oh, I know all about my parents," she snapped, circling away. "Do you want to talk about my parents?"

"Not really," Peter said.

"Too bad, you started this." Allison went over to punch at the couch cushions. "My mother, who everyone has been jumping over themselves to say wonderful things about? I'm sure she was great and kind and everything, but she was also a spoiled rich girl who was her father's favourite. She always got her own way. And maybe she would have changed when I was born and she married Tony and got to grow up, I don't know. But she died and it's too late."

Cushions fluffed to within an inch of their stuffing, Allison moved over to the bookcase. She needed to touch something, needed to do something with her hands.

"And Tony." Allison pulled out a book on the French Revolution. "No matter how you slice it, both him and his father before him? War profiteers. The entire Stark family fortune is built on the bones of the dead." She shoved the book back.

"So you think that you have to go fight evil or whatever to make up for your flighty mother and your father's family history?"

Allison turned around to look at Peter. He was in the middle of the apartment, hands in his pockets, his eyes gleaming blue as he looked at her. "I think," Allison said, turning towards him, letting the red shine in her own eyes. "That who my parents are? How I was raised?" She moved towards Peter. "Can all go fuck itself in the woodshed. The choices I make to protect people, those are my choices."

"To what end?" Peter held his ground as Allison paced around him, but she could see the twitch in his neck as he kept his head still. "Like you said, what's the point?"

"The point?" Allison stopped behind him, putting her hands on his hips. She could hear the quick jump of his heartbeat. "Maybe the point is that I stop waiting for other people to validate me." She stepped against his body, pressing a kiss just behind his ear. His quick intake of breath was music to her ears. "Maybe the point," she went on, licking his earlobe and feeling him shiver. "Is that I don't need to get permission from people to do what I know is right." Allison circled around Peter to put her arms around his neck. He caught her around the waist.

"Does that include me?" he whispered.

"Oh, no." Allison ran her hand through his hair. "You, I need permission from." She smiled. "Because the things I'm going to do to you are very naughty."

Then she kissed him, feeling just the tips of his fangs under her tongue, and for a while her entire world was Peter.

After a time, however, Peter broke away. "Hang on," he said, trying to catch his breath. Allison stayed in his arms and waited. "That wasn't how this was supposed to go."

"No?"

"No." In a quick movement, Peter picked Allison up and carried her over to the bed. "I thought you'd show up, we'd spend some time dancing around the question I was going to ask you, then we'd make dinner." He laid her carefully on the bed and lay down on top of her. Allison sank into the sensation. "Not run through moody alpha roulette and end with you practically slipping your hand down my pants."

"I could actually put my hand down your pants," Allison offered, running her free hand over his ass.

"That really wasn't the point of what I just said." Peter settled his head on the pillow next to hers.

Allison sighed, and let her hand drop. "Fine," she said. "Ask your question."

She tried to steel herself. With Peter, she never really knew what would come out of his mouth.

"All right." He put one hand over her breast, absently cupping it through the fabric of her shirt. "If you didn't have any responsibilities for a week, no school, no work, no monsters, no family, nothing. What would you do?"

Allison frowned at him. "That's your question?"

"Yes."

"The one that you want me to answer honestly?"

"Yes, because I really want to get laid tonight and anything else I can think of would end with you shooting me in the face."

"That's not true," Allison protested. "It's not like I have a gun with me."

"Allison."

"You're so weird." Allison cuddled against him and thought about it. "I'd sleep."

"For a week?"

"Yes. Get into pajamas, and just stay in bed."

Peter sighed. "Okay, you sleep for a week. Then you get a second week. What would you do?"

Allison put her hand over Peter's. She hadn't had much downtime in years, not since she and Bucky took over from Sam as Captain America. Then, if she'd had a chance for a break, more than likely as not, she'd have come home to Beacon Hills, to see her pack.

To see Peter.

Allison blinked, trying to fend off the memories of those ghosts. "I don't know. Maybe read."

"Boring."

"Like we talked about, I don't have any hobbies. Building weapons is work."

"What about going to Disneyland?" Peter suggested. "Go on a road trip to San Francisco? Go camping up in Idaho?"

"I don't know," Allison said again. "I don't live the kind of life where I get to drop everything to have fun, okay?"

"You should," Peter said. "Maybe I want to do something nice for you."

Oh, okay. This made much more sense now. Allison relaxed. "We could do whatever you wanted to do."

"I think keeping you in bed for a week sounds fun on paper, but we'd probably kill each other after a few days."

"Do you want to go to Disneyland?"

"No," Peter said. "Too many people."

"Road trip to San Francisco?"

The hesitation gave Allison her answer. "It's an idea. I went to college there. Maybe see if the place still looks the same."

"College," Allison mused. "You graduated in, what, ninety-three?"

"Ninety-four," Peter corrected. "I'd have gotten out a year earlier but I had to drop a mandatory class after the professor found out I was sleeping with his daughter."

Allison sighed. "Peter."

"Or camping," Peter continued blithely.

"No camping."

"Why not?"

Allison rolled them until she was on top of Peter. "Because I am not foregoing the miracle of indoor plumbing on my luxury time," she said. "Hiking? Sure. Overnight hunting trip? Has a goal. But camping?"

"You don't want to sleep out under the stars?"

Allison sat back, noting with interest the situation brewing in Peter's jeans, and pulled her shirt over her head. "I'll tell you what." She unclasped her bra and tossed it across the room. "We can go on this camping trip if first you take me to Las Vegas for every all-you-can-eat buffet in town."

"Sure," Peter said vaguely. His attention had shifted. "Has anyone ever told you that you have amazing breasts?"

"Sure, construction workers yell it all the time."

Peter pulled her down and around so she was lying flat on the bed. "Not what I meant," he said, moving back in to kiss her. At the same time, his hands had gone to the button on her jeans, and finally, the situation was moving in a direction Allison was comfortable with.

She might not have many certainties in her life, but sex with Peter was one she was always happy to fall back on.

### Melissa McCall

Melissa was having a shitty day.

She'd pulled three hours of overtime on her twelve-hour shift, had barely had time to shove any lunch into her mouth on the way to the bathroom on her break, had to deal with three overwrought family members, one dementia patient who'd fallen down the stairs and broken a hip and was terrified, and lastly, one car crash victim who'd died without ever waking up again.

Melissa knew she had been working too long, because all she could feel about that last one was that she was glad he was alone in the car.

And now that she was off work, she was supposed to catch the bus home after a trip to the grocery store because Scott had the car for work, but here she was, standing at the register, staring dumfounded into her inexplicably half-empty wallet.

"Ma'am, it's twenty-eight ten," the clerk said again.

Where the hell were her credit cards? Her driver's licence? Melissa fumbled through the wallet. She still had the cash in the billfold and things like her health insurance card, but her credit cards and bank card and her driver's licence were just gone. Had someone gotten into her locker at the hospital?

"Ma'am."

"Right," Melissa fumbled. "Hold on." She thumbed through her bills. She only had ten dollars. "Uh, I'll just take the milk and the ground beef."

The clerk let out a sigh and reached for the vegetables that had already been rung up, when a voice came over Melissa's shoulder. "Let me help."

Melissa spun around to find Chris Argent standing right behind her. "What?"

"Let me spot you," he said with a tired smile.

Something burned in Melissa's gut. She didn't need charity from anyone, let alone Chris Argent. She was able to provide for her son, damn it. "No, thank you."

"Do you want me to take the rest of this off or not?" the clerk asked, bored.

"You can pay me back the next time we see each other," Chris said, holding out a twenty.

Humiliation warred with the worry that had been gnawing at Melissa for days now, at Scott moping, not getting enough sleep, of picking at his food. She'd wanted to get something to make her son a nice dinner, maybe perk him up after the week at school when someone had tried to kill two of Scott's friends. Which she couldn't do if all they had was milk and ground beef.

Sucking up her own pride so hard it hurt, Melissa took the bill from Chris. "Thank you," she said stiffly, handing it and the rest of the money from her wallet to the clerk. "I must have dropped my wallet at home, all my cards are missing."

Chris's smile slipped to a frown. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said as the clerk handed Melissa back a pile of change and went to bag the groceries.

"Yes, well." Melissa glanced down at what Chris had put on the register belt. A turkey sandwich and a six-pack of beer. She opened her mouth to tell him that he was going to get malnutrition, eating like that, then her mind went right to all the stories Scott had told her about Allison not eating enough at school, how she smelled hungry all the time.

The anger in Melissa's gut was starting to move in a different direction.

"Thank you for the assistance," she said as soon as the clerk handed over her bag. "I'll get the money to you tomorrow."

"Melissa," Chris called, but Melissa was already making for the exit.

She was almost outside when she heard the clerk say, "Don't you want your change?"

"Melissa," Chris called again, closer. She looked over her shoulder to see him practically running after her.

"What do you want?" Melissa demanded.

"You're mad at me."

The blinding audacity of this man to say that to her, after all Melissa had seen over the last month? She very nearly dropped her groceries. But she was Melissa McCall, registered nurse and a fucking _professional_ , and she would not lose her temper so publicly. "I am not having this conversation in the middle of the parking lot," she said, and turned away.

"We could continue by your car," Chris said, and he just kept following her.

"I took the bus."

"Why?"

"Because Scott needed the car," Melissa said. "He's working late." Her steps slowed when she reviewed the most recent transaction in the grocery store. The clerk had only handed her back two dollars in change, and the bus would cost three dollars for her to get home.

Oh, hell. She was going to have to walk home. Her knees very nearly buckled in exhaustion. She'd been on her feet for sixteen hours and all she wanted to do was collapse.

"I can give you a ride."

Melissa pulled herself together. "No."

"Why not?"

"Why not?" Melissa turned to face Chris. The five o'clock shadow he had these days only made him look more handsome, and it made Melissa angry. "Do you want to start alphabetically or chronologically?"

"What are you talking about?" Chris demanded, looking slightly confused.

"How about all the stuff that's been happening to Allison?" Melissa said. Most of which she couldn't talk about, due to medical confidentiality, but there was enough that Melissa could poke at it around the edges. "I was at the police station when Allison came in, I saw what those friends of yours did to her."

Chris was slowly going pale. "They were no friends of mine," he said. "Melissa—"

"Or before that?" Melissa went on. She knew she should stop, but she was so tired and just so angry about all the things in this town that she couldn't protect the kids from. "Noah told me what happened that first night you got back into town, before you threw Allison out of the house."

Chris looked away. "I'm not… I know I fucked up with Allison, but—"

"No, fucking up is forgetting to pick your kid up at soccer practice," Melissa cut in, because if she had to listen to one more man try to justify punching his child, she was going to start screaming. "Not hitting her. Not like that."

Finally, Chris looked back at her. She could see the pain in his eyes, pain she'd never seen in Rafe's eyes for what he did to Scott. And all she could think, was, _good._ "You're right."

Melissa let out a breath, then another. Some of her anger was leaking away, and exhaustion was dripping into its place. If she didn't go now, she was probably going to collapse on the curb. "I should head home."

"I can give you a lift," Chris said. "Melissa, you live three miles away."

"I don't need your help."

Chris's frown didn't make any sense. "Of course you don't," he said. "But the offer's still there."

Melissa chewed at the inside of her lip. It was so tempting just to say yes, just get in Chris's car, be home in ten minutes. "Fine, I…"

### …

The world turned sideways for a moment, yawed back on its axis. She staggered a bit, found her footing, and looked around.

She didn't know where she was.

She didn't know who she was.

There was a man in front of her, shaking his head. He had his hand on her arm, helping her stand.

She didn't know him.

She didn't know what was going on.

The man blinked down at her with crystal blue eyes. "Um," he said, voice deeper than she'd expected. "Are you okay?"

"I think so," she said. "Are you?"

"I… maybe." Still, he kept staring at her. "This may sound like a weird question, but who are you?"

"I…" She looked around again. This was something she was supposed to know. People were supposed to know who they were. Maybe she'd been hit on the head, and was experiencing the after-effects of a traumatic brain injury. "Here." She handed the grocery bag in her hand to the man, who took it, and started patting herself down.

"What are you doing?" the man asked.

"Checking for trauma," she said. No hospital intake band on her wrist, no abdominal or chest pain. She ran her hands over her head, through her hair. No pain, no blood, no apparent causes of injury.

"Why?"

"Because there has to be a reason that I don't know my own name." Her hands found a card clipped to her shirt, and she pulled it off to look at it. "Melissa McCall," she read. "I'm a nurse at the Beacon Hills Health Authority." She frowned at the picture. "Is that me?"

The man leaned in for a look. "The picture doesn't do you justice," he said. "Melissa."

Something in her was warmed at how the name fit in his mouth. "What's your name?" she asked.

He looked at her blankly, then smiled ruefully. "I have no idea."

She, Melissa, looked around. They were in a parking lot, with a few other people around them looking about as confused as she felt. "Did we all lose our memories?" she wondered.

"That's probably a bad thing," the man said. "Right?"

She gave him a look. "Yes. That seems like a bad thing."

The man put down the grocery bags and reached into his jacket. As he did so, Melissa saw the holstered handgun tucked under his arm.

She frowned. "Are you a cop?"

"I don't know." He opened up a wallet. "Christopher Argent," he read off a small card, and held it out to her. "Is that me?"

Melissa glanced at the picture. "Yes."

He put the driver's licence away, and continued to flip through the wallet. "I think I have a permit for that." He held up something that looked official. "Here." He pulled out a business card. "Chris Argent, CEO, Argent Arms' International."

Melissa raised her eyebrows. "An international arms dealer?" she repeated. "That sounds fake."

That got her a grin. He went back to his wallet. "Insurance card, bank card, credit card, cash." He pulled out something small and square from a back fold, and went still.

"What?" Melissa asked, getting in closer to see.

It was a photograph of the man and a young girl with long dark curly hair and dark eyes. She was in a gymnastics outfit with a gold metal around her neck, and they both beamed delightedly at the camera.

Slowly, he turned the photo over. _Chris and Allison, Landview Gymnastics Competition, June 2007_ , was marked in blue pen on the back.

"Allison," the man, Chris, said. He turned the photo back over to stare at it. Then he looked at Melissa, then back at the photo.

"Your daughter," Melissa said, something cold growing in the pit of her stomach. Not being able to remember her own name or anything about her life was one thing, but forgetting your own children?

"She has your eyes," Chris said.

Melissa stopped and looked at him. "Wait, do you think… you and me?"

Chris gestured down at the photograph. "She doesn't look anything like me, but she does look like you."

Melissa pulled her bag around. "Am I even old enough to have a kid?" she wondered, getting a wallet free of the bag. "Why is this practically empty?"

"Don't you have a driver's licence?" Chris asked.

"Did I get mugged?" Melissa asked, upending the wallet before tossing it back in her bag, to root fruitlessly for any more information. "This doesn't make any sense."

"We could be married," Chris said slowly.

Melissa gave up on her bag. "We don't have the same last name. And I'm not wearing a ring."

"Nurses don't wear jewelry," Chris said, then, "How do I know that?"

"I don't know." Melissa caught his left hand and held it up. There was a faint tan line on his ring finger. "You used to wear a ring."

"Maybe we're separated," Chris said.

"Maybe." Melissa realized that she was holding his hand, and let go, trying to still the butterflies in her stomach. This was all too much. She had to focus. "Okay. First things first. Are you hurt?"

Chris shook his head. "I don't think so."

"Then we need to find Allison and make sure she's okay," Melissa said. "How old do you think she was in that picture?"

Chris looked at it. "Eleven?" he hazarded. "Ten?"

"What year is it now?"

Chris pulled a phone out of his pocket. "This is locked," he said with resignation. "But it's October fifth."

"Useless," Melissa grumbled. She knelt down beside the groceries, pulling out a receipt. "Okay. It's 2012. That's five years. So Allison could be fifteen to seventeen."

"Old enough to take care of herself in an emergency."

Melissa shot to her feet. "You have a kid out there that you don't remember and that's all you can say?"

"That's not what I mean," Chris said, taking her hands in his. It was reassuring, and she didn't know why. "Hopefully Allison is fine, and this memory thing didn't happen to her. And if it did, I know she's going to be able to take care of herself in a pinch, and we're going to find her and make sure she's safe."

"How do you know that?" Melissa demanded.

"Because if you're her mother, I doubt there's anything she can't do," Chris said with a smile.

"Stop it," Melissa ordered. "Stop flirting with me, we are in the middle of a situation."

"Of course," Chris said. "So what do we do now?"

Melissa pulled her phone out of her bag. It was also locked. Great. "Do we go home?" She looked around the parking lot again. A few of the other people were looking lost and confused, and the bad feeling in Melissa's stomach got worse. "Maybe we should go and see if we can help."

"Where?" Chris said immediately.

"I don't know. The hospital?"

"It's a start." Chris patted his pockets, and retrieved a car fob. He pressed the button until something nearby started beeping. "At least there's that."

He picked up the grocery bags and carried them over to the large SUV. "Okay, this car was your idea," Melissa said as she followed.

"What?"

"This thing?" Melissa looked Chris over. "A guy who drives something like this, is usually trying to compensate for something."

A sharp and surprised smile flitted across Chris's face. "Trying to compensate for what?" he asked, opening the back hatch.

"Something," Melissa hedged. There was a stack of books in the trunk that Chris moved to secure the groceries. "Why would you have a bunch of books on Japanese folklore?"

"Maybe they're Allison's," Chris said, leaning over Melissa's shoulder to see. His sudden closeness was a little overwhelming.

"Maybe." Melissa put the book down and turned. Chris was still right there. "We'd better get moving."

"Right," Chris said. He took a step back, waiting for Melissa to move out of the way before he closed up the trunk. "If we go to the hospital now, the groceries are going to go bad."

"Hmm. Spoiled milk, versus saving lives. There's got to be a fridge in the breakroom." Melissa went around to the passenger side. "Now, how are we going to find the hospital?"

With the help of a map in the glove box and some driving around looking for landmarks, they found the hospital without too much difficulty. The emergency room was in chaos when Melissa and Chris walked in. A nurse in blue scrubs looked up warily. "More amnesia?" he said in despair.

Well, that answered one question. "Yes," Melissa said. "But I work here, I thought I could help."

"Thank god," the man muttered. "Nurse? Doctor?"

"RN."

"Go on back, the tall lady in the green scrubs is on triage," the nurse said. "What about you?"

Chris shrugged. "I drove."

Someone walked into the ER, weeping, and the nurse moved to intercept them. "Come on," Melissa said. "I don't know what's happening, but we could probably use someone to lift and carry."

Chris hesitated. "Maybe I should go look for Allison instead."

Melissa's heart jumped. Part of her wanted to say yes, go, look for the girl who might be their daughter.

But the other part of her was seeing the hospital corridor filling with the injured, and these the ones mobile enough to locate the hospital on their own accord. Who knew what else might be coming at them?

A man in a business suit hurried past with a wheelchair. Chris watched him go. "Maybe I can help out here first," he said after a moment. He shook his head. "Go, I'll see if I can help up front. I'll check in before I go anywhere."

"Good," Melissa said, squeezing his hand and then, before she thought about it, she leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. "Thanks."

Then someone yelled for a nurse and Melissa bolted down the hall. She was gloved up and introducing herself to the triage nurse as a doctor performed CPR on a patient, and all Melissa could think was, _at least I remember how to do this._

### …

She was warm.

That was the first thing she thought as she drifted back to consciousness. That she was warm, and she was lying down, soft sheets over her body.

And there was someone lying behind her, their arm over her stomach, their body pressed firmly against hers.

A very naked body, against her very naked body.

She blinked herself awake, trying to think. She couldn't remember anything. Not who she was, her name, why she was here, none of it. Waking had been the first conscious memory in her head.

That was strange. She was pretty sure that was strange.

She was in a bed, in the corner of a large apartment. Books lay along one wall, paintings along another. She could see a kitchenette in the far corner by a dining table. Amber sunlight streamed in the large windows off to the south.

There did not appear to be anyone else in the apartment, aside from the person in the bed with her.

Okay. Situation review. She breathed in, trying to take stock. She felt no injuries, could smell no blood or fear. In fact, most of what she could smell was a mix of male and werewolf and sex; no fear, no apprehension.

Whatever had happened, it hadn't been enough to make anyone afraid. Or else it had happened too quickly for anyone to get afraid.

She shifted her leg, and the person behind her let out a soft grumble and tried to hold her in place for a moment. Then the arm moved, and she was slipping out and across the bed to get a view of her companion.

He was fit, maybe mid-thirties, light brown hair tousled and blue eyes confused as he blinked at her. "Hi," she said after a minute.

"Hi." He sat up and looked around. "So."

"I don't suppose you know who I am?"

He pushed the hair back from his forehead. "As much as it pains me to say, no." He scratched his chin. "Do you know who I am?"

"No."

"Okay." He looked around again. "That's weird."

"Yes. Do you remember anything before waking up?"

He shook his head. "We should probably try to find out." His eyes moved back to her, and he smiled at her suddenly. "Or we could try something else to knock the memories loose."

She rolled her eyes. "You wake up without any memories and all you can think about is sex?"

"I mean, we're already naked," he said, and reached out a hand. She batted it away. "And you're beautiful."

"We have no memories," she said, climbing out of bed. " _Prioritize."_

"Oh, I am," he called after her.

She looked down at herself. She could feel one of the lingering aftereffects of unprotected sex starting to make its way down her inner thigh, and she deeply, deeply hoped that she was on some sort of birth control. Okay. She needed to prioritize on her own.

Clean up. Get dressed. Extract intel. Formulate a plan.

"Where are you going?" the man in the bed called after her as she went towards a door in the wall.

"I'm looking for a bathroom," she said.

"Why?"

She turned around. "Think about it," she said, and continued on her way.

In the small room, which thankfully was the bathroom, she flipped on the light, looked in the mirror, and froze.

Was that her?

She took a step toward the mirror. No, it couldn't be.

How could she be so _young?_

That didn't feel right at all. She didn't look over twenty, and she felt old inside, older than that man out on the bed.

Maybe she was immortal and she just looked young.

"I found your clothes," the man's voice came nearer.

"How old do you think I am?" she asked, unable to look away from her reflection.

"How old? I don't know, same as me, twenty or something?" The man came into the room, naked and holding an armful of clothing. "I…" He caught sight of his reflection. "What?"

"You're not twenty," she said, taking her clothes from him. She was unable to stop her eyes from dropping below his waist. Damn.

"I am not that old," he protested, pointing at the mirror.

"And I do not feel that young, but here we are." She put the clothes on the counter to search them for clues, but the pockets were empty. "Okay, out, I need to shower."

"Why?"

She gestured vaguely at his mid-section. "Because whatever it was we were doing before all this? Didn't include condoms."

"Oh god," he said. "Am I an asshole? Am I going to remember everything and find out that I'm an asshole?"

"Go look for clues," she ordered. "This is your place, find things out."

"How do you know it's my place?" he asked as he was shoved towards the door.

"Do I look like I can afford real estate?"

"I might rent," he said, as she shut the door in his face.

"No one who can afford that painting by the bookshelf is going to rent," she called, and went to the shower.

As she gave herself a good scrub to get rid of any lingering bodily fluids, she thought out her plan of attack. First, she needed to find out who she was, and what resources she had at her disposal. Then, was this amnesia restricted to just herself and the man? Was it wider-spread? What was the cause? And what was the cure?

If it was just the two of them… it would likely be drugs, and given the observations, it was more likely a date-rape-drugging gone wrong. Well, if that was the case, she would handle it. Memory loss from drug application seldom lasted long. She didn't know how she knew that, but she did.

But if it was a wider problem…

Then other people were going to need help.

She turned off the shower, towelled dry, dressed, and was back out in the apartment in a few minutes. In that time, thankfully, the man had managed to find some jeans. Although, if she was being honest, she did miss the view of his unencumbered, er. Encumbrance.

"So apparently I'm Peter Hale," he said, holding up a wallet. "Born in seventy-three, which feels impossible, and I've got two thousand dollars in my wallet."

"Good for you." She made her way over to the bed and tossed the contents. No condoms or condom wrappers, no indication of drugs or pills, and, thankfully, no blood on the sheets.

"Aren't you going to look for your ID?"

"It can wait." She moved over to the closet built into the wall. All the clothes were men's, expensive and luxurious. She paused, then shucked out of her too-thin flannel overshirt and pulled out a gorgeous grey cashmere sweater.

"What are you doing?" Peter asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Gathering reinforcements." She took a moment to breathe in the scent of the sweater. There. She'd be able to find Peter's scent halfway across town, now. She left the sweater on and kept searching.

"I don't know what that means," Peter said.

"It means I don't know what I'm going to run up against in the next little while, so I need to be ready." She moved on to the dresser. "It might get cold tonight."

"You sound like you've done this before."

"How the hell should I know?" She rummaged through socks and underwear and ties and folded t-shirts. A small black box lay at the back corner of the bottom drawer. She sat back to open it. "Well, well."

"What is it?"

She closed the box and tossed it over to him on her way to the kitchen. "It seems like you've been making plans."

Out of the corner of her eyes, she watched Peter open the ring box and pull out the diamond engagement ring. "What," he said flatly.

"I hope that's not for me," she called, scanning the fridge and counter for any mail or papers. None.

"Oh fuck, I _am_ an asshole," Peter bemoaned.

"Hey, it's all right. Maybe you're just fucking around on your girlfriend with a co-ed," she called. There was a backpack and jacket on the hall bench, beside a motorcycle helmet. She sniffed the helmet, caught the scent of her own hair, and carried backpack and jacket over to the bed.

"I don't think that's it," Peter said.

"What do you mean?" She sat beside him, rummaging through the jacket. One pocket held a ring of keys, the other an old-fashioned cell phone. She touched the home button, and up popped a photograph on the lock screen. It was her at a table beside a dark-haired white boy, in what looked like a school library. He had his chin in his hand and she was giving the camera the middle finger. "Mood."

"Can't you smell that?" he asked, then stopped.

"Smell what?" she asked, distracted. The phone didn't have any retina unlocking, and the model wouldn't accept her thumbprint. Annoyed, she dropped it on the bed and went for the backpack. "That you're a werewolf?"

Peter relaxed. "And you're not," he said, leaning in to sniff at her neck. It wasn't objectionable, so she let him continue. "But you smell so interesting."

She paused in removing textbooks from the bag. "Please don't tell me I'm pregnant."

Peter jerked back so fast he nearly fell off the bed. "No!"

"Good." She finished yanking out the books.

"But you smell… we smell mated."

She stared down at the textbook, then up at Peter. "Mated," she repeated, then held up the textbook. "And me in the eleventh grade?"

Peter's eyes grew wide. "Please find a wallet in there that says you're over eighteen."

"The eleventh grade?" she repeated, shoving the books to the ground. "That's bullshit. This is all bullshit. This is all a fucking _joke_."

Under the texts and notebooks, she finally yanked out a small Velcro wallet with a cartoon horse on the front. "Oh god," Peter said, nearly hyperventilating.

"Shut up," she ordered. Yanking open the wallet, she pulled out a driver's licence with her picture on it. "Allison Argent, born 1994." She gave Peter the side-eye. "According to the date of issue, unless I got this in the last week, then I'm eighteen."

Peter groaned, and fell back on the bed.

"Cheer up." She patted his thigh. "At least you're not going to jail for statutory rape."

"I—hang on." He sat up again. "Maybe you're carrying those books for a friend."

Allison (names were such a strange way to think of one's self) held out another card. "Except that this says I'm a junior at Beacon Hills High School."

Peter took the card, looked at it, then fell back again.

"Stop being melodramatic," Allison said, and took the cards from him. "We have to figure out what is going on."

"I feel like a pedophile," he muttered at the ceiling.

"No, you don't." She continued through the wallet. Three dollars in change, a library card, a coffee shop loyalty card from _Strongs_ , a small photo of Allison with two other girls, one blonde and one red-headed, and lastly an access card to the Beacon Hills Sheriff's Station.

She held up this last. Interesting.

"What if I'm one of your teachers?"

"You're not a teacher." Allison reassembled her wallet, and tucked it into her jacket pocket. "No teacher can afford a sweater like this."

"How is this happening?"

"Excellent question." Allison tapped her thumb against her teeth. "What do you remember?"

"I told you, nothing."

"That's not true. You know that we smell mated. How?"

"I just…" Peter sat up. "I just do."

"Like I know you smell like a werewolf." She looked at him. "Can I see the wolf?"

Peter moved his shoulders. "How do I do that?" he asked, awkwardly.

"I don't know, pull it up." Allison pushed her bag off the bed and turned to face Peter. "Be all, grr."

"Grr," Peter repeated, and rolled his eyes. Allison smiled in spite of herself, and of the situation. He was really cute. "Okay." He closed his eyes for a long moment, then opened them. "Nope, not happening."

"But it's in there, right?" Allison said. She put her hand on Peter's bare chest, feeling his soft skin and the light dusting of hair under her fingers, his heartbeat rich and steady under her palm.

Something inside of her stirred, something warm and alive. Her breathing picked up as she looked at Peter, something echoing in her head that could have been, _mine._

"Oh," Peter said in a shaky breath. "Oh, you're an alpha."

As he named it, Allison felt the power rise in her, felt her eyes burn, felt herself calling to the wolf inside Peter. She pushed him onto his back, straddling his waist as his face transformed, teeth sharpening to fangs, claws emerging from his fingers.

Allison could only remember back about half an hour, but she was pretty sure she'd figured out the reason she'd ended up in Peter's bed before that. "Hello, Peter."

He stared up at her, his eyes gleaming blue. "Oh my god, I think I'm in love."

Allison smiled. "Will you bite me if I kiss you?"

"Absolutely not."

Allison lowered her head, never taking her eyes from Peter's. When she kissed him, his mouth was warm and soft, teeth sharp. He could kill her in an instant, rip her limb from limb with the power in his hands.

But, then, Allison probably could, too.

She didn't know why she was so sure, but she knew that strength and power had very little bearing on how one chose to wield them.

All too soon, Allison pulled back. "No," Peter murmured, his face shifting back to human. "Keep going."

"We have a mystery to solve," Allison said, slapping his chest gently. "And that's not going to happen if we fall back into bed."

"We won't know unless we try," Peter suggested, but Allison had already climbed off him.

"Shirt, shoes," she said. "Let's go."

Peter reluctantly got to his feet, adjusted the crotch of his jeans, and stood looking at her. "Where?"

"Out." Allison pulled on her jacket and made sure the contents of her pockets were secure.

"Why me?"

"Because I'm the alpha and I say so."

Peter rolled his eyes. "I knew you were going to be bossy, the moment I set eyes on you."

"You don't know that."

While Peter dressed, Allison went over to the coffee table. There, she finally found what had been missing in her previous searches – a laptop. A terribly old laptop, but a computer nonetheless. "We're taking this," she said.

"Why?" Peter said, yanking on socks.

"Added resources."

Finally, they got out of the house. The street was empty, but the odd siren rang in the distance.

"At least someone remembered how to dial 911," Peter said, shucking into his coat.

"Maybe it's the apocalypse," Allison suggested, her heart sinking. She really hoped not. That idea felt complicated in her head.

"Boring," Peter said. He pressed the button on his car fob, and a distant beep sounded from behind the building. "I'm driving."

"Separate vehicles," Allison said, holding up her helmet.

"Fine. Where are we going?"

"The address on my driver's licence seems like a good place to start."

"Why?"

Allison paused in putting on her helmet. "Because what I was carrying in there? Was nothing. I have to have a cache somewhere, of weapons and money and maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to find some answers on who I am besides an eighteen-year-old human alpha."

Peter looked up at the clear blue sky. "Why not," he said after a moment. "It's not like I have anything else to do."

"That's the spirit," Allison declared. "You seem like the kind of guy who's spring for a car with the deluxe AI package."

"AI?" Peter repeated.

"At least a GPS." Allison put on her helmet, flipped up the visor, and strode over to the motorcycle parked at the curb. It was black and dusty and looked rickety, but Allison could see the good bones under the paint. She straddled the seat, slipped the key into the ignition, and smiled as the engine purred to life.

Then she looked over at Peter. He was still standing on the sidewalk, gawping at her.

"What?"

His swallow was almost audible. "You, uh. Made that look really good."

"So not the point, Peter," Allison said severely. "Car. Now."

"Bossy," Peter said again, and headed around the side of the building.

All right. Allison might have no idea what was going on, or who was left in this town, but she was going to find out.

And then she was going to fix things, if it was the last thing she did.

That felt right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank Runningleaf for their comment in the last chapter with allowed me to come up with this story arc’s tagline: “Maybe the real Nogitsune was the friends we made along the way.”
> 
> See you in two weeks with the thrilling conclusion to our wacky amnesia adventures!


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chaos continues to unfurl in Beacon Hills. Won’t someone please think about the children? And of course, strange assumptions and bad decisions abound all around town. Meanwhile in Malibu, Tony doesn’t know what to do with his newly amnesiac daughter. Will the strife never end?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, it’s been an interesting week and a bit at the new job – but here I am! Back in the saddle, etc. 
> 
> Notes for this chapter: Characters without their memories are making decisions around consent without having the full back story, which, yes, is problematic. That’s the point. Everything has consequences.

* * *

Programming the address on Allison's driver's licence into the Peter's GPS didn't take long, and soon Allison was tailing after the car. They came across a few people standing around, looking puzzled, and Allison stopped on more than one occasion to talk to them. After the third such incident, with a jogger sent on his way down towards Maple, Peter rolled down his window to glower.

"What?" Allison asked, about to put her helmet back on.

"I thought you wanted to find out where you live," Peter said. "Not stop and talk to every random person on the street."

"I'm trying to solve a mystery," Allison pointed out. "That involves talking to people and learning things."

"Learning what? They don't know anything about who they are any more than we do."

Allison walked over to Peter's car. "And isn't that interesting?" she asked, bending down to lean on the window frame. She was close enough that she could smell the warmth of his skin, the faint hint of wolf, and under that, her. "Don't you think that's interesting, Peter?"

He looked at her, the corner of his mouth turning up. "You're cute when you're annoyed."

Allison rolled her eyes. "I'm not annoyed," she said, pushing off the car to return to her motorcycle. "I'm gathering information. I'll be annoyed later. Let's go."

"Bossy," Peter complained, but he rolled up the window, and off they went.

As they drove, Allison took in the town of Beacon Hills. Smallish, old-fashioned. Most of the land around them held houses and low apartment blocks. Nothing too tall, although Allison could see a more built-up area down by the large river. If she didn't get her memory back soon, she would need to do a systematic run of the town, to get an idea of where things stood. Maps and GPS trackers were one thing, but nothing beat first-hand knowledge of the terrain.

She didn't know how she knew that.

Finally, Peter turned down a side street in a quiet residential area. A few people were out on their sidewalks, turning confused eyes on the car and motorcycle. Allison made a note to go back and talk to them once she'd scoured her home for details, then slowed as Peter stopped outside of a beige two-story house. A sleek black Camaro was parked in the driveway, next to a battered blue jeep that was not long for the scrap heap.

Her house.

Allison pulled her bike up into the driveway behind the Camaro and killed the engine. Peter climbed out of his car. "You live here?" he asked, his nose wrinkling.

"Not all of us can live in luxury," Allison said. She left her helmet on the seat and headed towards the front door, sorting through the keys on her keyring.

Peter sniffed the air. "I smell pizza."

"Good, I'm hungry," Allison said. There. That looked like a house key. "Are you coming?

Peter followed Allison. "I also smell wolf."

Allison's hand stilled mid-air as she breathed in. She could smell it too, the scent of unfamiliar werewolves in the air. And one of them an alpha. "Maybe it's your pack," Allison said. She exchanged a glance with Peter. "Why else would they be at my house?"

Peter stuck his hands in his pockets. "Are you going to go in?"

Allison listened. There was movement inside the house, faint voices too low to make out. "Might as well," she said, and put the key in the lock.

The bolt turned easily and the door opened under her hand. On alert, Allison stepped into a house that smelled safe and warm. "Hello?" Allison called. "Did anyone here lose their memory?"

A brown-haired boy jumped out into the hall, brandishing a baseball bat. It was the same boy from the photograph on Allison's phone screen. "Hey!" he exclaimed. "Who are you?"

"Allison," she said, pulling Peter into the house behind her. "And this is Peter."

"How'd you get in?" the boy asked, not moving as a man came up behind him. While the boy was human, the man was very clearly a werewolf.

Allison held up her keyring. "I live here."

"Oh." The boy lowered the bat. "So do I."

"I told you that I smelled a girl upstairs," came another voice, as a girl about the same age as the boy popped her head around the wall. "Maybe she's your sister."

"Possibly," Allison agreed. She hadn't thought about siblings up until that point, but she felt like she could be a sister. She was probably a great sister. "Who are all of you?"

"I'm Mieczysław Stilinski," the boy said.

"Gesundheit," Peter said.

Allison elbowed him without looking back. "My last name's Argent."

"Oh." Mieczysław frowned. "Maybe you're not my sister. Half-sister?"

"Who are they?" Peter asked, gesturing at the two behind Mieczysław.

"Tall, dark and grumpy is Derek Hale," Mieczysław said. Derek rolled his eyes. "And this one doesn't have a wallet, so I've been calling her Sue."

"And he's going to get his teeth knocked out if he does it again," said the girl.

"Huh," Allison said. "I've got a Hale, too." She pulled Peter up beside her. "Maybe you're related."

Peter pondered. "Big brother?" he suggested.

The girl sniffed the air. "No."

"You're probably all part of the same pack," Allison said, letting her backpack slid to the ground. "Which of you is the alpha?"

"Pack?" Mieczysław echoed. "What are you talking about?" Derek looked uncomfortable.

"They're werewolves," Peter said with just a hint of scorn.

"Werewo—" Mieczysław stopped. "Werewolves are real?"

"Yes," Allison said. "And I will bet you ten dollars that you knew that."

"How do you know that I know that?" Mieczysław demanded.

"Because." Allison walked over to his side, noting the glare in Derek's eyes. "This whole place smells like wolf." She inhaled, taking in Mieczysław's scent. "And you do, too."

The boy gaped at her. "Am _I_ a werewolf?"

"No," came three voices.

Allison patted Mieczysław's arm. "You're human, like me." She turned to Derek. "Are you the alpha?"

"Does it matter?" Derek said. His voice wasn't as deep as Allison had been expecting.

Allison pulled her hair over her shoulder. "It might," she said, and reached back for that feeling of alpha she'd had at Peter's. The power rose warm and strong in her chest, straightening her spine and lifting her head as she looked at Derek.

As she had suspected, red flashed in Derek's eyes. "How are you an alpha?" he demanded. "You're human."

"No one in town remembers anything, and you're werewolves," Allison pointed out. "How is a human alpha all that weird?"

"This is so cool," Mieczysław whispered. "Werewolves. In my _house."_

"So," Allison said, turning to the girl. "You must be Derek's sister."

"How do you know that?" the girl asked.

"Because you look so much like him."

The girl made a face. "Really?"

"You do," Allison said. "Minus all the facial hair." Mindful of Derek's glare, she reached out to take the girl's hands. "We're going to find out what's going on, okay?"

"Okay." The girl let Allison pull her into a side hug. "It's just not fair, that everyone else has names and I don't."

"You can pick your own name," Allison said. "Until we figure all this out. Who do you want to be?"

"Sue's a good name," Mieczysław said again.

The girl glared at him. "It is not, shut up."

Peter was wandering down the hall, looking at the framed pictures on the wall. "How about Matilda?" he called over his shoulder.

"No helping," the girl said. "I think I want to be… Dianna."

"Derek and Dianna Hale," Mieczysław said approvingly. "Very nice."

"Thanks." Dianna turned her head. "Why do you smell like that?"

"Like what?"

Now Derek moved in for a sniff. "You smell married." Then he whipped around to glare at Peter. "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything," Peter protested.

"You two smell mated and you're way too old for her."

"Don't blame me for this, it's probably her fault," Peter shot back. "She's the alpha."

"Gentlemen," Allison interjected before things could get complicated. "Can we focus on finding out what happened to our memories?"

"Yes please," Dianna said. "I want my name back."

Mieczysław edged in closer to Allison. "Mated?" he said, looking moderately horrified. "How old are you?"

"No idea," Allison said, letting Dianna go. "Does anyone know today's date?"

Derek pulled out his phone. "It's October fourth."

"Excellent!" Allison said. "Then I'm eighteen."

"I'm seventeen," Mieczysław said. "Oh god, maybe we really are brother and sister."

"Only one way to find out," Allison said, rubbing her hands together. "Time to toss the place. Is anyone else here?"

"No," Mieczysław said as everyone followed Allison into a large living room.

"Derek, Dianna, any olfactory clues?" Allison asked, rapidly shaking the room down. Family photos of Mieczysław and an older, blonder man. None of Allison or of any female authority figures. Hmm.

"There's someone else who lives here," Dianna said. "Another man."

"Dad." Allison held out a framed photo of Mieczysław and the man at a sporting game. Mieczysław took it. "Whose father remains to be decided."

"Maybe I'm a cousin," Peter said to Dianna and Derek.

"Creepy cousin," Dianna muttered.

"Hey, you don't know anything about me," Peter said.

She rounded on him. "You and Allison were having sex," she hissed, and there was a hint of embarrassment on her face. "

Mieczysław looked horrified. "Ew, why?"

Allison put her fingers in her mouth to whistle. Everyone shut up. "What did I say about figuring things out?" she demanded. "Everyone in town, and possible beyond that, has lost their memories. That's a problem, yes?"

"Yes," Mieczysław mumbled. Dianna nodded. Derek glowered.

"We can focus on my bad life choices after we get our memories back," Allison went on. "Until then, focus."

"Bossy," Peter muttered, and wandered out of the room.

"Now." Allison turned to Derek. "You and Dianna go search the basement. Mieczysław and I are going to do a sweep of this floor, then head upstairs. You can join us there."

"What about Peter?" Derek asked.

"I want coffee," Peter said from the distance. "And some of this pizza."

Allison sighed. "I have a feeling that Peter's interests lie in a completely self-centred direction," she said. "It doesn't matter, we don't need him."

"So, marriage counselling is on the horizon for you two?" Mieczysław said.

"Basement," Allison said to Derek. "Mieczysław, come on."

Derek stood stock still for a long moment. "You don't get to tell me what to do."

"No, I don't," Allison agreed. "I am asking you and Dianna to search the basement. If you don't want to, fine, go eat pizza with Peter."

Dianna looked to the ceiling. "Come on, Derek," she said, pulling him down the hall. "I want to know what's going on."

Once Derek and Dianna were out of sight, Allison turned to Mieczysław. "What else is on this floor?"

"Kitchen, bathroom, and an office," Mieczysław said. "We didn't look too closely at the office, we were trying to figure out what was going on."

"Lead the way," Allison said. She followed Mieczysław down the hall, into a room crowded with files and document boxes. On one wall was a large detailed town map, which Allison glanced at before going to the desk. She considered the incredibly old computer. Why was all the technology in this town so ancient? "This room smells different."

"Derek said that," Mieczysław said, standing in the door. "Do you think it's my dad's?"

"Likely," Allison said. Indeed, the cologne on the air spoke of an older man. She stared to rapidly skim through the files; police cases, going back to the 1980s. "Some of these have notes from someone named Stilinski." She opened a folder dating back a few years. "I think your dad is the sheriff."

That was interesting, given the sheriff's department access card Allison had found in her wallet.

"Huh." Mieczysław bit his thumbnail. "I don't know how I feel about that."

"You don't feel like a good upstanding citizen?" Allison asked. She turned to another stack, this one of financial documents. Noah Stilinski's bank accounts were a little on the lean side, but he wasn't in the red on anything. More flipping uncovered the source of most of his savings, tucked into a college fund for Mieczysław.

Allison wasn't showing up in any of the financials, which was interesting. Maybe she wasn't Mieczysław's sister after all… or at least maybe not on the Stilinski side of the family.

"Not really?" Mieczysław said. He rubbed his hand over his head. "Anything on if I have a mother? Or another father?"

"No second name on the bank accounts," Allison said. She opened the desk drawer. "School records, health records…" She pulled out a folder of school reports, in a child's hand. "Hey, look at this."

"What?" Mieczysław said, crowding over.

Allison pointed to a book report on _James and the Giant Peach_. "It's in the same folder as your report cards, but it's signed ‘Stiles'."

"Stiles," Mieczysław repeated. "Do you think I've got a brother out there anywhere?"

"Maybe it's your nickname." Allison tucked the folder away and kept searching. "It's less of a mouthful than Mieczysław."

"Stiles," the boy said again, and frowned. "I don't know if I feel like a Stiles."

"Names are funny things." Allison moved to the other drawer. "We get assigned with them on the day we're born, but how does anyone know who we're going to grow into?" She pushed more folders aside, spotting one at the back labelled _Claudia._ "Dianna has the right idea. Pick your own name." Allison pulled out the _Claudia_ folder, opened it, and went still.

"What?" Mieczysław demanded, dropping to his knees beside Allison. "What happened?"

Wordlessly, Allison handed Mieczysław the piece of paper.

"Claudia Stilinski," Mieczysław read, his voice flat. "Date of death, August 4, 2004."

"She was thirty-two," Allison said, unable to stop doing the math.

"She." Mieczysław ran a finger over the page. "Was she my mother?"

Allison went back to the folder. Underneath a marriage certificate between Noah and Claudia, she found a photograph of a young woman with brown hair holding a tiny infant, the baby's mouth open in a silent squall. She turned the photo over. "Claudia and Mieczysław, first day home from the hospital."

The room was quiet for a long minute, with Mieczysław looking at the photograph. The he said, "I should probably feel sad, right?"

"If you had your memories, you would," Allison said. She put the folder back together, and put it back in the drawer. "We're missing so much right now."

"Do you think she was your mother, too?"

"I don't know." Allison pulled the wallet out of her back pocket. "When's your birthday?"

Mieczysław fumbled out his wallet to unearth a driver's licence. They compared dates. "You're only eight months older than I am," Mieczysław said, sounding disappointed. "So you can't be my sister."

Allison put her arm around Mieczysław's shoulders. "But I still live here," she said. "Maybe I'm your foster sister."

This cheered Mieczysław up, even though Allison privately doubted that was the case. She might not have her memories, but she suspected that she was the kind of person to handle things on her own.

Approaching footsteps sounded, and Dianna burst into the room. "The basement is empty and boring," she announced, flopping down into an old armchair in the corner.

"Define empty," Allison said, hauling Mieczysław to his feet.

"There's a laundry room and a bunch of crap," Derek said, hovering in the doorway. He didn't appear too happy to see Allison and Mieczysław so close. "The basement's unfinished. What are you doing?"

Just to annoy Derek, Allison slung her arm around Mieczysław's neck. Derek's eyes flashed red. "Finding out the Stilinski family secrets."

"I wonder if our family has secrets," Dianna said.

"Everyone's family has secrets." Allison let Mieczysław go. "Come on, upstairs."

Derek curled his lip at her as she left the room, but he didn't make any overt moves towards her, or say anything, so Allison let it go. Jealous alphas were so dramatic.

On the way to the stairs, Allison paused by the entrance to the kitchen. Peter was sitting at the table, coffee mug at his side, reading the newspaper. "Finding anything interesting?"

Peter turned a page. "Absolutely nothing happens in this town," he informed them. "There's a front page story about a kiddy little league game."

Allison joined him, putting her hand on the back of his neck absently as she read over his shoulder. "Nothing happens, aside from the town-wide amnesia epidemic."

Peter leaned back into her touch. "This is boring," he said, looking up at her.

In spite of everything, Allison smiled. He really was an attractive man. That echo from the apartment, of _mine,_ echoed in her head. "You can come with me, I'm going to go dig up everyone's secrets."

He smiled back at her. "That sounds like my kind of party."

"How would you know that?" Derek demanded. Both Allison and Peter looked at him.

"It's more of a feeling than anything else." Peter stood up. "Much the same way that I'm certain that you're an uptight asshole."

Allison was getting tired. "Focus," she said, and walked out of the kitchen, past Mieczysław and Dianna, towards the stairs.

The teenagers scampered after her, and Allison could hear Peter and Derek grousing on their heels, but those were secondary considerations as she climbed the stairs. The carpet muffled most of the sound as she stepped, her ears open for any sound, any sign of life. The stairs took a bend halfway up, and then Allison was out onto the upstairs corridor. Doors lay along both sides of the hallway.

The first door on her left was open, so she went through it. The bedroom was arrayed in shades of blue and grey, a computer on the desk, a bed in one corner, and everything smelled strongly of Mieczysław. "Your room," Allison said over her shoulder, going right to sit down at the desk. The computer was password protected, but the computer itself was ancient and she slipped her way past the wall without much thought.

"Cool, do I surf?" Stiles asked, making a beeline for the surfboard propped up against one wall. Dianna sat on the end of the bed to watch. Derek stopped in the doorway, but Peter breezed in and went right to the closet. "Hey, what are you doing?"

"Allison said we had to search for clues." Peter opened the closet door. "Jesus, what's with all the plaid?"

"Maybe I like plaid," Mieczysław said stiffly.

Allison quickly perused the computer, finding schoolwork, a truly fascinating amount of porn, and then, finally, a folder called _Weird shit._

Opening it, Allison found a whole bunch of information on the supernatural. Oh, this was going to be interesting.

"Hey," Mieczysław said, hurtling across the room to bat at Peter. "Stop it!"

"What's with the chains?" Peter asked, pulled a duffle bag full of metal links from the back of the closet. "Aren't you a little young for this shit?"

"Maybe it's for all my werewolf friends on a full moon," Mieczysław snapped.

Peter flashed him a pointy smile. "You think that a real wolf would be slowed down by this?" He held up a handful of chain.

"Why don't we find out?" Mieczysław said.

"Seconded," Derek put in from the doorway.

Allison quickly checked the file properties on the supernatural documents. Nothing had been accessed in the last two days, so hopefully Mieczysław himself wasn't the source of their current problems. "The only person who gets to tie Peter up is me," she announced, standing up. "How many times do I have to tell you all to focus?"

Peter let the chain drop. "Why do I get tied up?" he complained.

"Because I'll make it worth your while," Allison said. Mieczysław made a gagging sound. "Come on, moving on."

A bathroom was across the hall. The hairbrush on the counter with long brown strands tangled in the bristles was beside a bottle of body spray that, on a quick sniff, was confirmed as the kind Mieczysław wore. A bathroom shared by Allison and Mieczysław. The drawers held a collection of toiletries, including a box of condoms. Allison tossed those at Mieczysław, who meeped and dropped the box. "Oh my god," he complained.

"No glove, no love," Allison said, exiting the bathroom. She ignored the pink colour Derek was turning. "Who's next?"

The next room was the master bedroom, neat and tidy as a pin, but it felt lonely. The closet held only men's clothing, the bathroom only the barest of men's toiletries. The most interesting thing about the room, besides the gun safe in the closet, was the small framed photograph on the nightstand, showing Claudia with the man from the pictures downstairs and a tiny grinning toddler.

"Here you are," Allison said, handing Mieczysław the photograph before going to rifle the dresser.

"Is that your mom?" Dianna asked, sidling up to Mieczysław.

"I think so," he said. Then he put the photograph back where it came from. "We found her death certificate."

"Oh." Dianna appeared shaken. "I'm sorry."

Mieczysław shrugged. "I'm sure it'll hurt later, but… I don't know her. I don't know anyone but you guys."

"More's the pity," Peter muttered.

Allison closed the last dresser drawer. Nothing salacious, nothing hidden. Whatever secrets Noah Stilinski had, he had hidden them better than a cursory look would reveal.

"I wonder if we have parents," Dianna said, looking at Derek. "Or other siblings."

"Probably," Peter said. "Derek seems like the kind of guy who's been pushed around by older sisters all his life."

"And what kind of guy is that?" Derek demanded. "The alpha kind?"

"I'm surprised by that myself," Peter admitted, reaching out a hand as Allison brushed past him. "Where are you going?"

"There's two more rooms," Allison pointed out.

Peter exhausted. "You're a little single minded."

"Town. Amnesia." Allison continued down the hall to the end. "I have priorities."

She opened the door at the end of the hall to find a crafts closet, most of its contents covered in dust. The room wasn't a large one, most likely intended as a storage room, rather than a bedroom, but there was the faintest hint of perfume lingering under the dust.

It had probably been Claudia's, and the fact that it had remained untouched after eight years told Allison more about Claudia Stilinski than anything else she had found.

Slowly, Allison closed the door

"You shouldn't go in there," Dianna said, drawing Allison's attention. The girl had been talking to Peter, who was edging his way into the last bedroom on the floor.

"Why not?" Peter asked, taking another step.

"Because it's Allison's."

"So?" Peter vanished into the room.

Allison went after him. "Dianna, why don't you and Mieczysław and Derek go look for any clues on the internet?"

"Ugh, fine," Dianna said. Allison shooed Derek and Mieczysław back towards the boy's bedroom, and followed Peter into her bedroom. The man was already lounging on the bed.

"This place smells like you," Peter informed her, as if she couldn't detect that herself.

"And what is that?" she asked, scanning the room. It was extremely bare, with only the bed, a laptop on the dresser, and a few books on Celtic supernatural lore on the floor.

"Human. Girl." There was something in Peter's eyes. "Blood."

"I have a vagina, I'm sure it bleeds the traditional amount." Allison went to the closet. Only a handful of hangers hung there, with worn clothing on them. Allison looked at each piece of clothing, confusion rising. Why didn't she have more clothes? If she had lived in the house long enough to change the address on her driver's licence, why was her wardrobe so sparse?

"Not that kind of blood," Peter said. He put his elbows on his knees. "I don't know what a human alpha might find herself getting up to, but somehow I suspect it ends in violence and blood."

Allison walked over to the dresser, and opened the top drawer. "I don't know anything about a human alpha, but I'm pretty sure you're right." She moved a folded square of black silk aside, and stared. The cloth had been covering two necklaces, one ruby, one sapphire, and a silver ring with a striking pattern.

Why, if Allison had this much jewelry just lying in the drawer, didn't she have more clothes?

"What are you doing to do now?" Peter asked.

"I don't know." Allison closed the drawer, and went on to the next one. Underwear and some folded shirts. "There aren't any answers here. I should head into the sheriff's station and see if anyone there has idea what's going on."

The last two drawers held, respectively, one pair of faded sweatpants and four pairs of socks.

"This is wrong," she said, standing up to give the room another scan.

"What is?"

"I should have more stuff."

"Women do like their clothes," Peter agreed.

"No, not that. Weapons, a go-bag, body armour." Allison narrowed her eyes, then got down on the floor by the bed. There wasn't anything under the bed, but she could smell the edge of freshly sharpened metal on the air. "Get up."

Peter grumbled as Allison bounced up to haul him off the bed. "What are you doing now?"

"Finding things out." Once Peter was clear, Allison flipped the mattress up, to reveal an array of bladed weapons. "Oh, _yes."_

"Why do you have so many knives under your mattress?" Peter asked, standing back.

"I don't know." Allison picked up a hatchet, testing the balance. "Keeps them close to hand, I suppose."

"Do you know how to use all those?"

"What's to know?" Allison removed the sheath from a long hunting knife. The handle fit satisfyingly into her hand. "The sharp end cuts." She flipped the knife in her grip. "The blunt end hits. It's not a complicated equation."

"You look pretty comfortable doing that."

"What, this?" Allison flipped the knife around again. She was taking this knife with her. "Muscle memory, I guess."

"Huh."

That made Allison look up at him. "What?"

Peter shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe this is all a little weird."

"A little weird?" Allison echoed. She returned the hatchet back to its place, grabbed a couple of smaller blades to tuck into her jacket pocket, then pulled the mattress back. "We've lost our memories."

Peter gave her a look. "I mean that I'm apparently mated to a human alpha half my age who has a penchant for knives and tying me up."

"We don't know that I've ever tied you up." Allison smoothed the sheets over the bed, slipped the hunting knife into her waistband, then turned to Peter. "Why, do you want me to?"

The sudden flutter of Peter's heartbeat gave her an answer on that.

"I could," Allison went on, taking a few steps to stand in front of Peter. He was warm and smelled so good, and in spite of her own determination to prioritize, Allison desperately wanted to close the bedroom door and find out exactly how they fit together.

"I'm tempted."

Allison stepped in against Peter, putting her hands on his waist. He reached up to cup her face. "Can I take a rain check on that?"

"On one condition." Peter dipped his head to kiss her. His lips were so soft and all Allison wanted to do was to stay there, wrap herself up in his embrace.

But.

But that was wrong.

Not the kissing Peter part; that felt very right. But they were in the middle of a situation. No one had their memories. In fact, this was more than a situation. This was an incident.

Allison pulled back, breaking the kiss. Peter looked disappointed. "Sorry," she said, pressing a quick kiss against his cheek. "I promise that once we get our memories back, I will tie you up in bed all you want. But I need to find some answers, and I don't think I'm going to get them here."

"Where are you going?" Peter asked as Allison stepped away.

"I don't know," Allison said, holding the door for him. Reluctantly, he left the room, Allison on his heels. "Given that Noah Stilinski is the sheriff, and I have an access card to the sheriff's station, I'd say there."

"Do you want company?" Peter asked.

"Do you want to come with me?"

Peter shrugged. "Not really. Maybe I'll take a turn around town, see what's happening."

Allison paused in the doorway to Mieczysław's room. He was on the computer, the Hale siblings sitting side-by-side on the bed. "Are you three going to be okay if I head out?" she asked.

"Yes," Derek said quickly.

Mieczysław spun around in his chair. "Where are you going?"

"The sheriff's station, to try to find out what's going on."

"Should I go with you?"

Allison hesitated, taking in Derek's expression, and what she'd seen in Mieczysław so far. He was a good kid, quick, but he was just a kid. If Allison got into a situation, having Mieczysław with her would be a liability. "Why don't you stay here and see if you can find anything?" she suggested. "If you do, call the sheriff's station."

"Okay," Mieczysław said, sounding a little disappointed. "Hey, uh, if you see my dad, tell him I say hi, okay?"

"Will do." Allison fixed Derek with a look. "You take care of him."

Derek glared, while Mieczysław yelped. "Hey, I can take care of myself," the boy argued.

"He's an alpha werewolf, he can take more damage than you can," Allison pointed out. "All of you, be careful."

Dianna, who had been watching this exchange with amusement, shook her head. "What are you going to do about Peter?"

Allison glanced over her shoulder, to where Peter stood, his arms crossed over his chest. "Nothing. Peter's on his own."

"You need marriage counselling," Mieczysław muttered.

"I'll see you later," Allison said. "Be careful."

She pushed off the doorframe, taking Peter's hand in hers on the way downstairs. "Are you really going to the sheriff's station?" Peter asked.

"Of course I am, I have a mystery to solve." Allison stopped in the kitchen to look at the house phone, noting the number. If she needed to, she could get in touch with Mieczysław. Presuming the boy stayed home.

"What about you and me?"

Allison turned to Peter. "I told you. When we get our memories back, we can talk."

"What if we don't?"

Allison tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Then we'll figure it out."

Peter looked at her for a long moment, then shrugged. "If that's what you want." He turned away. "I'll see you around."

"Don't go getting into any trouble," Allison called after him.

"I'd say the same thing to you, but I doubt you'd listen," Peter said, then he was down the hall and out the dor.

"Men," Allison muttered to herself.

Then, putting Peter out of her mind, Allison went to get her backpack. She didn't know how long she'd be gone for, and weapons aside, it would be best for her to stock up. She emptied the pack onto the counter, then reloaded with sports drinks from the fridge, protein bars and trail mix from the pantry, and a few other useful things like string and duct tape.

She made a detour back to the office, taking the town map off the wall. She mapped out her route to the sheriff's station, then folded the map up and put it into her pack.

Lastly, Allison went into the hall and took down one of the photographs of Mieczysław with the older man. If that was Noah Stilinski, it would be good to have some photographic evidence.

Taking one more look around, Allison shouldered her backpack and left the house.

On the drive to the sheriff's station, Allison considered the situation. Whatever had happened to take their memories away, must be messing with their minds in other ways. She was pretty sure that in a normal amnesia situation, she wouldn't have been so distracted by Peter's presence as to actually want to fall into bed with him.

Also, everyone was far too _calm_. It couldn't be normal to lose all your memories and not freak out. But everyone Allison had talked to had been relatively okay, just rolling with it.

It didn't make any sense.

None of this made any sense.

Well. Allison was going to get to the bottom of this. She might not know anything about herself, but she was probably the sort of person to fix things. That mental image felt right.

She found the train tracks she was looking for, bumped over them, and then sped along the long straight-away that lay beside a rail yard. There, exactly where it should be, was the sheriff's station, with patrol cars ranged out front. Allison could hear the buzz of activity as she approached the front doors.

Walking with purpose, Allison entered the sheriff's station. A redheaded female deputy was at the front desk, looking harassed. "Wait a minute," she said to Allison, smacking her hand against a computer monitor. "I hate this."

"Hello, Deputy…" Allison looked at the woman's nametag. "Rushman. Allison Argent. I work here."

Rushman stopped the technological abuse to look Allison up and down. "Really?"

Allison pulled out her access card. "Yes."

Rushman looked at the card, gave Allison another once-over, then sighed. "Great."

"I assume everyone here can't remember anything?"

"No, and it looks like the whole damned town was hit," Rushman said. She leaned back. "And that means everyone's forgotten their fucking passwords, too."

"Can I try?" Allison asked.

"Why not." Rushman got out of the way, and Allison went to the computer. The system was even older than Mieczysław's computer, but that just meant Allison could pull up the diagnostic console and crack open the firewall like an egg. "How do you know how to do that?"

"I have no idea." Allison moved to let Rushman take her place. "Apparently we can remember how to do things, just not how we know that."

"Perfect." Rushman typed a few things. "Thank god, it's working."

"Did you get in?" came a new voice. Allison looked up, and saw the man from the photograph.

"Yes, thanks to Allison," Rushman said. "Allison Argent, Sheriff Stilinski. Apparently Allison works here."

The man lifted his eyebrows. "Really?"

Allison handed over her access card. "Also, I'm pretty sure I live at your place." At Stilinski's expression, she shrugged off her backpack. "It's the address on my driver's licence. I met your son, Mieczysław." She gave Stilinski the photograph.

Stilinski looked at the picture, gobsmacked. "I have a son?"

"Yes, and he is safe at home." Allison wondered if the sheriff had known about werewolves before the amnesia, then decided to leave that stone unturned for now. "He seems like a good kid."

"And you live with us?" Stilinski said.

"Apparently. Maybe I needed a place to stay. The point is, I am here and can help."

Stilinski rubbed his hand over his face. "You can help?" he repeated. "How old are you?"

"Eighteen."

"Eighteen," Stilinski repeated.

"She got into the computer system," Rushman said. "Which is more than anyone else did."

Stilinski looked at the photograph again. "I've got a town with amnesia, and a kid I don't even remember," he said. "All right. Fuck it all. Allison, can you head to the back and see if you can get into any of the other computers?"

"Sure thing," Allison said, picking up her backpack. "Sheriff. Deputy." With that, she went around the desk in search of a computer to unlock.

The bullpen was mostly empty, with a few uniformed officers. Allison went to the first desk and in a few seconds, opened up the command line to bypass the security measures. Satisfied, she went to the next empty desk, doing the same.

The next desk was occupied by a man flipping through papers and looking lost. "Hey," Allison said. "Can I get on your computer?"

The man looked up. "Why?"

Allison stuck out her hand. "Allison Argent. I'm on IT support."

The man shook her hand, then got up. "Christian Ibarra. Maybe you'll have better luck then me."

"How's everything been around here?" Allison asked, nimbly cracking the computer system open. "Utter chaos?"

"Yeah. The sheriff's got most everyone on duty out on the town, trying to keep things calm." Ibarra leaned against the side of the desk. "Not that there's a lot of trouble. Just confused folks. We've had a few reports of smash-and-grabs, but nothing too bad."

"It'll be dark in an hour, that's probably when the worst will hit," Allison said. She leaned back in the chair, trying to figure out what to do next. "People might try to drown their confusion, when the bars open."

"Great," Ibarra muttered. "I suppose I should get out there."

"Maybe." Allison spotted something underneath a pile of folders. She pulled it out. It was a framed photograph of Ibarra with a woman about the same age, and four small children ranged around them. "Nice family."

"What?" Ibarra looked at the photo. "I've got kids?"

"Four of them." The youngest was just a baby, the others ranging up to ten or so.

"Four kids," Ibarra said. "Wow. I didn't…" He looked at Allison, panic creeping into his eyes. "I didn't remember them."

A stirring of dread curled in Allison's stomach. "Everyone's lost their memories," she said slowly. "And that means that no one would know if they're missing a kid."

"Shit."

Allison got to her feet. "Come on, we've got to find Stilinski."

Ibarra was off like a shot, heading towards an office at the front of the station, Allison right behind him. "Sheriff," Ibarra said, bursting into the office. Stilinski jumped. "What about the children?"

"What?"

"The kids," Ibarra repeated. He all but shoved the photograph in Stilinski's face. "I got kids, little ones. What if I didn't know I had them? What if someone doesn't know they're supposed to be watching them?"

Sudden comprehension came over Stilinski's face. "Oh, _hell."_

"We can find a list," Allison said, thinking furiously. "The schools in town should have a list of kids and their addresses. We can get that, do a canvas."

"What about the kids who aren't in school?" Ibarra asked. "The little ones, too young for school." He tapped the photograph. "They're the ones most vulnerable."

"We need birth records," Allison said. "The hospital's the best bet for kids born in town. Maybe get someone onto the churches and synagogues, if they have records of kids?"

"And preschools, community centres, anyone that would have programming for kids," Stilinski said. "Crap." He went to the door. "Rushman!"

The woman appeared in an instant. "What?"

"New focus," Stilinski said, going across his office to a filing cabinet. "We've got to get everyone rounded up, figuring out where all the kids are in town. Get on the horn to the radio station, get them to start broadcasting out about keeping an eye out for children."

"What about crime?" Rushman asked.

"Fuck it, we'll deal with crime later," Stilinski said. He pulled a deputy's badge out of the cabinet. "Our first priority has to be keeping everyone alive."

"The state troopers just called to say they've put up a blockade around town," Rushman said. "No one's getting into town until they figure out what's going on. The Centre for Disease Control is also on its way."

"Perfect." Stilinski walked over to Allison. "Good news, kid. You just got a promotion."

He handed her the deputy's star. "What do you want me to do?" Allison asked.

"You and Ibarra go to the hospital and get their records," Stilinski said. "Call back in when you have them."

"Yes, sir."

"Rushman, on phones. Get anyone who's off-duty to report in." Stilinski ran his hand through his hair. "Why are you all standing here?"

They scattered, Rushman for the front desk, Ibarra and Allison for the bullpen. "I'm driving," Allison said, scooping up her backpack.

"Deal." Ibarra grabbed keys from the inside of the desk, tossed them to her, and then they were off. Allison pinned the deputy star to her jacket and ducked in behind the wheel, peeling out as soon as Ibarra had his door closed. "Wait, where are we going?"

Allison shoved her bag at him. "There's a map in there."

They sped along the road, Ibarra pouring over the map. "Hey, that's my street," he said in faint surprise. "Ellis Avenue."

"Is it on the way to the hospital?" Allison asked. She flipped the switch to activate the car's lights and sirens.

"Mostly."

"Then we're going there first."

A moment of silence. "Are you sure?"

"The sheriff told us to safeguard the kids. You've got four kids and no idea if anyone's watching them. We'll go and see."

"What about the rest of the children in town?"

Allison's hands tightened on the wheel. "Are you telling me to keep going to the hospital?"

Another silence. "No," Ibarra said. "No. We go to my place."

"Then tell me how to get there."

The drive was a short one, at the speed Allison took. They pulled up in front of a house with a bunch of toys in the front yard. Allison killed the sirens, and she and Ibarra were out of the car in an instant. Ibarra practically ran up the steps to bang on the front door.

The door opened just as Allison reached the top of the steps. The woman from the photograph looked out warily. "Yes?" she said.

"Hi," Ibarra said helplessly. "I… are the kids okay?"

The woman looked at him for a moment. "Are you… Wait. Your picture's in the house."

"I live here."

"I'm Maria."

"Christian."

Maria looked at Allison. "Allison," she said. "Deputy sheriff. Are your kids okay, ma'am?"

"Yes," Maria said. She stepped back to let them into the house. "I mean… I don't remember anything. Neither do the kids."

"No one in town does," Allison said. She headed towards the sound of young voices, leaving Maria and Ibarra to stare at each other. It must be weird, Allison thought, meeting your wife again for the first time. "But we're all doing our best."

She entered a kitchen to find four children, all eating ice cream. Three of the children stared at her, while the toddler, stuffed into a too-small high chair, attacked her ice cream with relish.

"Hey, everyone," Allison said with a smile. "I'm a friend of your dad's. How are you doing?"

"Okay," said the oldest child, a girl. "Our mom said we can have ice cream." The two boys smiled shyly at Allison.

"Your mom sounds pretty cool." Allison scanned the kitchen. Children's art on the fridge, dishes in the sink, a baby bottle on the counter.

Allison picked up the bottle, then looked back at the table. The toddler was slurping ice cream from a grown-up spoon with no apparent problems.

Allison looked back at the bottle, her stomach cramping. Something was wrong.

"Kids," said Maria as she entered the kitchen. "This is your, uh. Father."

Ibarra smiled nervously at the table. "Hello, everyone."

"Ice cream!" the toddler shrieked.

"Yes, ice cream is good," Ibarra said. "Who is everyone?"

Maria went to the fridge and pulled down at sheet of paper with finger-paint all over it. Names were written below the different sized paint blobs. "We're pretty sure that this is Alicia," she said, putting her hand on the older girl's shoulder. "And then Tomas," she indicated the older boy, "And Damian."

Ibarra's smile grew. "And who's this little lady?" he asked, sitting in the chair beside the toddler.

"That's Gabriela," Maria said. She pointed to a dollop of paint half the size of the Gabriela blob. "And I think this means we have a dog named Benjamin."

Allison sniffed the air. She couldn't smell a dog. She could, however, smell baby powder. "Have you searched the house?" Allison asked.

"What for?"

She held up the bottle. "Gabriela's too old for this."

Maria's face went pale. "I didn't… do we have _another_ baby?"

"Kids," Allison said, shoving command into the voice. The children all looked at her. "We're in an emergency situation. Your parents and I need to look through the house to see if there's anyone else here. Alicia and Tomas, can you watch Damian and Gabriela for a few minutes?"

"Yes," Alicia said. Tomas's eyes were wide.

"Great." Allison put the bottle down. "No one touches the stove, all right?"

"Where have you been in the house?" Ibarra asked as he, Maria and Allison left the kitchen.

"The main level," Maria said. Allison could hear her heart pounding. "We were all in the living room when… when it happened."

"Let's search upstairs," Ibarra said, taking Maria's hand. "If there's a baby here, we'll find him."

"I'll take the basement," Allison said, ducking out of the heartfelt moment. "Yell if you need anything."

She scampered down the stairs, listening hard for any signs of life, or any scent of death. She didn't have time to think about anything beyond searching the house.

The basement was empty, and quickly skimmed. Allison ran back upstairs. She could hear Maria and Ibarra upstairs still, so she peeked in the kitchen to check on the kids, found that Alicia had dished out another round of ice cream, and then went to scour the main floor.

The living room was full of toys and books, a well-lived-in place. Going further, Allison found a bathroom, a dining room, a sitting room with a window to the outside, but no baby.

She was just starting to think that she was on a goose chase when she caught a whiff of a dirty diaper. That pulled her up short outside of a door she'd thought had been a closet. Slowly, Allison opened the door.

The room wasn't a closet at all, but a small dark nook. In the light from the hall, Allison could see a crib in one corner and a baby change table in the other. And, blessedly, Allison heard a strong and steady heartbeat.

She groped for a light switch. The room lit up and there he was, a chubby infant in the crib, his eyes closed, cheeks flushed with sleep. At the light, the baby blinked, his nose wrinkling in displeasure.

"Hi there," Allison said, scooping the baby up into her arms. He blinked at her, uncertain, so Allison pulled up as much alpha reassurance as she could. Her heart melted as the baby settled in her arms. "Oh, I'm so glad you're okay."

The baby farted.

Carrying the baby into the hall, Allison called up the stairs. "I found him!"

Maria and Ibarra appeared in a moment. Maria was almost crying as she took the baby from Allison. "I didn't even realize…" She pressed her face to the baby's cheek. He grabbed at her hair and burbled.

Ibarra put his arms around both Maria and the baby. He looked at Allison, his expression torn. "I can't…"

Allison nodded. "You've got five kids here, I get it." She rubbed her hands together, missing the feel of the baby in her arms. "All I can do at the hospital, I can do on my own."

"Thank you," Ibarra said in relief.

"I'll go," Allison said. "Hopefully the next time I see you, we'll all have a better idea of what's going on."

"Thank you," Maria said. "For finding him."

"You'd have found him as soon as he woke up," Allison said. She reached out to brush the hair back from the baby's forehead. "Take care of them."

With a last smile, Allison headed out of the house, back towards the car. The detour to the Ibarra house was a very clear example of the danger the children of Beacon Hills were in. What if Maria had taken the four older children out without realizing the baby was asleep? Allison had to get moving.

Slipping in behind the wheel, Allison turned herself in the direction of the hospital.

Time to get to work.

### Melissa

Melissa put her hands on the counter, willing herself to stay upright. She'd been on the floor of the ER for hours, ever since she and Chris had arrived at the hospital, and she was so exhausted she _hurt_.

But she had to keep going.

"Hey."

Melissa looked up to find Chris standing beside her. "Hi," she said. "Now what?"

"Nothing." His smile was tired. "No one's come in in the last ten minutes."

"What a miracle." Melissa pinched the bridge of her nose. "It's quieting down in the ER, too. The car crash victims are stable, the rest is mostly just cuts and bangs. The guy who fell off the ladder and broke his leg is in surgery."

"Is he going to be okay?" Chris asked.

"Probably." Melissa reached for the charts, to get ready for the next round of intake. "It was a clean break."

"It's strange," Chris mused. "We have no idea who we are, but we know how to do everything."

"Very strange," Melissa agreed. "I heard one of the doctors saying that the sheriff's department called the state troopers and the CDC. They're going to quarantine the town until they figure out what happened."

"Hopefully that won't start a panic," Chris said. "Have you noticed that things are starting to get more tense?"

"Yeah, like everyone finally realized that this is a disaster?"

"Yeah." Chris was looking at her. "You should get some rest."

"I'm fine," Melissa said automatically.

Chris smiled at her again, and oh god, that smile made her feel good. "I know. But you should get some rest."

"Maybe later."

On the other side of the nurse' station, just out of sight, Melissa heard the nurse on duty say, "All patients need to go through triage in the ER."

"I'm not hurt, I'm from the sheriff's station," came an unfamiliar voice. "Sheriff Stilinski send me over to look up birth records, we're in a situation where we might have children that no one knows they need to look out for. I need to talk to whoever is in charge."

"Look, miss—"

"It's deputy," the voice interrupted coldly. "Deputy Argent. Who's in charge?"

Melissa looked at Chris. "Argent?" she echoed. "Do you have a sister?"

Wordlessly, Chris rounded the station, Melissa following. What she saw nearly knocked Melissa's knees out from under her.

It was Allison, the girl from the photograph in Chris's pocket.

God, she was so _grown up_.

"You can't just come walking in here demanding things like that," the nurse was protesting.

"This badge says I can," Allison said, pointing at a metal star pinned to her black leather jacket. "Do you want me to call into the station? We're running short on time."

"Allison?" Chris said.

Allison jerked back, her eyes locking onto Chris. "Can I help you?"

"I…" Chris took a breath. "My name's Chris Argent. I think I'm your father."

Allison just looked at him. "What?"

"Your name is Allison, right?" Chris fumbled for his wallet. "I have this picture, it's you and me."

"Okay." Allison held up her hand. "Hold on. That can wait." She looked back at the nurse. "You and I both know this is not something you want to deal with. Just aim me at someone who will."

"There's someone up in administration," Melissa said. "I can take her."

"Fine," the nurse on duty said. "I'm signing you off-shift."

"It's good that it's so quiet." Melissa slipped around Chris. Allison was watching them both warily. "Hi. I'm Melissa."

Allison's eyes flicked to Melissa's name badge. "Nurse McCall. Let's go."

"Right." Melissa held out her hand, indicating the hall. Allison waited, so Melissa started off. Allison stuck to her side, Chris right behind them. He was still trying to pull the photograph out of his wallet. "You're a deputy?"

Allison sighed. "Since an hour ago," she admitted. "Apparently I worked at the sheriff's station before all this bullshit happened, so I went to go see if I could help and Sheriff Stilinksi deputized me."

"Aren't you a little young to be a deputy?"

"I'm eighteen," Allison said, her eyes flashing, her chin going up.

"Eighteen," Melissa repeated, her heart sinking. Was she even old enough to have an eighteen-year-old daughter? She didn't feel like it. Had she and Chris really been married and created this determined girl?

Allison read something else into the word. "Look, I am doing my best, all right?" She punched the button on the elevator panel. "First things first, we need to make sure that the kids in town are safe, and if you've got a situation where a parent doesn't know they need to keep a toddler from walking out into traffic, it's not a good one."

"I get it," Melissa said. The elevator doors opened, and the three of them went inside. Melissa hit the button for the fourth floor. "I do. I'm just a little surprised, that's all."

"All hands on deck," Allison said, crossing her arms over her chest. "So, what's this father bullshit?"

Chris handed her the photograph. "We have the same last name," he said, and Melissa could hear the hope in his voice. "And I have this."

Allison looked at the picture, then flipped it over. "I was twelve," she said after a moment. "I did gymnastics?"

"Yes," Chris said softly. The elevator doors opened, and Allison roused herself to hand the photo back to Chris.

"That was a long time ago," Allison said, stepping out into the hallway. Melissa, who had been up on this floor once already today, started in the direction of the administration offices.

"But it still happened," Chris said. "Look, Allison—"

"Do I have a mother?" Allison interrupted. Melissa stopped, sighed, and turned back around. "I don't know what's gone down, Chris, but I live at the sheriff's house, with him and his son. I have a room there. My driver's licence has that address on it. So you might be my father, but I can guarantee that there is more to the story than that."

"You live there?" Chris said, and Melissa didn't have to know him to see how crushed that left him.

Allison's chin was up again. "Yes."

"Okay," Melissa said, stepping between the two. "We're all having a very weird day, and there's a lot happening right now. Chris, Allison's just had a lot thrown at her. Allison, Chris has been worried about you."

Allison turned her attention on Melissa. "And you are?"

Melissa met the girl's glare without flinching. "Chris thinks I might be your mother."

Allison went still, her eyes never leaving Melissa's. After a moment, she said, "Can I smell your hair?"

Melissa blinked. She must have been more tired than she thought. "What?"

"Your hair," Allison said.

Melissa looked at Chris, who looked as confused as she felt. "I guess?"

Allison walked over to Melissa's side and took an actual sniff of her hair. The girl was nearly vibrating with intensity when she stood back. "All right."

"Just like that?" Melissa asked. "I say that I'm your mother and you smell my hair and we're good?"

"It's complicated," Allison said. She put her hand on Melissa's arm, and it was so comforting that Melissa wanted to hug the girl and never let her go. "Okay. If you two are my parents, then you'll understand how vital it is that the sheriff's department gets a list of children born in town who are too young to have their names on school records, right?"

"Right," Chris said.

"Some of the computer systems are locked," Melissa said, guiding Allison down the hall. "We're doing our best, and thank god that the admission computers were working before everyone woke up."

"Leave the computers to me," Allison said grimly, and marched on.

The head of administration, a harassed looking man by the name of Smith, was almost in tears after Allison explained the situation. "We can't get in the computers," he said. "And even if we did, patient information is protected. I'd need a court order."

"This is exigent circumstances," Allison said, facing the man down with a level of steel in her spine Melissa envied. "Mr. Smith, I understand that you are doing everything you can to protect this hospital's patients and the hard-working staff here. I've probably been a patient here myself, and I personally thank for you for all you're doing. But we have a very real danger that a child is going to be hurt, or worse, if we can't ensure that everyone is accounted for."

The man was wavering. "I'll need to confirm this with the sheriff."

"Please do." Allison looked around, then went over to pluck a phone book off the shelf. "Sheriff Stilinski is at the station. He can confirm everything I just said."

Resolutely ,the administrator started flipping the pages in the phone book. Allison crossed the office to where Melissa and Chris sat on the visitors' chairs. "Well done," Chris said in an undertone.

"You just have to understand your audience," Allison said in the same undertone. She sat down beside Melissa. "Are you okay?"

"Of course," Melissa said, blinking a little. The sudden lack of activity and being able to sit down was letting her exhaustion catch up with her.

"Uh huh." Allison picked up Melissa's hand. The girl's grasp was warm, almost hot. "Were you working today?"

"I don't know," Melissa said. "The first thing I remember was being in the grocery store parking lot with Chris."

"You had a bag with ground beef and milk," Chris said from Melissa's other side. "And you were in your scrubs. We probably weren't picking that up before you went to work."

Allison squeezed Melissa's hand. "Then you've been pulling double duty. You should go home and get some rest."

"I'm fine," Melissa repeated. "Both of you can knock this off."

Chris closed his mouth, but Allison made a frustrated sound. "You can't help people if you work yourself to exhaustion," she pointed out. "If we can't find a solution to this tonight, then tomorrow's probably going to be just as weird."

"And what are you going to be doing?" Melissa asked. "Kicking back after this is all done?"

"No." Allison squeezed Melissa's hand and let her go. Melissa found she missed the contact. What a child, this possible daughter of hers. "But I didn't spend the day on the hospital floor. If my backpack's any sign of things, I was in school all day. And." She cleared her throat. "I woke up from a nap not knowing anything, so at least I'm well rested."

"High school?" Chris said. "And the sheriff gave you a deputy's badge?"

"That's me," Allison agreed. "They can make a TV movie of my life. High school junior by day, town deputy by night." She stood up and walked back over to the desk.

Melissa looked at Chris. "Does any of this make any sense to you?" she asked quietly.

"No." Chris took Melissa's hand, sliding their fingers together. In spite of her exhaustion, a thrill ran up Melissa's spine. "Not a damned thing."

Maybe it was because she was so tired, but Melissa leaned against Chris. He was so solid and reassuring.

The administrator hung up the phone. "Fine, Deputy Argent." He moved out from behind his desk. "Do what you have to do."

"Thank you." Allison slipped into the chair, fingers already flying over the keyboard. "Do you need anything else while I'm in here?"

"Unlocking all the terminals would be nice," Melissa said. "We're running off two stations in the ER and it's slowing things down."

Allison concentrated for a minute, the sound of keys clacking loud in the office. Melissa stayed where she was, watching Allison. The girl was a mystery, beautiful and vibrant, but odd. Why had she relaxed after smelling Melissa's hair? Why was she living in someone's else's house if she was still in high school?

And why had the sheriff given her a badge?

"There," Allison announced. "I didn't unlock the terminals, but the passwords have been reset to 1-2-3-4. Write that on a sticky note and tape it up, just in case we get to play another round of amnesia bingo."

The administrators jumped for a pad of paper.

"And I've pulled up birth records and all pediatric admissions going back eight years," Allison went on. "Beyond that, we should be able to find the kids in school records." She kept typing. "I've sent a full transfer over to the sheriff's department, cross-referencing names, ages, home address, parents' information, and phone numbers."

"What if some of them have moved out of town?" Chris asked.

"Then a very confused person in the Bay area will get a strange phone call." Allison never looked away from the screen. "I'd rather cast a wider net than we need, than miss anyone."

Melissa put her face in her hands. "What is going on?" she asked wearily. "Why is this happening?"

"No idea." Allison spun in the chair. "As far as I can tell, this happened to everyone all at once, which rules out something in the water."

"Maybe the air?" Chris suggested.

"How?" Allison stood up. "Unless you can figure out a way that the entire town fell victim to mass hypnosis, I have to get back to work."

"Wait," Chris said, shooting to his feet so fast Melissa nearly fell over. "You can't go."

"I'm a deputy, and I'm on duty," Allison said. "People are starting to lose whatever weird calm we all started with, and it's getting dark. Things are going to get hairy."

"You're not a deputy, you're not even armed," Chris protested.

Allison went completely still, and Melissa winced. She didn't know Allison, but that was probably the worst thing Chris could have said. "I am going back to my patrol car, and I am going out on patrol," Allison said with that same eerie stillness. "Maybe the sheriff deputized me because he had no one else who could operate a computer, I don't know, and I don't care. But I am going out there and I am going to do everything I can to protect the people in this town. Maybe it's from themselves. It doesn't matter."

"Allison, you're just a kid."

Allison shrugged one shoulder. "Maybe. Given the situation, I doubt it matters."

Melissa hauled herself to her feet. "Allison…"

"What?" Allison demanded.

"Come here." Melissa crossed the space between them and put her arms around Allison. The girl was stiff for a moment, before folding into the embrace. "I know we can't stop you from going out there, but please, please be careful."

"I will be," Allison said, voice muffled against Melissa's shoulder.

"All right." Melissa pulled back to kiss Allison's forehead. "Stay in touch, okay? I'll be back here tomorrow morning, if you need to come by."

Allison nodded. Then her eyes slid over to Chris. "You take care of her," Allison said fiercely.

"I will," Chris said.

Allison stepped away from Melissa. "See you tomorrow," she said, and slipped out of the office.

Chris and Melissa looked at each other, then at the administrator, then together they left the room. "I don't like it," Chris said. Down the hall, Allison was waiting for the elevator. "She's not…"

"She's right, this town needs help."

"She's only eighteen," Chris said. "Hang on. Allison!"

Allison reluctantly turned around. "What?"

Chris jogged towards her. "Do you have a sidearm in the car?"

Allison frowned. "Of course not."

"Right." Chris looked around, but it was only the three of them in the hall. He reached under his coat and removed his handgun and the holster. "Here."

"No." Allison took a step back.

"It could be dangerous out there."

"I'm not walking out into a town of amnesiacs with a _gun_ , Chris."

"What if you're in danger?"

Allison smiled at that, in a way Melissa didn't understand. "I'm a fast talker, I'll make it work."

"Allison—"

"Nope!" Allison said cheerfully. "Go home, Chris. And take that pea-shooter with you." The elevator came, and Allison stepped inside, punching the buttons. "Bye!" The elevator door closed.

Melissa trudged down the hall. "Put that away," she said. Chris put the holster back on his belt. "She's going to be fine."

"She's a teenager."

"I know." Melissa slipped her arm through Chris's and leaned against him. "And I am worried sick about her already. But she's eighteen, and she sounds like she knows what she's doing."

"That makes one of us." Chris kissed the top of Melissa's head. "She's right, I should take you home."

"I need to clock out, see if there's anyone else who needs anything." Although, the idea of going back into the ER made Melissa want to pass out. "Then maybe I can sleep in the break room or something."

"We can go to my place," Chris suggested, just a hint of hesitation in his voice. "I don't know what… what we are, but I'm sure I have a spare room. Or a couch."

Melissa nodded. "All right. I hope the Argent couch is comfortable." She pushed the button for the elevator.

"I mean, I'd take the couch," Chris said.

"Uh huh."

"I hope I'm not that much of an asshole, to make a lady take the couch."

"At this point, I might fall asleep in the car." The elevator doors opened. "Come on. Let's do this."

* * *

Getting out of the hospital didn't take long. More staff had trickled in, and Melissa was cleared to leave. She trailed after Chris to the car with the grocery bags, retrieved from the staff room fridge, and was relieved when she could just sit in the car and let Chris drive.

The streets were deserted on the trip. "Do you think everyone's staying home?" Melissa asked, gazing out at another empty intersection.

"Most people, sure," Chris said as he turned left. "I bet the bars are going to be busy."

Melissa let her head fall back. "I could use a drink."

"Do you want me to find a liquor store?"

"No." Melissa rubbed her hand over her face. "Allison's eighteen, right?"

"That's what she said."

"Why is she in junior year?"

"Maybe she had some trouble at school." Chris turned another corner.

"She doesn't seem like a kid who would have problems with her classes."

"Maybe she got into trouble. She's too good with computers. Maybe she got suspended."

Melissa smiled. "I bet she takes after you in that."

"Hey," Chris protested.

"Troublemaker," Melissa said. "I bet that's what you are."

"I am not," Chris said with a laugh. When he smiled, his whole face lit up. Melissa's stomach tingled. God, he was hot. "I'm sure she gets that from you."

Melissa kept her eyes on Chris. "Do you really think she's my daughter?"

The smile faded from Chris's face. "I do," he said. "Up in that office, Allison was just like you were in the emergency room. You weren't going to let anyone stop you from doing what needed to be done."

"I might not like what she's doing, but I understand it," Melissa said. "But. Why do I understand it? You're right, she's only eighteen. This town should have enough police that they don't need an unarmed eighteen-year-old out there on the streets."

"She'll be fine," Chris said. "I don't know how I know that, but I do."

The GPS made a noise, and Chris slowed in front of a low-rise apartment building. "Is this it?" Melissa asked.

"Looks like it." Chris pulled into a parking space and killed the engine. "We can go get something to eat and try to relax."

"Or fall over asleep," Melissa suggested. She had to force herself to unbuckle her seatbelt. Hopefully the building had an elevator; she wasn't sure if she could handle any stairs at the moment.

Chris got the groceries from the back and together they went into the building. The apartment was on the third floor, a large apartment that should have felt inviting, but instead all Melissa felt was loneliness.

Maybe it was knowing that Allison didn't live here.

Chris located the fridge without much difficulty to put away the groceries while Melissa wandered around. The apartment had an office and two bedrooms. Chris's bedroom had clothes tossed over a chair, the bed unmade. Taking a moment to look in the closet confirmed Melissa's suspicions

"What's up?" Chris asked, leaning against the bedroom door.

Melissa let the closet door slide closed. "I don't live here," she said, and she was surprised at how disappointed that admission left her. "At least, not in here with you."

"What about the other bedroom?"

"I'm willing to bet that's not mine." Melissa crossed the room, pushing Chris gently out into the hall. "Look."

She pulled him towards the other door in the hall and went into a room that felt… vacant. The bed was done up with stuffed animals, the bookcase and desk covered in things that a young teen might have. The closet was full of clothes that would have suited a teenage girl.

And nothing in the room felt like it fit with the young woman Melissa and Chris met in the hospital.

Chris wandered over to pick up a small pink teddy bear. "Why doesn't Allison live with me anymore?" he asked. "Why don't you? What did I do?"

Melissa leaned against his arm. "You know I don't have any answers for you."

"I don't get it." Chris put the bear back in its place. "I don't know how I could do something that would drive my daughter out of the house."

"She doesn't live with me, either," Melissa pointed out. "In fact, we don't even know that you and I even knew each other before we lost our memories."

Chris looked down at her. "I think arguing in the grocery store parking lot indicates that we know each other quite well," he said with a wry smile.

"You don't know we were arguing."

"I have a feeling we were."

Melissa slapped his arm. "Can I have half of that sandwich? I'm about ready to chew my own arm off."

"Of course." With one last look around the room, Chris went out into the hall. Melissa straightened the bear on the bed before wandering after him. Nothing made any sense. She didn't know if she was Allison's mother, or connected in any way to Chris. How could she know? She had no proof. The apartment had no photographs on the walls to show either way. Which would make sense if she and Chris had broken up, but nothing with Allison?

And yet… Melissa couldn't forget Allison's face in the hospital, when she had smelled Melissa's hair, and then hugged her. Almost as if Allison believed it.

And in that moment, Melissa realized that she wanted it. She wanted a family, wanted a kid, wanted someone like Chris. She didn't want to be alone.

"Hey." Chris was back in the doorway. "I found some stuff in the fridge for a salad, and there's laundry if you want to wash your scrubs before tomorrow."

Melissa looked at him for a moment, then walked over and went up on her toes to kiss his cheek.

"What was that for?" Chris asked when she pulled back.

"For thinking about me," Melissa said, smoothing her thumb over his jaw. "It's nice."

Tentatively, Chris put his arm around her waist, pulling her in close. "You're amazing," he said quietly. "I can't see anyone not wanting to put you first every moment of every day."

Melissa put her arms around Chris's neck. "I really, really hope I still like you when we get our memories back."

"Me too," Chris said. "Would it be wildly inappropriate if I were to ask if I could kiss you right now?"

"Oh, I hope not," Melissa said. "Because I am totally going to say yes."

"Good," Chris said with a smile, then he kissed her.

Distractedly, Melissa sent out a wish into the universe that she and Chris really did have a history, that this wasn't all some sort of terrible mistake. Because the way Chris was kissing her, she never wanted to stop.

 _Please let this be mine,_ Melissa prayed. _I want this._

### Tony Stark

Tony rubbed his eyes. Here he was, exhausted, and it wasn't even elven o'clock yet. Sure, he was back on Pacific time after spending so long in New York, but still. He was turning into an old man.

"Tony, are you coming to bed?" Pepper asked, climbing in between the sheets.

Tony let his hand drop. "Do I have to?"

"No." Pepper sat up in bed. "You can stay up until you pass out. Again. I'm sure the bots would cover you up with a blanket or something so you won't die of hypothermia."

Tony looked up at the ceiling. "Why is everyone so mean to me?" he asked. "You're mean. Rhodey keeps sending me disapproving texts. Even Jarvis won't talk to me."

"Maybe," Pepper said, pulling the blankets up over her legs. "We're all waiting for you to pull your head out of your ass and do something about Allison."

Tony let out a breath. "Pep, we've been through this."

Pepper finished adjusting the blanket. "I know." She crossed her legs under the sheet, slouching to rest her elbows on her knees. "And I wish I knew how to help."

Tony bounced one hand against his wrist. "Maybe I could email Allison on Monday," he finally said. "See how she's doing. Let her know how things are going with Extremis."

"I think she'd like that," Pepper said.

"Maybe you can do it instead," Tony said. "She might actually read an email from you."

"I can't be your go-between," Pepper said. "And neither can Rhodey. You two need to figure this out on your own."

"Because we're doing such a bang-up job," Tony said. With a sigh, he shuffled over to the bed. "All right. Budge over."

With a small smile on her lips, Pepper moved over. Tony got into bed, turned out the lights, and lay there, the arc reactor a faint and familiar glow on the edge of his f vision. "I love you," Pepper said into the dark.

"And I have no idea why."

Pepper rolled over to put her arm over Tony's chest. "Yes, you do."

"Maybe just a little." Tony blinked into the dark. "I—"

Whatever heartfelt and embarrassing declaration of love Tony had been about to make was interrupted by Jarvis's urgent, "Sir."

"What?" Tony demanded, sitting up. His heart raced. Was it Allison? It had to be Allison. Unless it was something gone wrong with Extremis. Or something had happened to Rhodey. Or—

"I have just deciphered encrypted communications from the Centre for Disease Control that indicate that Beacon Hills is under quarantine," Jarvis said. Tony felt the world spin under him. Allison, something was wrong with Allison. "It would appear that everyone within the city limits has suddenly and spontaneously developed amnesia."

Tony rolled over to slap at the bedside lamp. " _What?"_

"They have lost their memories," Jarvis said. Tony looked helplessly at Pepper, who stared back. "It appears to have affected the entire town. The local hospital and the sheriff's department are cooperating with the state patrol, who are preventing anyone from entering or leaving town. Vehicle traffic is being diverted."

"What about Allison?" Tony demanded. "Was she hit? Is she okay?"

"I do not know," Jarvis said apologetically. "She has not been replying to any texts or emails, and I did not want to telephone her without speaking to you first."

"You should call her," Pepper said, putting her hand on Tony's shoulder.

"Mass amnesia?" Tony said, running his hands through his hair in agitation. " _Amnesia?"_

"Jarvis, what all do you know?" Pepper asked, getting out of bed and going over to activate the bedroom's displays. "What caused it?"

"That is uncertain, hence the quarantine," Jarvis said. "In the time since I learned of this situation, I have tapped into police chatter, both from the state troopers quarantining the town and first responders inside the boundary. Things appear to be relatively quiet, with regards to fire and paramedics, but there has been a recent uptick of chatter on the police radios. Apparently no one thought to implement a curfew, and the bars are getting busy."

"I'd want a drink too," Tony said, giving his cheeks a slap before standing to join Pepper. "Okay. Holy shit. Do you know where Allison is??"

"Her cell phone has been on the move for a few hours," Jarvis said. He pulled up a map of Beacon Hills, then traced a dot moving over the map with a sped-up time-stamp. "She has made repeated trips to the Sheriff's station, so I am assuming that she is physically well and cognizant."

"Just missing her memories?" Tony opened up all the displays to cover the entire bedroom wall. "Jarvis, can you tell if she's unlocked her phone?"

"Her last active session on her phone was at approximately four-twenty-two this afternoon, at which time she was at the residence of Peter Hale."

"Of course she was," Tony muttered. "Far be it from common sense to get between a Stark and their sommelier."

"Tony," Pepper chided.

"Fine, we'll talk about the cradle-robbing asshole later." Tony skimmed the local chatter between the cops. State patrol was flummoxed, while the CDC was more alarmed, verging on panic. "Damn it." He took a deep breath. "Shit. I can't think until I know Allison is okay."

"Jarvis, call her," Pepper said. "Tony, do you want to be on the line?"

"If I may suggest," Jarvis broke in before Tony could say anything, "Allow me to start the conversation. I will be able to tell by Allison's vocal tenor if she is under any stress."

"Fine, fine," Tony said, pushing away from the display. "Do it."

Over the air came a ring-tone. Pepper took Tony's hands in hers, while he thought about all of the terrible things that had happened to Allison in the last month, things he hadn't been there to help her with – the attacks by the Hunters, the attack by Aldrich Killian, all the pain and suffering she'd gone through.

She'd never asked him for help.

And he never offered.

 _Let her be okay,_ Tony thought out into the universe. _Let her be okay. And remember who I am._

The phone was answered with a quick, professional, "Argent."

The name sliced through Tony like a knife. He'd known that Allison had likely lost her memory, had vaguely realized that she was probably operating with only sparse situational clues as to what was going on, but to hear her say _that_ name like it was hers, like she owned it, dug deep.

"Hello," Jarvis was saying smoothly. "Allison, my name is Jarvis. I only recently learned that there is a situation in Beacon Hills. I am calling to see how you are doing."

"Huh," Allison said. "So there are parts of the world not hit by this bullshit?"

"If you are referring to the town-wide amnesia epidemic, then yes," Jarvis said. "Are you well?"

"Well?" There was a brief pause. "That's a matter of opinion. I'd be a hell of a lot better if this town wasn't full of assholes determined to act like fucking children."

In the background came a muffled, "Hey, man, that's not fair."

"Hold on." The sound on the call changed. Jarvis flashed up a line of text indicating Allison had put the call on speakerphone. "Look, you made the choice to smoke a bunch of weed and tear down street signs, so you're going to jail until you sober up."

"What about them?" asked a second voice, slightly slurred. "And what about me?"

"Drunk and disorderly still counts when you have no memories, Fred," Allison snapped.

"My name ain't Fred."

"Everyone's name is Fred until you get booked." Another pause. "Hey, hey! You two, get out of each other's pants! Do not make me pull this squad car over!"

"We've got the same last name," came yet another voice. "Maybe we're married. She's fucking hot."

"No sex in the patrol car," Allison said. "And until you know that you're actually married and not, I don't know, brother and sister, no sex. No bad touch, no nothing. The Beacon Hills Sheriff Department is not paying for that level of therapy."

"Oh my god," Tony said, putting his hand over his mouth. "Why is she driving drunks around? Why is she in a patrol car? She's eighteen!"

"Allison," Jarvis said. "May I ask what is going on?"

"That depends," Allison said. "Just who the hell are you?"

"I am a friend of your father's."

"You know Chris?" Allison asked, her voice clear and curious, and it cut into Tony's heart. She didn't know him. She actually thought that Argent was her _father_ , not the murderous asshole who had stolen her away from her real family. From Tony. "Do you know my mother, too?"

"Your mother?" Jarvis repeated.

"Yeah, Melissa." The sound of the turn signal came over the line. "They seem nice. Not sure why I live with the sheriff instead of one of them, but it'll all shake out."

"Hey, lady, how about you drive us home instead of to the sheriff's department?" someone asked. "We don't want to be any trouble, right?"

"Right," someone else said.

"I don't know, I wouldn't mind a free breakfast," came another voice.

"Quiet down," Allison said. "And it's not lady, it's Deputy Argent. I've got a badge and everything."

"Deputy?" Tony repeated. " _Deputy?"_

"Tony…" Pepper said.

"She's eighteen!" Tony protested. "She is a _child_."

"A child with a badge and a patrol car," Jarvis said for Tony and Pepper's ears only. Then, to Allison, he said, "May I ask why you are on patrol?"

"We're in a pinch," Allison said. "I'm just trying to do my part."

"That's very noble."

"No, just practical."

"Hey," came one of the other voices. "Jarvis dude. How many people lost their memories, do you know that?"

"It appears that the phenomenon is localized to the general town limits of Beacon Hills," Jarvis said. "The state patrol is canvassing the area, but so far have not reported any other large centres affected."

"Sucks to be us."

"It sure does," Allison said. "All right, Jarvis, unless you've got anything useful for me, I have to go back to work."

Tony yelped. "Ask her if she needs anything."

"Is there anything I can do to assist you?" Jarvis asked Allison.

"I doubt it," Allison said. "The only thing that I could use right now besides the world's biggest cup of coffee is the world's biggest burrito."

"Ooh, burritos," someone said. "Can we stop for—"

The air was suddenly filled with the squeal of brakes, then came a heart-stopping moment of silence.

Tony nearly fell over when he heard Allison said, voice hard, "Everyone stay here." A car door opened, then closed.

"Holy shit holy shit," said one of Allison's passengers. "Who the fuck is that?"

"Eyes, we need eyes," Tony snapped, his heart pounding. What was going on?

"If you please," Jarvis said to the car, "If you could hold up the phone so I can transmit the scene by camera to Allison's colleagues."

"Yeah." The screen lit up with video, tossing and turning as the phone was lifted, the camera pointed out the patrol car's front window. It was dark outside the car, with the vehicle's headlights illuminating the road. On the road stood five figures in black, just far enough away that Tony couldn't see their faces. As he watched, Allison slowly walked in front of the vehicle, facing the figures.

"Jarvis, can you hear her?" Pepper asked.

"One moment." The sound recalibrated, the scared breathing inside the car fading, to be replaced with Allison's voice.

"—Don't know who you are, or why you don't have heartbeats, but you need to get out of the road," Allison said. "What are you? Robots? Life model decoys? Aliens?"

"Can Allison hear heartbeats?" Pepper asked in a whisper.

"Clara could," Tony responded. His stomach ached with dread. Something was wrong with those figures, something not _right._ And even if he left now, flew as fast as he could to Beacon Hills, he'd never be there in time to help Allison.

Allison reached under her jacket and pulled out a very large, very shiny knife. Someone in the car whimpered. "I'm not going to ask you again."

One of the figures moved towards Allison. When it finally turned its face into the light, Pepper let out a gasp. The figure was wearing a black mask, almost invisible in the dim light.

"Get out of the road," Allison said. "Do you understand me?"

The figure was motionless.

Then Allison asked the same question in French, then in Spanish, then Japanese. At the last, the figure turned its head to the side, considering her.

"You need to go back home," Allison said in Japanese. "Stay inside. We don't have our memories and I will not tolerate anyone causing trouble in my city."

The figure turned its head again, was motionless for a long moment, then it backed away into the darkness. In another moment, they were all gone.

Allison quickly returned to the car. She climbed into the driver's seat as the person holding her phone turned the camera on her. She looked okay; pale as usual, but alert and not banged up. "What are you doing?" she asked, throwing the car into gear and peeling off.

"The Jarvis dude, he wanted to send footage back to the cops."

Something on Allison's face turned hard. "You can tap into my phone camera?" she demanded.

"I can explain—" Jarvis started, but Allison cut him off.

"You know what, I don't have my memories, but I'm pretty sure I'm not in favour of this fascist surveillance crap."

"Allison—"

"Bye," Allison said, grabbing the phone. The screen and audio went dead.

"Oh my god," Tony said. "I have to go to Beacon Hills. Now. Right now."

"Tony—" Pepper began.

"You saw her! She's running around with only a knife? A very large, very scary knife?"

"Okay, I get that," Pepper said, turning her hands in his. "Tony. I very much get that. But what if you lose your memory, too?"

"I won't." Tony pulled away from Pepper. He had to change. He had to get into his undersuit, he had to get ready.

"But what if you do?"

"Then Jarvis can tell me what to do!"

"What if you don't listen to him? How are you going to help anyone?"

"I have to try!" Tony exclaimed. "I can't let Allison get hurt, Pepper!" He turned in a circle. "I can't let her down, not again. She doesn't have anyone to protect her."

"She…" Pepper started, then stopped. "Natasha," she said in slow horror. "Natasha's in Beacon Hills."

"Oh, _fuck._ " Allison was one thing, but Natasha Romanoff? The Black Widow, the world's best assassin, without her memories? "Does SHIELD know? Does Fury?"

"Dialing Director Fury now," Jarvis said smoothly.

Nick Fury picked up on the second ring. "This had better not be about Beacon Hills," the man said without any preamble.

"Do you know what's going on?" Tony demanded. "With Allison? With my daughter?"

"I don't know anything about your daughter," Fury said. "You know what I do know? I know that the best SHIELD agent I ever worked with has no clue who I am. The woman who knows more secrets than god doesn't know who she is. Forgive me if I'm focused on that right now, Stark."

"How do you know?" Tony asked. "Did you call Romanoff?"

"Of course I called her," Fury said. "She didn't respond to any of our code words, and those are last-ditch efforts. Natasha Romanoff doesn't have her memories."

"Neither does Allison," Tony said. He looked at Pepper. "What are we going to do?"

"Me?" Fury said. "I'm going to move heaven and earth to figure out what the hell is going on in Beacon Hills, and I'm going to do it from outside city limits. Why, Tony, what are you going to do?"

"I have to go help Allison," Tony said.

"You? Go to Beacon Hill? And if you lose your memory?" Fury asked. "What about if this is just a test run before whoever did this hits a larger centre? What if next time, it's worse?"

Tony balled his hand up against his stomach. His guts ached. "What do you want me to do?"

"You want to help Allison?" Fury asked. "Help her by helping us stop this thing."

"How?" Tony demanded. "How can Iron Man do anything to fight mystery amnesia?"

"Maybe this time we don't need Iron Man," Fury said. "Maybe we need Tony Stark."

Tony sat on the edge of the bed. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"This isn't something you can punch in the face, Tony," Fury said. "If it was, I'd be the first person in line to do it. Get in touch with the CDC, use all that computing power, try to figure it out."

"And we just leave Allison and Natasha helpless without their memories?"

"Did you talk to Allison?"

"Yes."

"Did she seem at all helpless to you?"

It took Tony a moment to say, reluctantly, "No."

"They're smart, these girls of ours. They'll be okay. The best we can do to help them, is to solve this and get them back."

"This is the stupidest plan I have ever heard," Tony said.

"No, the stupidest plan you've ever heard is the one where I called Steve Rogers an hour ago to tell him what was going on, and now he and his new best friend Wilson are on their way to Beacon Hills."

"Wait, what happened to ‘we don't want you to lose your memory'?"

"You. I don't want you to lose your memory."

"But you're okay with Captain America possibly losing his?"

"I need your resources, Stark. Rogers, he's better at punching his way through situations."

"I'm going to tell him you said that," Tony said. "Fine. _Fine._ I'll stay here." The admission tasted like motor oil in his mouth.

"We're going to get them back," Fury said. "Just don't do anything stupid." The call disconnected.

Tony put his face into his hands. After a moment, the bed dipped, as Pepper sat beside him. "This is the smart decision," she said.

"I'm a terrible person," Tony said, sitting back. "My daughter might be in danger and I let the most manipulative bastard in Washington convince me to not do anything."

"Not nothing," Pepper said. She put her hand on his back. "You're going to do all you can. And you can do a lot."

"She's going to hate me," Tony said. "When she remembers. Allison is going to hate me even more than she does now."

"Why?" Pepper asked.

"I should be there. I should be helping her."

"Tony."

"I know." Tony took a deep breath. "I can help her from here."

"And so can I," Pepper said. "Stark Industries has partnerships with the CDC. I'll see who I can find to help."

Tony looked at Pepper. "How are you so calm about this?"

Pepper gave him a little tentative smile. "I'm not calm, I am worried beyond belief." She touched his wrist. "I should have realized that Allison would be just like you."

Tony frowned. "What does that mean?"

"Find herself in the world's most outrageous situations and just handle it."

"When did I do that?"

"Oh, I don't know." Pepper stood up. "Afghanistan. Or New York, in May?"

"Hey, neither of those things were my fault," Tony called as Pepper walked to the closet.

"And unless something has gone very wrong indeed, this isn't Allison's fault either." Pepper reached for clothes. "Come along, Mr. Stark. Time to get to work."

Tony scrubbed at his face. "How the hell does Allison keep getting into stuff like this?" he asked the air as he went to change his clothes. "It's been a literal _month."_

"She's a Stark," Pepper said. "All right. Where are we going to start?"

"With the CDC," Tony said. "Jarvis, do you have a plan of attack?"

"Of course," Jarvis said grimly. "Anything I can do to aid Allison in regaining her memories."

Tony took a deep breath. He had Pepper, and he had Jarvis, and they were the best chance he had in helping his daughter. "All right," he declared. "Let's do this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything is going so delightfully _wrong_.
> 
> Me, starting this chapter. Finally, no more grief about dead mothers.  
> Me, writing this chapter. Oh look, it’s the ghost of Claudia Stilinski. 
> 
> So to sum up: No one has their memories, Melissa and Chris are making some truly terrible decisions (but then, a lot of people in town are acting weirdly horny) and Allison is Allison. And the Oni are on their own, with no direction... Very interesting indeed. See you next week!


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ken Yukimura gets home from his business trip to find that Noshiko’s worst fears have come true... not that she remembers them. Or him. Or anything. And the fallout of what happens when everyone gets their memories back is going to get a whole lot worse than anyone could have foreseen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content note: past reference to child abuse. Brief off- and on-screen self-harm.

### Ken Yukimura

Ken had a hangover.

He also had another hour to drive before he got to Beacon Hills, and a gnawing ache in his stomach that he couldn't explain away due to the previous night's alcohol indulgence.

Noshiko wasn't answering the phone.

Ken knew that he was probably making too much of things. Noshiko was over nine hundred years old. To her, telephones had been invented fifteen minutes ago. She wasn't at all bothered by the fact that the telephone company had been delayed in coming to install the house phone line, and had probably forgotten to turn on the mobile phone's ringer.

Which hadn't been a problem in New York. Ken just knew that he couldn't call Noshiko from the grocery store to ask if they had any milk in the fridge. But in Beacon Hills, a new town, with all the associated supernatural trouble…

Ken knew his wife could handle herself, against anybody and anything. She'd been through so much in her life, seen so much. She could protect herself, and, more importantly, protect Kira. After what had happened to Kira earlier that week, Noshiko was taking no chances with Kira's safety.

Ken had thought Kira would chafe at her mother's looming presence, but she had been so distracted by those new friends of hers, Lydia and Stiles, that she'd hardly noticed.

Maybe that was why Kira hadn't returned his good-night text the evening before.

Ken rubbed his forehead, wishing he had taken some advil before he left. It had been good to catch up with Juhwan, a childhood friend of his and the son of the man who had taught Ken to forge. Juhwan had moved to California after university, while Ken headed for Japan, and they had only seen each other a few times in the intervening years.

So, of course, when business took Ken to Sacramento, he had been sure to catch up with Juhwan over a beer. Over several beers.

Not for the first time, Ken wondered when he had gotten too old for this shit.

He passed a sign on the road indicating he was entering Red Bluff, population 14,010. He should probably get some gas and see if he could find a pharmacy that would sell him some painkillers.

Stopping at the first gas station he saw, Ken filled the tank before going into the store to look for a snack to calm his stomach. As he looked over the selection of limp sandwiches in the cooler, he heard a conversation happening out of sight behind the Doritos.

"Jarvis said that the state patrol have the interstate diverting at Redding in the south and Yreka up north. No one's getting into Beacon Hills."

Ken's hand froze around a ham sandwich. What? What was happening in Beacon Hills?

"So what are we going to do?" came another voice. "Come on, Steve, unless we parachute our way in, I'm not sure how we're getting into town. It's pretty mountainous terrain around here."

"Afraid of a little hike, Sam?"

"Dude, I'm from Harlem. You're from Brooklyn. Country boys, we are not."

"So we're going to stand around and do nothing? Really?"

"Of course not. I'm just a little worried about walking in blind to a town that's under quarantine because of some mystery epidemic."

Oh, hell. Ken had heard more than enough. He grabbed the sandwich and practically bolted for the register. Something _was_ wrong in Beacon Hills, and even if it wasn't related to the Nogitsune, Ken had to get home. He had to make sure Noshiko and Kira were okay.

He had to know why they weren't answering his calls.

Back in the car, Ken dug out the map Noshiko gave him the previous day. She had been exploring the area while he and Kira were at school, and she'd made several notes about access points and had drawn in a few places where gravel roads had been left off the map.

Giving Ken the map was part of a running joke between them, of how the only thing that made Ken crazy was having to wait in traffic. Years ago, Noshiko had said that watching Ken in a traffic jam was more entertaining than a movie.

Now, the map might be the only way Ken could get home.

Praying that Noshiko and Kira were okay, that everything was going to be okay, Ken headed back out onto the road.

The drive was the longest two hours of his life. He started off east, then north through one of the many forest parks in this part of the state. After an eternity of driving through the monotonous pine forest, he turned north a quarter mile past an abandoned gas station, close enough to the highway to see the police blockade on the roads east of Beacon Hills. Then it was more bumping over back roads, some paved, some gravel.

Ken deeply, deeply hoped that he didn't run across some suspicious and armed back-woods rancher who took offense to someone using his driveway.

Every ten minutes, Ken checked his phone. When he had cell reception, he tried calling Noshiko, then Kira, but there was never any answerer.

Ken kept driving. He should never have left Beacon Hills when things were so unsettled.

Finally, Ken reached the forest access road he had been looking for. Noshiko's note on the map read, _gate but not locked_ and Ken finally got there, getting out of his car to open the gate and then tearing on through. This spat him out onto a series of gravel roads marked in Noshiko's hand on the map, well-maintained but empty.

Eventually, Ken's car radio crackled to life on the Beacon Hills news station. Through the static, the radio announcer was repeating several odd requests.

"… and the health authority is asking that everyone goes through their cupboards to look for any prescription medication for yourself or others in your household. If you aren't sure which medications belong to whom, call your doctor or call the pharmacy before taking them." The woman cleared her throat. "Also, if you find an epi-pen in your belongings, call the prescribing doctor to find out what you're allergic to. The hospital has enough to worry about, folks."

Ken frowned. What did _that_ mean? The announcer didn't sound overly worried or frantic. But why would she need to tell people to take their medication?

"In other news, the sheriff's department is looking for able-bodied people who might be able to help in an area canvas in the forest preserve west of town. There have been several cars in the parking lot overnight and while hopefully most people found their way off the mountain last night, we can't know. If you can help out, meet at city hall downtown. That's the big white building with the circular drive and that really big flagpole."

The road turned from gravel to asphalt, and Ken could see the town down the hill. He floored it.

"And now, as I am informed by station management, I am contractually obliged to play these ads, not that anything is going to make sense to anyone. Stay tuned for more of the same." The voice cut off, and a radio jingle came on.

Speeding down the road, Ken was starting to see signs of life. A coffee shop was open here, a gas station there. A few people were walking their dogs, a few cars were driving around. This was even more confusing. Why was everyone acting so normal if the state troopers had quarantined the town? And what the hell was the radio announcer talking about?

Ken had to get home.

He only ran one red light on his way across town, which he thought was pretty restrained. The neighbourhood was quiet as Ken navigated the streets to the new house, nothing out of the ordinary other than a lack of traffic.

Noshiko's car was outside the house when he pulled up. Everything looked normal.

Ken took a deep breath as he got out of the car. First things first – he had to find Noshiko and Kira. If they weren't inside… or if they were, but they…

Another deep breath. He had to keep going. He had to find his family.

Not bothering with anything in the car, Ken ran up the walk to the front door. He unlocked it and pushed it open. "Kira? Noshiko?" he called, heading into the house. "Are you here? Noshiko—"

Rounding the wall into the living room, Ken nearly ran point-first onto Noshiko's katana. He jumped back to avoid immediate disembowelment, almost weak at seeing Noshiko alive and apparently uninjured, with Kira looking much the same, a few feet behind her mother.

Then that was all knocked away when Noshiko said, "Who are you?"

"I—what?" Ken looked from Noshiko to Kira, and there was no recognition in their eyes. "Is this a joke?"

"How did you get in here?" Noshiko demanded. The sword in her hands did not waver.

"I live here," Ken said. "Noshiko, it's me, it's Ken."

"How do you know my name?"

What was going on? "I know your name because I'm your husband," Ken said, ice trickling in his stomach. "I'm Kira's father."

"How do you know that?" Noshiko asked. The air around her snapped, like the dry zing before a thunder clap.

"How could I not know that?" Ken put out his hands. "Are you okay? What's going on? Why don't you remember me?"

"No one remembers anything," Kira said in a quiet, scared voice. Noshiko kept an eye on Ken as she backed up to put an arm around Kira's shoulders. "We all woke up yesterday afternoon and no one knew who they were."

"What?" Ken asked, horrified. "You two? Or everyone?"

Now everything made sense; a terrible, terrible sense. The quarantine of the town, the strange words of the radio announcer.

Everyone just _forgot?_

"Everyone, I think," Kira said. "Are you really my dad?"

"I am," Ken said.

"How do you know that?" Kira asked. Noshiko was watching him with a fox's stillness.

"I was in Sacramento, I left last night after school. I was on my way home when I heard about the quarantine and I got back as soon as I could."

"So you still remember everything?"

"I do." Ken glanced around the living room. "Look, I can prove all this."

"How?" Noshiko asked.

Ken went over to the boxes still unpacked by the wall. "We just moved here from New York," he said, moving the boxes around until he could get to the bottom ones. "Last week. Kira started school on Monday. So did I, I'm a history teacher."

Ken practically ripped open the box and pulled out the photo albums.

"What does Mom do?" Kira asked. "She's my mom, right?"

Ken stopped what he was doing to look at Kira and Noshiko. Kira, hopeful, while Noshiko looked ready for a blow. "Of course she's your mother," Ken said, and the tension eased from Noshiko's shoulders. "You look just like her."

Ken opened the first photo album and put it on the coffee table between them. Kira came over and knelt on the table's other side. "What's this?"

"This is the first photo we have of you," Ken said, tracing the edge of the page. "That's you and your mom, in the hospital."

Kira's face split into a sunny smile. "I'm so tiny."

"That's not what your mom said." Ken turned the page. "And that's the first picture of you and me."

Kira looked between the photo and Ken. "You have much better hair now," she said with her customary lack of tact. Still, Ken had to smile. "Why are all the posters in the background not in English?"

"You were born in Japan," Ken said. Noshiko was edging closer now, the katana held safely away and down. "That's where I met your mother. We got married there. We only moved to New York when you were a few months old."

"What does Mom do?" Kira asked, turning the pages in the photo album. "Is she a teacher too?"

"No, more like a historian," Ken said. It was as close to the truth as anything else. "Noshiko?"

Noshiko set her katana on the ground, out of Ken's reach, and joined Kira by the coffee table. "Where did we meet?" she asked in a challenge.

"In Osaka," Ken replied. "I was working on my master's degree at Osaka University and I put out a call wanting to talk to people about the Japanese-American experience during the second world war. You answered my ad."

Ken could remember that first meeting with Noshiko like it was yesterday; he'd been expecting a wizened old grandmother at the café, and had been terrified that his Korean-accented Japanese would not be adequate. Then in walked Noshiko, looking hardly older than Kira did now, in an actual swirl of cherry blossoms and sunlight.

Ken had fallen in love on the spot.

"What did I have to say?" Noshiko asked.

At first, it had been stories told about what her 'mother' had been through in the camps. Then, slowly, as they'd connected more, Noshiko had slipped in more and more details. In the end, when she finally told him that it had been her in the camp in Beacon Hills, California, and that she was a long-lived kitsune, he hadn't really been all that shocked. Surprised, yes. But not shocked.

Noshiko had survived so much.

"A lot of things," was all Ken said. "We talked a lot."

"Is that why…" Noshiko looked at the photo album, open now to a snapshot of the three of them at Niagara Falls when Kira was five. "It feels different in my head, than the words coming out of my mouth."

"Do you mean that you think in Japanese?" Ken said, switching to that language. The sheer relief on Noshiko's face gave him an answer.

"That is what it feels like, more, yes," she said, and smiled at him with an expression he hadn't seen in months, since before her worries about the nogitsune came into their lives.

"Sometimes I still think in Korean," Ken said. "Even though it's been so long since I left."

"Why did you leave?" Noshiko asked, the question open and innocent, and still it felt like a baseball bat to the side of Ken's ribs.

 _She doesn't know_ , Ken told himself. _She doesn't remember what I told her. That's all._ "I didn't have any reason to stay."

Kira, who had been looking between Ken and Noshiko while they spoke in Japanese, put her hand on his arm. "Why do you look sad?" she asked. "What are you talking about?"

Ken shoved all those old terrible memories down. "Things that happened long before you were born," he said in English, and patted her hand. "What matters is figuring out what's happening now, and how we can get your memories back."

"How?" Noshiko asked, also returning to English. "No one in town knows what is happening."

"I have an idea," Ken said. "It was your idea, really, but it can't hurt."

Ken got up and went over to the bookcase. Taking down an old history textbook, he opened it to reveal the hollowed-out insides.

"A secret hiding place," Kira said with a gasp. Noshiko raised her eyebrows.

"You said that the last place anyone would look for anything interesting was inside yet another book about World War II," Ken said. Which had stung a little bit, but was a valid point. "And you put this in it."

He handed Noshiko the folded packet. She touched the small wax seal. "Why is this addressed to you?"

Ken cleared his throat. "Because you originally wrote it out for me in case something happened to you," he said quietly. Kira went still. "If you couldn't finish what we came to Beacon Hills to do."

Noshiko stared at him for a long moment. "Why are we here?"

"To protect people."

"Oh." Slowly, Noshiko broke the seal, opening unfolding the packet to show the tiny writing on the large sheet, in her own quick and somewhat messy script.

"What does it say?" Kira asked.

Noshiko was silent, reading. Ken, who hadn't been privy to the contents of the letter, held back his impatience. Finally, Noshiko lifted her eyes. "What is this nogitsune?" she asked in Japanese.

"It's a type of kitsune that feeds off fear and terror," Ken replied. "We came to Beacon Hills to stop it."

Noshiko touched the paper. "What is a kitsune?" she asked. "That is familiar. I should know this, yes?"

Here it was, the impossible question. "It's a person who is part fox." What a weak answer, but it was all that words could explain. "Sometimes they have special gifts. Like a thunder kitsune."

Noshiko put the paper down. "Is Kira one?" she asked, surprising Ken. "The air around her, it glows."

Ken was even more surprised. He hadn't realized that Noshiko was able to see Kira's aura. He had thought that only showed up on film. "She is," he said slowly. "But she doesn't know it yet."

Noshiko looked at her hands. "Am I?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

Kira pulled at the paper, giving it a quick glance. "How come you two can speak another language and I can't?" she asked, with just a hint of frustration. "Why didn't you teach me?"

Noshiko shook her head, then put her arm around Kira's shoulders. "We will teach you now," she promised. "Come with me. I need to put away my sword, and then we are going out."

"Where?" Kira asked, letting Noshiko help her to her feet.

"We have to find someone named Allison," Noshiko said, picking up her sword.

"Is Allison a friend of yours?" Kira asked.

"She's a friend of yours," Ken said. "Why don't you go and put on some shoes?"

Kira frowned. "Why are you going to find one of my friends?" she asked, but did leave the room.

Ken and Noshiko looked at each other, then Noshiko picked up the katana sheath abandoned on the couch. "This may be a meaningless chase that ends in danger," Noshiko said.

"Then we should make sure Kira is somewhere safe," Ken replied. He picked up the paper. It began with a note from Noshiko to say that she loved him and the last twenty years of her life had been some of the happiest she had ever lived.

Then Ken had to put the paper down and breathe because this… Noshiko had written this to be opened after her death. She'd meant it for Ken as the last thing she ever said to him.

But Noshiko wasn't dead. Kira wasn't dead. They were both fine, just missing their memories. There was still hope.

He began to read again.

After a few lines about keeping Kira safe and helping her to understand her kitsune powers, Noshiko had laid out detailed instructions on where to seek help with the nogitsune. She had tasked Ken with handing control of the Oni to Allison Argent, the human alpha Kira had befriended, and in doing everything he could to help Allison stop the nogitsune, to help undo the damage that Noshiko herself had brought into the world.

Should Allison fail, Ken was to go west, find Noshiko's old friend Satomi Ito, and try anything.

Then was a set of instructions to find the remains of the large magical tree that had protected Beacon Hills before it was cut down, if they needed a place to put the captured nogitsune, as the place where it had been hidden for so many years, and still had much influence over the town of Beacon Hills.

Lastly, at the very edge of the page, was a final note from Noshiko. _I do not fear death, I have not for a very long time. The only thing I fear is leaving you and Kira in this life. You gave me everything I ever wanted, and I find that I am growing selfish in my old age. But I know what must be done, and that everything we do in life has consequences. Take care of Kira. I love you._

Ken put the paper down. His hands were shaking. Years ago, after he'd married Noshiko but before Kira was born, he had made peace with the realization that Noshiko was going to outlive him. Kira was, too, but that was as it should be with fathers and daughters. And Ken was okay with that. And he had thought that Noshiko was, too.

But reading this letter, almost a confession, _hurt_.

He couldn't let Noshiko get hurt.

And he also knew he couldn't get in the way of her mission to stop the nogitsune.

What could he do?

A hand on his shoulder, and he looked up into Noshiko's warm brown eyes. "What troubles you?" she asked.

Ken ran his hand over his face. "What troubles me is that you spent enough time thinking about what happened if you were going to die, you wrote this." He folded up the paper. "And you didn't talk to me about any of it."

Noshiko took the paper from him and tucked it into her pocket. "What would you have said if I told you the things that are in this letter?"

Ken had to be honest with himself, and with Noshiko, because right now, honesty was all they had. "I probably would have tried to talk you into leaving town."

"And would I?" Noshiko was watching him with a spark in her eyes, the spark that Ken had fallen in love with all those years before.

"Absolutely not." Ken looked over as Kira came back into the room, wearing her school backpack and holding her runners. "You probably would have gotten angry at me and gone out and saved the world all on your own."

Noshiko turned her head, just like a fox. "I must be a lucky woman, to have a husband who knows me so very well."

"Guys," Kira said, edging closer. "Can we use English? I feel left out."

"Of course," Noshiko said, switching back to English. "I was telling your father that he appears to know me very well."

"Why?"

"Because." Noshiko went over to the wall and pulled down her short sword and her dagger. As always, Ken got a little thrill at seeing her handle the weapons with such graceful ease. "He knows better than to try to stop me."

"My mom is so cool," Kira whispered.

"Where are we going?" Noshiko asked. "To find this Allison?"

"The sheriff's station," Ken said immediately. "Allison lives with Sheriff Stilinski and his son, Kira's friend Stiles."

"The sheriff's station," Noshiko said. "Do you know where it is?"

"No, but I have a map in the car," Ken said. "Is everyone ready?"

"Sure," Kira said with a shrug. "It's been getting boring here. Mom wouldn't let me go outside."

Noshiko shook her head.

Ken headed out to the door, stopping by the closet to get something for Noshiko to put her weaponry in. "Hey, Dad, where did we live before?" Kira asked.

"New York." They headed outside.

"Where's that?"

Ken nearly tripped. Imagine, a girl raised in New York City not having any knowledge of it. "It's on the east coast."

"Where are we now?"

"On the west coast of the United States."

"How do you know all this stuff?"

They got into the car. "I'm forty-four, I've picked up a few things."

"Am I ever going to remember any of this?" Kira asked, buckling herself into the back seat.

"I hope so," Ken said. He started the car. What he was about to say was chucking out all of their carefully made plans about telling Kira of her true nature, but he no longer had many options. "I'm hoping whatever caused you to lose your memory is magical or supernatural. That can usually be reversed."

Kira gasped. "Wait, magic?" she exclaimed. Noshiko looked at Ken, a smile dancing on her lips. "Is magic real?"

With a glimpse in the rear-view mirror at Kira's excited expression, Ken said, "Yes."

"The supernatural is _real?"_

"Yes."

"Like what?" Kira demanded. "Like vampires?"

"How do you forget everything and still remember vampires?" Ken asked in turn.

"There are books in my room," Kira said dismissively. Ken groaned. It must have been those godawful Twilight books Kira had been obsessed with in middle school. "But are they?"

"I'm not sure, I've never met one," Ken said.

"Have I?" Noshiko asked, smile still playing on her lips.

"I'm not sure," Ken said again. "You never told me if you did."

"Have I known many yōkai in my time?" Noshiko asked.

Ken focused on the road. "Some," he said tightly.

A moment of silence. "That bothers you."

"No," Ken said. "That you know some supernatural creatures? No."

"Is it the yōkai themselves?" Noshiko asked, her voice softening.

"Not all of them," Ken said. He turned left at the corner, heading out onto the main road.

"Which of them?" Noshiko's questions were gentle, but relentless.

The question took Ken back, farther than he had ever wanted to go again. He swallowed and said, "Ghosts. I don't like ghosts."

Noshiko put her hand on his arm. "Then we will not speak of them."

"Ghosts are real?" Kira whispered from the back seat.

"A lot of things are real," Ken said.

"And we will talk about them at a later time," Noshiko said, turning to give Kira a look. "Now. Where are we going?"

With the help of the map and the cursory knowledge of the town, Ken managed to find the sheriff's station without much delay. Patrol cars were parked there, as well as the distinctive blue jeep that had been popping up with alarming regularity outside his house. Stiles was here too.

Ken parked and climbed out of the car. He'd been driving for hours, and his back was starting to ache. The indignities of old age, he supposed.

Noshiko was moving with caution, but Kira bounced up and out of the car like a kit. "Have I ever been inside a police station before?" she asked.

"No," Ken said.

"So this is an actual new experience," Kira said with relish.

"Yes." Ken looked at Noshiko. "Shall we?"

She held out her hand to him, and in spite of everything, all Ken could feel was an overwhelming relief. They would figure this out.

Inside the sheriff's station was chaos. Ken couldn't immediately see Allison or Stiles, so he figured that the best route would be to find the sheriff. Noah Stilinski had been to the house the day after Kira was almost poisoned, so Ken would probably be able to find him.

"It's loud," Kira said, flinching in towards Noshiko. Noshiko let go of Ken's hand to take Kira's.

"Concentrate on one sound," Noshiko said. "Focus. You'll be okay."

"Thanks, Mom."

Spotting the sheriff, Ken headed towards the office. Inside, Noah Stilinski was on the phone, arguing with someone. To Ken's relief, Allison Argent was in the office too, draped over the arm of the couch, looking more exhausted than Ken had ever seen her.

"I don't care if you have to air-drop this shit in from twenty-thousand feet, I need to be able to tell the people in my town that they'll have enough supplies if this goes on for more than a couple of days," Noah was saying. Allison turned her head at Ken's entrance to the office, arching one eyebrow absently. "No, I don't have to figure this out. You do, or I'm breaking the quarantine to drive to Redding myself. You've got an hour." He slammed down the phone. "Who are you?"

"Ken Yukimura," Ken said. "I teach your son history at the high school. Hi, Allison."

Allison snapped to attention, and Noah straightened up. "Do you remember something?" Noah asked.

"Frankly, all of it," Ken said, as Noshiko and Kira came up to stand beside him. "I wasn't in town when this happened. I got back about an hour ago."

Noah put his hands on his hips. "How did you get past the road blocks?"

Ken shrugged. "I heard there was a quarantine in place so I took the back roads around the mountains."

"You snuck into town?" Noah demanded.

"My family was here and I couldn't reach them," Ken said, getting a little angry. "You've got Stiles, what would you do if you couldn't get in touch with him and didn't know if he was okay?"

"Stiles?" Noah said, confused. "What's Stiles?"

"We thought that might be Mieczysław's nickname," Allison said. She unfolded herself from the couch. "Allison Argent, but you knew that." She held out her hand.

Ken took it, even though he felt a little weird, shaking the hand of one of his students. "You're also in my history class. You're friends with my daughter, Kira."

Allison turned her attention on Kira, smiling a wide smile that showed off her dimples. "Hi. I think that makes you my first friend."

Kira blushed. "Same," she said, and blushed harder.

"This is Noshiko Yukimura," Ken said, mostly to complete the introductions before Kira could melt. Her crush on Allison had been the source of much conversation between himself and Noshiko that week. "Noshiko, this is Noah Stilinski."

"Sheriff," Noshiko said with a fraction of a bow. Most of her attention was on Allison. Ken wondered what she saw with her kitsune senses.

"That does explain one thing," Allison said over her shoulder to Noah. "That someone coming in from out of town won't lose their memories."

"Yes," Noah said. "It could be due to long-term exposure to something."

"Except that all those people on the interstate just passing through got hit, too." Allison went over to lean against Noah's desk. "So, Ken, did you come in just to tell us that you broke the law in getting home?"

There was an edge of playfulness in Allison's voice that was so unlike her normal way of speaking… although, most of the times Ken had heard Allison's voice over the last week was after someone had tried to kill Kira. "Not exactly," Ken said. "I was thinking that I might have some idea as to what's going on."

Now Allison's smile was directed at him, just a little sharp. "How interesting."

"What—" Noah started to say, when there was a clatter and Stiles Stilinski burst into the room.

"Dad, I looked through all those files and I can't find…" Stiles trailed off when he saw the Yukimuras. "I can come back."

"No, Mieczysław, this is one of our teachers," Allison said. "Mieczysław Stilinski, meet Ken and Noshiko Yukimura." She paused for a beat. "And Kira."

"Hi," Kira said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Of everyone in the room, Stiles only had eyes for Kira. "Wow," he said. "Maybe it was worth everyone losing their memories, if I get to meet you again for the first time."

Allison rolled her eyes, but Kira just beamed. "Thanks! You too! I mean, nice to meet you. Hi."

"Apparently everyone calls you Stiles," Allison put in from the desk.

Stiles shrugged it off. "You can call me whatever you like," he said to Kira. "Mieczysław. Stiles."

"Stiles is nice," Kira said.

The two teenagers were grinning at each other like idiots, and Ken didn't really know a polite way of getting them to leave so he and Noshiko could talk to Allison alone. Luckily, the girl herself saved the moment. "Mieczysław, why don't you show Kira the break room and buy her a candy bar."

"Sure," Stiles said. "It's back this way. It's grimy and a little pokey, but it has a not-completely raided vending machine."

"I've never been in a police station before," Kira said, blushing a little. "Are there jail cells?"

"Yep."

"No taking Kira to holding," Noah said. "Now, scram."

The teenagers skedaddled. Once they were gone, Ken shook his head. "All week," he muttered. "I have been seeing those two make heart eyes at each other all week."

He thought about mentioning Lydia Martin and her involvement in the mix, which had been another interesting topic of conversation between him and Noshiko, but left it alone for now. If the kids got their memories back, they'd deal with it then. If not… well, they would have to build new memories. This at least got Kira and Stiles off to a good start.

"Interesting," Allison said. "I'd have thought Mieczysław had his affections in another direction. Anyway." She clapped her hands together. "Sheriff Stilinski deputized me yesterday," and she pulled her jacket back to show a deputy's star pinned to a faded _Scooby Doo_ t-shirt. "So you can say anything you need to say to him, to me."

"Actually," Ken said as Noshiko took the letter out of her pocket. "We came here looking for you."

Allison and Noah both frowned. "Why?" Noah asked.

"Because this letter was hidden away in my house," Noshiko said. She held the page out to Allison. "Do you know Japanese?"

"I don't know?" Allison took the letter and opened it. "Is this Japanese?"

"Yes."

"Then we're in luck." Her frown grew as she skimmed the page. "Wait, what is this?"

Ken took a deep breath. "How much do you know about the supernatural?"

"The what?" Noah asked.

"Some stuff," Allison said. Her gaze went to Noshiko for a long, considering moment. "Kira. Is this about Kira?"

"No," Ken said. "It's not about Kira. There is…" He took a deep breath. "There's a possibility that this whole mess might be connected to the reason that Noshiko and I came to Beacon Hills. Are you familiar with a kitsune?"

"Kitsune," Allison repeated. "That's a fox, right?"

"Yes."

Allison turned to Noah. "I think I should probably have mentioned that the supernatural is real and there are werewolves in town, but they're all very nice."

"Werewolves," Noah repeated. "Now I've got fucking werewolves to deal with?"

"Werewolves, not swearwolves," Allison said. "They are all nice. I assume that any kitsune in town are, too?" Her brown eyes flashed a little red as she looked at Noshiko.

"Some, yes."

"But there's a problem," Ken said. "There is a void kitsune running around town and we don't know who it is."

"Is that a bad thing?" Allison asked.

"Yes."

The office was quiet for a moment, the clatter out in the lobby oddly distant. "And you think that I can help you stop it," Allison said, holding up the letter. "If it killed you. Then I could help."

"You two have talked about this," Ken said. "You offered to help Noshiko find who the nogitsune was possessing, and in after she made sure that you weren't the one possessed, she agreed to join forces."

"Possessed," Allison said. "So the bad guy could be anyone."

"Not anyone," Ken said. "It's most likely someone touched by the supernatural."

"How do we know who it's not?"

Ken thought about bringing up the Oni, then decided to deal with that problem closer to sunset. "Those who have been tested are marked." Ken tapped the space behind his left ear. "Both you and Noah were tested."

Allison touched her ear, then slid off the desk to go to Noah. She moved his head to look behind his ear. "Is it there on me?" she asked, turning her head so Noah could see.

"There's a mark, like a backwards five," Noah said. "Is that what you're talking about?"

"Yes," Ken said.

"This doesn't make any sense," Noah said.

"A nogitsune feeds on the energy of chaos and strife," Ken said. "What happened with everyone's memories… I don't know. But if there's even the slightest possibility that they're connected, we have to do something."

"Like what?" Allison asked. "What do you know about the nogitsune? What's this magic tree thing the letter talks about?"

"I don't know," Ken said.

Allison looked back at the letter again. "Fine," she said. "Let's go."

"Go where?" Noah asked.

"On a magical goose chase," Allison said. "I'm not doing any good sitting around here, Sheriff. You've got everyone out on patrol who needs to be. We can go on a run up into the woods and be back in what, an hour? No one will miss me, and we can cross this off our list of possible causes."

Noah blinked at her. "You want to go up into the woods with two strangers, one of whom claims to have his memories and just happened to find a way to sneak back into town?"

Allison's sharp grin was back. "I'm not worried," she said. "And you shouldn't be, either."

Noah pinched the bridge of his nose. "I should send you with some back-up."

"You have everyone who could be my back-up already hard at work protecting the town," Allison pointed out. She returned the letter to Noshiko. "Mieczysław is here, he can keep Kira out of your hair."

Noah let his hand fall. "You don't want to take any other teenagers on this expedition?" he asked sarcastically.

"Of course not," Allison said with a frown. "Sheriff Stilinski, they're children."

"Get out," Noah said with no real heat. "Be back for dinner, otherwise Mieczysław is going to get cranky."

"Sir." Allison threw him a salute. "I'll go inform the other prisoners." She left the office.

Noah turned his attention on Ken and Noshiko. "I don't like this," he said. "I gave her a badge last night because we were in a bind. We still are. And the only reason I'm not throwing you both in the lock-up is that Allison is right. We need to figure out what's going on. But really, something supernatural?"

"Is it really that far of a stretch for you to believe?" Noshiko asked before Ken could come up with a response. "We tell you of things supernatural, and you do not protest, do not say, it cannot be. You do not like it, but you are not startled."

"Yeah." Noah exhaled. "And I guess that says something about me, doesn't it?" He gave Ken a flinty eye. "Allison is eighteen. I don't like sending her off where there might be danger."

"I don't like it either," Ken admitted. "I'm not sure what else to tell you."

"Just, be back soon."

Allison reappeared. "Okay, we can go," she said brightly.

"What did you do?" Noah asked.

"Nothing," Allison said. "Just told Mieczysław that he's got to make sure that Kira is entertained. Are those two good friends?" she asked Ken.

"They've known each other since Monday," he said wearily.

"Excellent," Allison said. "They haven't forgotten much, then." She gave Noah a wave. "Back soon."

The three of them headed out into the lobby. "I have to make a quick stop," Ken said. He had been on the road for far too long. "Where's the men's room?"

Allison pointed it out, and Ken left Allison and Noshiko regarding each other. He made the detour, washing his hands and splashing some water on his face. He had to do this. They had to find out if there was anything happening at the old magic tree that was influencing people's memories. It was just a long-shot, but Ken didn't know where else to start looking.

He looked at his reflection for a long moment. Sometimes, he didn't recognize himself, not from the young man who had met Noshiko in Japan. Not in the boy left alone on his own in Busan after the terrible events of the summer he turned sixteen.

But here he was, forty-four, in an unfamiliar town, with his family missing their memories and danger lurking unseen.

He had to do something.

With a sigh, Ken pushed off the counter. They had to get moving. He desperately hoped they could figure something out before nightfall.

Because if the Oni awoke without Noshiko to guide them…

He didn't know what might happen.

### Allison Argent

Allison sat in the backseat of the car, watching Ken and Noshiko as Ken drove up into the forest preserve. He had told her and Noshiko about his trip into Sacramento and then back, about the stop at the gas station where he'd heard about the troubles. Then Noshiko told them about coming to herself in the house with Kira, and neither of them knowing what was going on.

Here, at least, Allison could contribute. She told them about the problem with finding the children, and working with the sheriff's department and the hospital on that, before she'd had to go out on night patrol as things got weird.

As she talked, Allison assessed her companions. Noshiko was a kitsune, some part of Allison knew. Ken was human, and as far as Allison could tell, was telling the complete truth about everything so far. Noshiko was acting trustful towards Ken, but was on alert, and would probably not be caught unaware if the man turned out to be leading them into a trap.

Allison really hoped that this sort of triple-guessing was not a normal part of her life.

"And then as I was driving the second batch of intoxicants back to the station, I nearly ran into this group of five people wearing all black and these black masks," Allison continued as Ken slowed to turn onto the gravel road.

Ken jerked. "What did they do?" he demanded. "Did they hurt anyone?"

"No," Allison said with a frown. "They didn't do anything, I kept asking them what they were doing, and told them to get off the road and go home. They finally moved, so that was a good thing. I didn't hear anything else. But…" Allison rubbed her thumb over her jacket zipper, considering. If Noshiko had really written that letter, telling Ken to get Allison to deal with the big bad scary monster, it was possible that they knew she was not entirely human. "The weird thing was, none of them had heartbeats. None of them made any sound. It wasn't natural."

Ken let out a breath. "The Oni. They're the ones who tested you to see if you were possessed by the nogitsune."

"What are they?" Noshiko asked.

"Demons," Ken said. "But not in the Western sense. They are pure power, but what they do stems from who controls them."

"And who controls them?" Allison asked.

"Noshiko. Or, Noshiko did," Ken amended. "From the sounds of things, they might no longer be under anyone's control."

Great. Just great. "Where are they now?" Allison asked, leaning forward.

"They don't exist in the daylight."

"Perfect." Allison looked out the window. "All right. We have about five hours to solve the mystery and hope to hell that Noshiko will still have control over these Oni demons when she gets her memories back."

"And if she doesn't?"

Allison slumped back in her seat. "I mean, I talked to them yesterday. Maybe I can talk to them again?"

"If you could, so could another," Noshiko put in. "If they are found by the nogitsune, would he know what to do?"

"I've been thinking about that," Allison said. "So, everyone in town got hit by the Big Forget. We didn't find a single person of any age in a certain radius who could remember anything. The state troopers even did a canvas of drivers who reached their barricades, and it looks like everyone inside a certain radius was impacted."

"And?" Noshiko prompted.

"Including everyone supernatural," Allison said. "Werewolves, me, yourself. What if the nogitsune got caught up in the backlash?"

"Is that possible?" Ken slowed the car.

"Nothing really happened last night," Allison said. "Outside of some random mischief and disturbances and far too much public intoxication, we didn't get any calls for outbreaks of violence. If the nogitsune had their memories, wouldn't they try to do something while everyone was distracted?"

"I hate this so much," Ken said. He parked the car and turned off the engine. "I wish I knew what was going on."

"We're going to go find out," Allison said. "Or maybe we won't learn anything. Who knows?" She climbed out of the car. "Can I see that big map you have?"

Noshiko handed it over on exiting the car, and while Allison spread the map open on the car hood, retrieved her short sword from a bag.

"Nice," Allison commented as Noshiko pulled it from the sheath, the blade glinting in the afternoon sun. "I only have knives and axes at home."

"You should visit us, and see our collection of weaponry," Noshiko said.

"She's already seen it," Ken said. "She came over on Monday after school."

"See? We're all friends." Allison looked down at the map. "So, the state troopers figure that the outlying cases of amnesia go as far out as here." She tapped a few places on the paper. Ken handed her a pencil, and she added the marks. "If you look at it from far enough away, it's possible that this all fits in a circular radius like this." Allison drew a rough circle. The town of Beacon Hills was in the circle's lower side, with the top encompassing the forest preserve and the mountains behind them.

Noshiko had unfolded the letter. "Which is interesting, because we are going here." She put her finger near the middle of the circle.

"Great, an epicentre," Allison said. "Which is either really good, or really bad." She turned the map over and began writing on the back.

"What are you doing?" Ken asked.

"Giving myself an explanation if we get zapped with a second round of amnesia," Allison said. She scrawled out her name, age, status report, and instructions to look at the letter that Noshiko had for directions on getting to the magic tree.

"You seem well versed at preparing for the worst," Noshiko said.

"I prefer to think of myself as realistic, instead of fatalistic." Allison folded up the map and tucked it into her jacket. "All right. Let's hike."

The walk through the forest preserve was not a difficult one. If it had been under any other circumstances, Allison would have had a wonderful time. The air was clean and fresh, the scent of the trees and the dirt familiar in a way Allison couldn't explain. This was her home, she knew in her bones.

This land was hers.

Allison walked on ahead. Noshiko and Ken were speaking to each other in Japanese, and Allison listened to the conversation with half an ear while paying attention to their surroundings, just in case. Noshiko was asking Ken about their lives together, and the wistfulness in Ken's voice as he answered was apparent.

The walk to the tree took about twenty minutes. As they neared, Allison could feel power growing in the air. Her teeth were practically vibrating as they emerged into the grove. At the centre was the stump of a huge tree, the base sliced through about four feet off the ground.

"This is it," Ken said unnecessarily.

"When was the tree cut down?" Allison asked, circling the stump.

"After 1943," Ken said. "That was when Noshiko was here last."

"The tree feels alive, still," Allison said. "Weird."

"Noshiko said there was a space under the tree," Ken said. The three of them looked at each other. "Should we go down there?"

The skin crawled on the back of Allison's neck, like they were being watched. "I think it might be better to have someone stay up here, in case this is a trap." Allison pulled the hunting knife from her waistband. "I'd be better with this in a small space. Noshiko, are you good to stay and guard the entrance?"

"Yes," Noshiko said, hefting her sword.

Allison eyed Ken. If this did turn out to be a trap, she'd rather have him above ground instead of in a small enclosed chamber with her. "You stay here."

"This is a bad idea," Ken said, but he didn't object.

"All right." Allison pulled the phone out of her pocket in case she needed a light. "I'm going in. If I don't come out, don't come after me, just get back to town and try to find that Satomi person from Noshiko's letter."

"Good luck," Noshiko said.

"Ditto." Exhaling, Allison walked to the little door in the tree and pulled it open. Nothing came out at her, just the scent of dry dirt and old wood. Allison couldn't hear a single sign of life. As that left any number of problems, from ghosts to the Oni themselves, Allison wasn't reassured.

Knife at the ready, Allison walked down the steps.

The stairs opened into a surprisingly large space under the tree. The light that came in from above was enough for Allison to see, so she put the phone away to free up her hand.

The little space felt _weird_ , as if there was a presence around her, holding its breath. Allison did a quick search of the place, and only when she was satisfied that she was really alone, did she turn her eyes to the room's contents.

There were symbols carved into the walls, in which must be the meat of the tree's roots. How long had this tree grown here, before it was hacked down and left for dead? Who could have done such a thing?

Allison walked past the small boxes and jars arrayed along the west side of the room. Dust or dirt lay over everything. A small jar lay broken at the far end, its sharp edges gleaming.

Still on the move, Allison scanned the north wall, then the east. It was only when she reached the south side of the room that she found something interesting. Half-hidden behind a knob of root were several sheets of paper, pinned to the ground by a long sliver of wood. The writing on the paper looked like Japanese, but in the dim light, Allison couldn't quite make out the words.

"I think I found something," she called up the stairs. "I'm going to bring it up."

Allison reached out and pulled the wood sliver from the earth and

### Allison Stark

then everything came back.

Allison dropped to her knees under the crush of memory, air driven from her lungs as she remembered. Bucky. Tony dying. Derek dying and Stiles' heartbroken rage. Victoria throwing her down the stairs when she was too small to fight back. Being dragged towards the river by her hair, bones broken, skin ripped open, near death.

The universe dying. Morgan crying. Being thrown back in time to stop a future that would kill them all.

Somewhere in the world, someone screamed. The sound was enough to make Allison draw in breath, the air painful in her lungs.

She remembered everything.

Something dripped onto the paper, making the ink run. It took Allison a moment to realize that she was crying, that tears were sliding down her cheeks.

It all hurt _so much._

Allison made herself drop the wooden sliver, clenched so rightly in her left hand, and picked up the paper. Seven little sheets, lain on top of each other, each so thin they were practically translucent.

Get up. Get moving.

 _The job's not done yet, Alpha,_ Bucky's voice echoed in her memory. _I know it hurts, but you gotta keep at it._

Allison staggered to her feet, fell against the wall, then managed to make her way up the steps towards the opening.

The sunlight blinded her. Allison made it a few steps from the stump before tripping, ending up on her knees in the dirt. Noshiko was collapsed on the other side of the stump, Ken at her side.

Allison didn't know which of them had screamed.

"Allison?" Ken asked. "What did you find? Is it broken?"

Broken. Allison looked at the papers in her hand. The ink had run, but she could still make out some of the words. _Forget_ overlay _forsaken._ That was how Allison felt.

"I think this is it," she said, and managed to get to her feet. It took an effort to join Ken and Noshiko. Allison held out the papers to Noshiko. "I don't know what this is, but when I picked them up, I remembered everything."

"Everything," Noshiko repeated, shaking slightly. She took the papers and laid them out, side by side. "How could he do this?"

"What happened?" Ken asked. "Allison, why are you crying?"

Allison wiped at her cheeks, and her fingers came away wet. "Everything came back at once and I can't—" She flashed to holding Morgan's hand at Tony's funeral, trying to stay strong for her little sister when all she wanted to do was collapse. "I can't."

One by one, Noshiko crumpled the paper. She gathered up five of the balls, then gave one to Ken, and one to Allison. "We have to burn these," she said with loathing in her voice. "Now."

"I've got matches in the car," Ken said. "Can you walk?"

Noshiko nodded. Ken helped her to her feet. "Allison," Noshiko said. "Are you with us?"

Allison looked at her, and the world was overlain with a brief memory of finding Derek lying on the hillside after the rival wolf pack attack, almost ripped in half. "Yes."

"Then we go."

This time, Noshiko led the way back to the car, sword bare in her right hand. Ken held the sheath, while Allison brought up the rear with her knife drawn. Memories crashed over her in waves. Not every memory was a bad one; just most of them. Victoria slapping her for reading a book about fairy tales came on the heels of a bloody fight on a low-gravity space trawler just off Mars. Carol Danvers dying; Morgan graduating from high school. Watching Derek's funeral from afar; the agony as Maurice Dupont ripped his bloody barbs from her back.

Stay up. Stay moving.

 _Come on, Alpha_ , Bucky said in her head. _You still got a lot to do. Gotta make sure everyone's okay. Gotta make sure it's all over._

They finally made it back to the car. Ken got the matches, and Noshiko knelt on the gravel to set fire to the balls of paper, one by one. In silence, they watched the papers burn. Before they were cool, Noshiko rubbed the charred ash into the dust of the road.

"What was that?" Ken asked after a while.

"A curse," Noshiko said. "By the nogitsune. To bring terror and mayhem into the world."

"By making everyone forget?"

Noshiko shook her head. "By forcing everyone to remember."

Allison leaned against the car. "Breaking the curse was the nogitsune's plan all along?"

"The amnesia could not have held," Noshiko said. "The paper was so thin, and the ink so delicate, that any movement, any hint of moisture, would have moved the characters out of alignment. And then everyone would remember."

"But the cellar down there was so still," Allison argued. "It could have been weeks before that happened. Or months."

"But in the end, we would all remember." Noshiko stood up. Ashes stained her fingers black. "Eventually, we would all remember."

"Why is that a bad thing?" Ken asked.

"What do you remember the most in your life?" Allison asked before Noshiko could speak. "Going back. Is it the good things? Or is the first thing that comes back the worst things that have ever happened to you in your life?"

Ken looked at Noshiko. "Is that why you screamed?"

Noshiko's expression was full of loathing. "I am over nine hundred years old," she said. "As much good as has happened in my life, there has been much pain that I would not have chosen to remember. I was not given that choice."

Ken turned to Allison. "Is that why you're still crying?"

Allison put her knife away. "Probably. Can we go back into town? I need to know if everyone is okay."

"Sure."

With gentle hands, Ken guided Noshiko back to the car, getting her a tissue for her fingers, opening her door for her.

In her pocket, Allison's phone started buzzing. She took it out, unlocked it, and watched the messages stream into her inbox. She went to the pack group chat and typed in, _Roll call. Is everyone okay?_

Then she got into the car, curling up around her phone as Ken started the engine. Erica and Isaac were the first to respond, the latter saying that Jackson was with him. The message made Allison wonder how badly Jackson was taking the return of his memories.

On the drive down the hill, Allison got messages from Boyd and Scott and Cora. Derek didn't reply for a long time, until finally an _ok_ slid into the group chat from his phone.

Where was Stiles?

Allison quickly typed out an _are you ok are you safe_ message to Lydia, and one to Kira that read _I'm with your parents we're on the way back to the station are you ok? Is stiles ok?_

It took an agonizingly long time for Lydia to reply with _what happened everything is terrible are you ok._

 _I don't know and I guess_ , Allison replied.

Her phone buzzed with a message from Kira. _I'm ok everything is really weird here and stiles is really upset._

 _We'll be back soon,_ Allison wrote. "Kira's okay," she told Ken and Noshiko. "She says things are weird, but I don't know what that means."

"If everyone's on their phones now, that must mean that the town is better, right?" Ken asked.

"Define better." They emerged from the preserve out onto the main access road. The roads were empty, which felt ominous rather than welcome.

It didn't take long to get back to the sheriff's station, but every yard they drove, Allison was whipped with another wave of memory. She couldn't stop it, but she could at least push things in a direction. So she clung to the memories of her unlived future, of Tony and her mother's family, of the pack, of Morgan, of Derek and Stiles, and of Bucky and Sam and everyone in A-Force, of Shuri and Kate Bishop and Kamala and Carol and everyone else.

She wasn't going to lose them again, the good memories or the bad.

On the edge of her mind was the worry about Peter. Peter of the future, she could remember now with perfect clarity. The last ten years of their relationship had mellowed, but the force of memory had yanked Allison back to the realization of how dysfunctional they had gotten after Derek died. Then, Peter had been cold, and Allison had been so grateful that he hadn't abandoned her like Stiles had, that she'd managed to ignore that he had been pretty awful toward her for a few years.

She'd taken it, then, because she didn't think she deserved any better after what she had done to Derek.

Only… she hadn't had a choice. Derek was never going to make it off that mountain alive, and in all reality, Allison shouldn't have, either.

She'd let Peter be terrible to her, with his hurtful words and his insinuations that she should have done better, because she'd thought the same thing herself.

But there hadn't been any other choice. And looking back, or rather forwards with the full weight of those memories in her head, Allison knew that.

She didn't understand why she had stayed with that Peter.

She also didn't understand how the Peter from her future was so different from the Peter of her present. This Peter, _her_ Peter, was an emotional mess, hot and biting, messy emotions and burning grief simmering just under the surface. But he still had pack ties to Derek and the others, still had the angry wolf in him that bound him to the world.

Future-Peter had long since shed most of that.

Maybe that was why Allison had fallen in love with her Peter, who still had the best qualities of the one she had left behind, but none of that painful cold anger directed her way.

Allison opened her message thread to Peter. _I got my memory back. Did you?_

There was no reply.

Finally, Ken parked the car outside the station. "Thanks," Allison said. "For driving."

"Thank you for helping us break the curse," Noshiko said as they all got out.

"Will it happen again?" Allison asked. "Can the nogitsune just go cast the curse again?"

"No, I don't think so," Noshiko said. She moved as if a heavy weight lay on her back. "Those types of curses can only be cast once upon a person."

"Good. I think."

"It is good," Noshiko said. "We will not lose our memories again."

Allison looked at the station. Deputies were coming and going through the doors, mostly coming out and heading for their vehicles. "Part of me thinks that's too bad."

"You wish to forget?"

"Some things," Allison said. "I wish it worked that way."

Inside the station, Allison headed directly for Noah's office. The man wasn't there, but Kira and Stiles were on the couch, Stiles with his head in his hands, Kira with her arm over his shoulders. "Mom!" Kira exclaimed when she saw her parents. "Dad?"

"Kira," Noshiko said, hurrying forward. Kira bounced up and hugged her mother, then Ken put his arms around the two of them. "Oh, Kira."

Stiles looked up. His eyes were red, and Allison hadn't seen that level of misery on his face since Derek died. "You fixed everything?" he asked.

"Yes," Allison said. "I'm sorry."

Stiles sniffled. "You had to," he said, getting up. "I get that."

Part of Allison was waiting for Stiles to scream at her, blame her, tell her it was all her fault, like he had done after Derek died. But Stiles just came at her and hugged her and she hugged him back and he was safe and alive and she was never going to let anything happen to him.

"What's going on?" she whispered in his ear.

"My mom died," Stiles said against her shoulder, and his fingers dug into her sides.

"I know," Allison said, rubbing his back. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah."

"Is everything sorted?" came Noah's voice from the door. Allison turned without letting Stiles go. Noah looked like hell, but then, Noah had been through hell and back in his life.

"Yes," Noshiko said. She put her arm around Kira. "It is over."

"Great," Noah said. "What the hell happened?"

Noshiko looked at Kira, then said, "An old curse by an old fox spirit. It will not happen again."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Yes."

Noah shook his head. "We're already starting to get calls from around town. People are remembering all their old grudges. We've had a couple of fist fights break out. It's going to get worse."

"That's what the nogitsune wanted," Allison said. Stiles reluctantly let her go. "Chaos and strife, just ripe for the picking."

"How do we stop it?" Noah asked.

"We can't," Allison said. "Other than to try to get people to behave rationally, which I can tell you isn't high on my personal list. I'm all for getting into a fistfight with god, for all the good it's going to do me."

It was a pity that Thanos wasn't there, because Allison would have enjoyed killing him in that moment.

"What are we going to do now?" Stiles asked.

Allison rubbed his shoulder. "Ken's going to take Kira and Noshiko home. Your dad and the rest of the department are going to try to keep some order while someone convinces the CDC and the state patrol to go home."

"We should leave," Noshiko said. "There is much to do before nightfall."

Right. The Oni. "Let me know if anything goes sideways with that," Allison said. She walked over to the Yukimuras. "Kira, do me a favour?"

"What?" Kira asked, her eyes wide. She wasn't looking as decimated by her returned memories as the others. It must be nice, Allison thought wistfully, having a childhood that didn't rip at you with every thought.

"Go easy on your mother," Allison said. "She's having a really hard time."

"Why?" Kira asked, looking at Noshiko. "Are you going to tell me about the supernatural now?"

"Yes," Noshiko said heavily. "At home. Not here."

"Okay." Kira looked at Stiles. "Are you going to be okay if I leave?"

Stiles forced a smile on his face. "Yeah, you should go be with your family."

Kira hesitated for a moment, then slipped out from under her mother's arm to go to Stiles' side and press a quick kiss against his cheek. "Can I call you later?"

Stiles nodded, and his silence was so uncharacteristic that Allison was worried.

"Okay. Bye." Kira rejoined her parents. "Bye, Allison."

"Goodbye, Kira." Allison nodded at Noshiko. "And thanks, Mr. Yukimura, for breaking the law to get back into town."

"I'm just glad it worked," Ken said. "I'll see you both on Monday."

With that, the Yukimuras left the office. Allison let out a breath. "Do you need me back out on the road?" she asked Noah.

"No," the man said. "And while you're at it, you can give me back that badge."

With a growl, Allison unzipped her jacket to retrieve the deputy star. "It was your idea to give this to me," she reminded him.

"And now that I have all my faculties back in place, I'm regretting it." Noah took the star and tossed it into a desk drawer. "You two should go home."

Stiles hunched his shoulders, not looking at his father.

Allison was starting to get a little angry. "Do I need to point out that I fixed this problem?" she demanded.

"No, you don't," Noah said. "But like you said, this town's on the way to the boiling point. I'd feel much better if I knew that you two were safe at home."

"And you?" Stiles asked. He had his arms crossover his chest defensively. "Are you going to be safe?"

"I have a job to do, Stiles."

"So what?"

Noah frowned, and was about to reply, when Allison clapped her hands together. "Stop," she ordered. "We are not feeding the beast. Stiles, stand here." She hauled him over to the desk, so he was facing Noah. "Have you two talked about what happened?"

"What happened today?" Stiles demanded. "Or about Mom?"

Allison saw Noah wince, which was answer enough. "Stiles, hug your father. Noah, hug your son. You're both still alive, and that's what counts."

Noah didn't move, and Stiles ducked his head, and Allison was frustrated enough that she pushed Stiles a couple of inches towards Noah. Instinctively, Noah reached out to catch Stiles, and the look of startled bewilderment on Stiles face hurt to look at.

"Stiles, I'm sorry," Noah said. "I'm sorry I wasn't there when your mom died."

Then Stiles' face crumpled and Noah pulled him into an embrace and Allison made a tactful retreat from the office. The Stilinskis needed each other, and in that Allison was superfluous.

The bullpen was a mess. Deputies moved around, harassed. Allison moved through them, trying to figure out what to do next, when she saw Natasha Romanoff at a desk in the back, methodically making phone calls.

Allison stilled. The calm around Natasha was unnatural and more than a little worrisome.

What had Natasha remembered? How was she dealing with the return of her memories?

Allison slowly wandered over to the desk and sat down in the visitor's chair. Natasha made no indication that she saw Allison, only continued with her phone call. Eventually, however, the call ended, and Natasha had to put the handset back on the receiver.

"Deputy Rushman," Allison said.

Natasha folded her hands on the desk. "Allison."

"How are you?"

"How are you?" Natasha countered.

"I feel like hitting myself in the head until I don't know what day it is, but fine, I guess."

"No self harm, please." Natasha met her gaze with a directness that was odd. "We just got word of someone jumping off a building downtown. They say he was distraught."

"Understandable," Allison said. "Memories are terrible things. Sometimes, we do things we can justify in the moment, but later, we look back at things with different eyes."

Natasha's eyes never wavered. "Go away. I have work to do."

"Natasha—"

Natasha went back to ignoring Allison. Allison got up, acid churning in her stomach, and returned to Noah's office.

Noah and Stiles were on the couch, side by side, Noah's arm around Stiles' shoulders. Stiles was nodding at something Noah was saying, and no one was crying or screaming, which Allison counted as a win. "New game plan," Allison said, taking out her phone. More messages from the pack, but nothing from Peter. Shit. And Derek hadn't contributed anything else to the group chat. "Stiles, you're on Derek duty."

"Huh?" Stiles asked, wiping his sleeve over his eyes. He looked calmer now, if still red-eyed.

"Derek just remembered losing his entire family, and someone should check in on him. Cora, too." Allison went to pluck her motorcycle helmet off the filing cabinet behind the desk.

"What are you going to do?" Noah asked.

"Find Peter." Allison made sure she had her keys and wallet, then turned around. "He probably just remembered losing his entire family in a horrific fire that left him in a coma for six years, so I'm going to make sure he's okay and not doing anything stupid."

"Define stupid."

Allison shrugged. Most of Peter's past misdeeds weren't exactly something Allison felt the need to air in the middle of the sheriff's station. "Dig up Kate Argent's coffin and piss on it? How should I know?"

"I vote that Allison should go stop Peter," Stiles put in. "Maybe tie him up."

"I did promise that," Allison said, and Stiles gagged.

"Oh god, you two were gross when you didn't have your memories."

Allison reached down to gently slap Stiles on the cheek. "Go. Derek."

"Stay in touch," Noah said. "And be careful. Try to make it home tonight, okay?"

"Are you going to be here late?" Allison asked.

"At the rate things are going, I'm going to be here for days," Noah said. "Why am I standing for re-election into this job, again?"

"Because the idea of anyone else as sheriff in this town is traumatizing?" Stiles suggested.

"Stiles. Hug." Allison waited until Stiles got up and hugged her again. "You know what the best part of not having any memories was?"

"Not remembering anything?" Stiles hazarded, pulling back.

"Yes," Allison admitted. "But I mean when you thought you were my brother. That was the best."

Stiles smiled, a small, watery smile. "Technically, you could still change your name to Stilinski."

And oh, yes, Allison was going to have to deal with her actual father at some point. Fuck. But not now. "We'll talk." She smacked a kiss against Stiles' forehead. "Love you. Bye, Noah."

Stiles made a fake grossed out noise as Allison left the office, but Noah just sighed.

Her motorcycle was where she'd left it the previous night, neatly parked, and Allison walked over to put her helmet on the seat before taking out her phone. She needed to do something about Natasha, and then find Peter, and there was only one person who would be able to help with both.

Girding herself, Allison called Jarvis.

"Hello?" Jarvis said after one ring.

"It's Allison," she said. "Good news, everyone got their memories back."

"Ah," Jarvis said with warmth. "I am so glad to hear that."

"Yes and no," Allison said. "I'm on the edge of losing my own sanity right now and I really, really cannot deal with anything, so please tell Dad I'll talk to him tomorrow, okay?"

"If that is what you wish," Jarvis said. "He has been quite concerned about you."

"No need for that, I'm peachy. But not everyone is, so can you please give me Nick Fury's phone number?"

"May I ask why?"

Allison flipped her keys over in her hand, sorting for the bike key. "Because Natasha Romanoff is also in Beacon Hills and I need to talk to Nick Fury."

"Of course," Jarvis said. "Patching you through now."

The phone rang and in a moment, Allison heard Nick Fury's voice over the line. "Damn it, Stark, this had better be good."

"It is," Allison said coldly. "Director Fury."

There was no hesitation before Fury replied with, "Miss Argent."

"Everyone has their memories back," Allison continued. "Which is why I'm calling. I need you to rusticate Clint Barton and send him back to Beacon Hills."

"Why?"

"Why?" Allison repeated. She straddled her bike. "Because, Director Fury, Agent Romanoff has also gotten her memories back, and I'm sure that I don't need to tell you that's quite a lot to deal with."

"What exactly do you know about Natasha's past?" Fury asked.

Allison was done with the line of questioning. Every minute she delayed with Fury, was another minute something could be happening with Peter. "Call Barton," Allison said again. "Natasha can probably make it through this on her own, but I really don't think she should have to. Do you?"

She hung up the call, then dialed Jarvis back. "Allison," Jarvis said.

She didn't even bother asking if he had been monitoring her call; she knew he had. "Can you find out where Peter Hale is right now?"

"Of course. One moment." A pause. "His phone is showing as being located in the Beacon Hills Memorial cemetery."

Shit. "Thanks. I gotta go."

"Allison, one more moment."

"What?"

"When I called you last evening, you indicated that there was someone who you saw in the role of your mother, while under the assumption that Chris Argent was your father. As a point of pure curiosity, may I ask who?"

Allison had almost pushed that out of her mind. Great. Now she had to deal with the awkwardness of spending a day under the illusion that Melissa McCall was her mother. Scott was going to have a fit. "Circumstances and folly," Allison said. "Sometimes we see what we want to, Jarvis. For ten hours, I thought I had a mother who wanted me in her life. That was a nice feeling."

"I see," Jarvis said.

Allison took a deep breath. "And before Tony tears his hair out on hearing this call, I know Clara wanted me. But I had to grow up with Victoria, and that woman spent most of my childhood trying to beat the wolf out of me. It's a touchy subject." Allison turned on her bike's engine. "I have to go, Jarvis."

"Be well," Jarvis said in farewell.

Allison ended the call. She had to get moving.

* * *

Allison got to the cemetery and made her way on foot across the grass. The last time she had been here had been to watch Derek's funeral from behind a tree. Stiles had been overcome with grief, and Allison would not have upset Stiles for anything on that day.

Now, Allison walked towards the place where all the Hales were buried, and swore that she wasn't going to let anyone hurt Derek or Cora.

Or Peter.

He was sitting on the grass, barely keeping himself upright. His back was to Allison, and on the air she could smell the scent of fresh blood.

She took a deep breath. "Peter?"

For a long time, he didn't say anything. Then, "I've never been here before."

Slowly, Allison moved forward. Peter was sitting in front of the headstone commemorating Teresa Hale, age thirty-two, and Nicolas and Nicole Hale, age twenty-five months. He had clawed up his left forearm, and blood dripped slowly onto the grass.

Allison carefully sat down. "Never?"

Peter didn't look at her. "Not since my parents' funeral." He pointed at a headstone off to the left, for Andrew and Molly Hale. "Talia made me go. I didn't want to."

Allison was silent.

"There's no point, I always thought," Peter went on. He dragged one clawed finger over his arm, pulling up more blood. "It doesn't matter. When you're dead, that's it. It's over."

A faint glimmer off to the side caught Allison's attention. Talia Hale, insubstantial and motionless, sat on the gravestone for her daughter Julia.

"Then Derek killed me and I came back." Peter dug another claw into his arm. "I came back and they couldn't. The fire took everything from me." He finally looked at Allison. "This town takes everything from me. It even took my memories and then it gave them back."

"Peter."

A series of emotions played over Peter's face, ending with anger. He looked over at Talia's headstone. "How could my sister have been so stupid?" he demanded. "She acted like we weren't in any danger, like the world would never be so bold as to cut a family like ours down. My mother would never have made the same mistake."

"Peter, you have to stop hurting yourself."

Peter flexed his hand, looking down at his arm as if he realized for the first time what he had been doing. "I hate her," he said. "I hate her so much. I listened to her, I _trusted her_ , and that stole my children away."

Allison went still, because there was something in Peter's voice that she didn't understand. If Peter had just been talking about the Nicks, wouldn't he have said, it _killed_ his children?

Oh god, if Peter had gotten his memories back, had they all come back? Including the memories of Malia and the Desert Coyote Talia had ripped out of his mind?

Peter was still going. "The worst thing is that there's nothing I can do to her. She's dead. She's not even buried there. There wasn't anything left of her to bury after the fire."

Talia's ghost stared at her brother.

"For years, I couldn't remember what my twins looked like," Peter said. "And now I can remember, but all I can see is them burning and I can't—"

His voice broke off and he curled over. Allison moved forward, put her arm around Peter, fully prepared for him to lash out, to push her away, but he just turned towards her, pressing his face against her chest. She held him tight.

There was nothing she could say.

They sat like that for a long time, long past the point of discomfort, before Peter finally sat back. His eyes moved back to his children's grave.

"Do you have any pictures of them?" Allison asked after another long silence.

"No," Peter said. "They were all in the house. They're all gone."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't, _don't_ say that," Peter suddenly snapped, with the anger Allison had been expecting. "Don't say you're sorry when it doesn't mean anything."

"Okay."

"Are you just going to sit there?" Peter demanded. "Looking like some tragic Ophelia? Say something!"

"All right. Get up."

"What?"

"Get up. I'm taking you home."

"Fuck you."

"Entirely up to you." Allison stood. "You're right, Peter. Nothing I say is going to make a damned bit of difference to you. But I can take you home and get you something to eat and it's not going to make you feel any better, but at least you won't be ripping your arm to shreds in the middle of a cemetery."

Incredulity flashed over Peter's face. "How dare you?" he exclaimed, getting to his feet and moving to stand too close to Allison. "My family is dead!"

"I know," Allison said, not backing away from his anger. It was bleeding off him in hot, agonizing waves. "If you want to stay, we'll stay. If you want to go home, we can go home."

"It's not your home," Peter snarled. "It's not _anything_ to you _."_

"You are," Allison said. "And I don't know if you want me to help you or not, and I don't know what else I can say."

There was a moment when she thought Peter might attack her, but then he crumpled. Allison caught his arm, slipping her own around his waist.

"Where's your car?" she asked.

"I walked," Peter said. He let Allison slowly turn him back towards the road, leaning on her as they went. "I was getting a coffee when it all came back and I couldn't deal."

"Okay." With one last glance at Talia, who still hadn't moved, Allison led Peter towards the road, and her motorcycle. "We'll get your car later."

"Why are you doing this?" Peter asked as Allison let go of him to reach for her helmet. "Don't you remember what I've done? What I did to you?"

"I do," Allison said, with more truth than Peter would ever know. "And I love you, that hasn't changed."

"Why?"

"A lot of reasons." Allison leaned in to kiss the corner of Peter's mouth. "Maybe because I remember you."

Peter caught her by the waist and pulled her in, cupping her jaw with his hand. "I remember you, too." He ran his thumb over her cheek. "What happened to you this summer, to make you change so much?"

Allison nearly jerked back, startled. The question should have pulled up an avalanche, like everything else had done since their memories returned.

But that summer was still a gaping void in her mind.

She couldn't remember what had happened to her that summer in France.

Allison pulled away. "We should get you home."

"Allison."

"Are you coming or not?" Allison asked, putting on her helmet and getting on her bike.

After a moment, Peter climbed on the back. "I feel stupid," he complained.

"Feet on the footrests, arms around me, and whatever you do, don't overbalance us."

Allison waited until Peter put his hands on her waist, before flipping her visor down. At least if she was driving, Peter couldn't ask her any questions she'd have to lie her way around.

* * *

For some reason, Peter was quiet when they got back to his place. He let Allison haul him inside and bully him out of his shoes and his bloodied shirt, only snapping when Allison tried to push him towards the bathroom. "What, you're not going to come wash my back for me?" he asked with only a small amount of heat.

"I can wash your back or I can make you lunch, pick one," Allison said, already moving over to the kitchen.

"Stop trying to take care of me."

"I need something to do, Peter, do you have any other suggestions?"

With a growl, Peter went into the bathroom. Allison dug food out of the fridge. She was hungry, too. She could make sandwiches, at least, and when Peter was done his shower he could eat one and maybe, just maybe, they could have a few minutes together in quiet before the memories started to pile up again, before it got too loud in Allison's head to think.

She didn't want to think.

Four slices of bread. Mayonnaise. A knife. She needed a knife for the mayonnaise. She went to the cutlery drawer. Get a knife.

She didn't want to think.

With the knife in her hand, Allison returned to the cutting board. She didn't want to think about her past, or the future she'd never get to live. She didn't want to think about Bucky, or about Morgan, or about why the only reason she was here instead of being dead in the future was that someone had to stop the destruction of the universe, and for some reason, that person was Allison.

She was looking at a knife, and the knife was shaking.

Allison had to stop the death of the universe. She'd been dancing around that ever since she came back, because it had been easier to think about saving people from an enemy she could defeat, like Aldrich Killian, or Hydra.

But how was she going to stop Thanos from killing half the population in the Snap?

And if she couldn't, how could she stop her own father and the others from bringing everyone back?

The knife fell out of her hand. Allison got down to pick it up, but her hand wouldn't obey her mind, her legs wouldn't hold her.

It was getting hard to breathe.

How was she going to save everyone on her own?

 _"You have to,"_ Morgan had said, that last fateful time Allison had seen her sister; the last time her sister existed. _"Allison, we have ten hours until everything here just… stops. That's ten billion people just on Earth alone. If you can go back, if you can save them all, if you can save the universe, you have to. That's what us Starks do. We save the world."_

But Allison hadn't, couldn't. She couldn't even save her sister. And now Morgan was never going to be, and it was all Allison's fault, that they hadn't stopped the universe from falling, that Allison couldn't do anything to stop Thanos and everyone from destroying everything.

She couldn't do it. She didn't know how. And this time it was going to be all her fault when the universe died, because they had sent her back to stop it and she didn't know how _._

She didn't know _how_.

"New plan," Peter announced into the apartment, leaving the bathroom in a puff of steam. "Forget Talia. She's dead. So in favour of the next best thing, I am going to make Derek's life a living nightmare." A pause. "Where are you?"

Allison looked up from where she had collapsed on the floor to see Peter hurrying towards her, his hair still wet, wearing that black silk robe she loved so much.

"What's wrong?" Peter asked, kneeling. "Why are you on the floor?"

"I can't breathe," Allison said, finally conscious that her ribs hurt like she'd been beaten, that the world was grey around the edges.

"Come here." Peter pulled her onto his lap. Allison wrapped her arms around his shoulders and clung to him. "You're shaking."

"I can't do it," Allison gasped. Her chest felt like someone was squeezing it in a vise.

"Breathe? We've been over that. Are you allergic to something or are you just freaking out?"

"I can't," Allison said again. Peter slipped his hand under her shirt to touch her skin, and even that wasn't enough to pull her back to herself.

"Can't what?" Peter asked as he settled Allison more tightly against him, the embrace almost more intimate than sex.

"Stop it." Allison focused on Peter's heartbeat. She needed to calm down, but all she could do was focus on the fact that she couldn't breathe, couldn't _think_.

"Stop what?"

"The end of the world."

Peter was quiet, his hand on her back. "In that case, how long do we have? When is the world going to end?"

Allison pressed her forehead against his neck. He was so warm and he smelled like home and Allison had to focus on Peter, focus on his heartbeat. "October 12, 2039."

"That is so bizarrely specific." Peter pulled his hand out from under her shirt. "I want you to try something."

Allison opened her eyes to see Peter's fingernails sharpen into claws. "What?"

With his thumbnail, Peter pricked his palm, pulling up a tiny blood drop. "Lick my hand."

"What?" It was weird enough that Allison jerked back, taking in a sharp breath. "No."

"Okay." Peter licked the blood off his hand. "Do you want to kiss me?"

"No."

"You're breathing better."

Damn it. "I hate you," Allison muttered, settling back into Peter's arms.

"I know." Peter kissed her forehead. "Let's talk about the end of the world."

Fuck. _Fuck_. How was Allison going to explain away those words, spoken in the heat of a panic attack? "No."

"You know you're crazy, right?" Peter went on. "No one can tell the future like that."

"Okay."

"How old will I be in 2039?"

"Sixty-six."

"So if the world is going to end in twenty-seven years, what's it to you?" Peter ran his hand down Allison's arm.

Allison sighed. She didn't want to talk about this, but maybe she could deflect Peter onto something else. "I live here. And so do you. So do a lot of people."

"Yeah, okay, granted. But why do _you_ have to do anything about it?"

Allison shrugged. Saying _I was sent back in time specifically to do so_ was totally out as an option.

"What's the world ever done for you? Or me, for that matter?"

"You don't think I have to protect people, when I can?" Allison asked.

"Why? They're not doing a damned thing for you. Is it because you're an alpha?"

"No."

"Good, because that alpha bullshit is more than it's chalked up to be."

Allison took a deep breath, ready to argue that Peter's own time as the Hale alpha had not been an exercise in glory, then let the air out of her lungs. There was no point. Instead, she said, "Maybe it's a family thing. My dad is Iron Man."

Peter nudged her until Allison looked at him. His eyes were so blue when he said, "And if you save the world, then maybe your father will finally love you?"

It cut deep, deeper than Peter could possibly imagine. Ever since Tony had died, Allison had done everything she could to live up to his legacy. But it had never been enough. Even before that, Allison had never been enough. Sure, Tony had loved her, but she was never smart enough to keep up with him. She knew that she was too much of a reminder to Tony of how Clara had died, how Allison herself had been raised by hunters and killers.

It wasn't enough. She wasn't enough.

And there was nothing Allison could do to change that.

"Say something," Peter said, and Allison realized that she had been staring at him. "Start crying, something. Just stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

Peter cupped her cheek, and Allison curled back in against him. "Like your heart's breaking."

Allison closed her eyes. "It's a little late for that."

Peter shifted his arms around her, then somehow managed to stand up with her securely in his arms. "Do you want to know what my take-away is from this whole fucked up mess?"

"What?"

"That it's everyone for himself in this world." Peter laid Allison down on his bed, then crawled in beside her.

"Wasn't that your approach to life before all this happened?" Allison asked, turning onto her side to look at him.

"Let's say nothing happened to change my mind." Peter put his arm around Allison's waist, pulling her close.

"Okay." Allison rested her head against Peter's shoulder. "Then answer two questions for me."

"No."

"If you're only in this for yourself, why are you taking care of me?"

"I'm not."

Allison propped herself up on her elbow to look down at Peter. "The last ten minutes would indicate otherwise."

Peter sighed. "Maybe I thought that the only way I'm going to have sex tonight was if you avoided passing out from hypoxia."

"Okay." Allison rested her hand on Peter's chest. She could feel his heartbeat steady through the black silk. "You really want to have sex after everything that happened?"

"It's probably the best thing to distract me from ripping Derek's spine out, so sure."

Allison gave a mental shrug. Peter's homicidal tendencies were at least in character, as was his preferred method of diversion. It might take her mind off things, too, if Peter was up to his usual commitment to the task. "Next question. Why is there an engagement ring in your dresser?"

Something in Peter's eyes changed. "It was my mother's," he said.

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"Stop saying that." Peter pulled at Allison until she laid down on his chest. "Stop saying you're sorry about things you can't do anything about."

"Okay." Allison listened to Peter's heartbeat for a while, wondering how horrible it must be to remember your mother dying. At least that grief for her own mother was only hypothetical.

"You can't have it."

"Have what?"

"My mother's engagement ring."

"Okay."

They lay together in silence for a few minutes. Then Peter said, "Unless you want it."

Allison's fingers moved on Peter's arm. "What?"

"Unless you want the ring."

Allison sat up. Peter was watching her with an almost defiant gleam in his eye. "Peter," she said slowly. "I have had a really bad day. And I need to warn you that if you ask me to marry you right now, I'm probably going to say yes."

"I'll take that under advisement." Peter shifted to put his head on Allison's leg. "What are we going to do?"

"Tonight?" Allison asked, smoothing his hair back. "Or in general?"

"Either."

Allison let her fingers curl over Peter's ear. "I don't know what else I can do."

"Why do you have to do anything?"

"We've been through this."

"And I still don't understand you." He pushed her shirt up and kissed her stomach. The unexpected sensation sent a thrill down her spine. "Stay here, with me. We can give things a trial run."

"What are you talking about?"

Peter kissed her stomach again, the prickle of his facial hair against her skin almost curling her toes. "Shacking up. Playing house. Co-habiting."

Allison knew that she should put a stop to this, should leave now that she knew Peter was not suicidal or on the path to bloody retribution. But she didn't want to. She wanted…

What did she want?

Allison let her hand slide down Peter's shoulder, pulling open the front of his robe. She wanted to stop thinking. She wanted to stop thinking about the futility of trying to protect a world that didn't give a fuck about her.

She wanted to stay here, with Peter, in bed as the day faded around them.

Maybe, just for a little while, she could have what she wanted.

### Melissa McCall

Melissa let herself into the house, on the edge of panicking. "Scott?" she called. "Scott? Are you here?"

It had been over a day since Melissa had seen her son, twenty-three hours since she had forgotten he existed, and she had been out of her mind with worry since her memories returned.

How could she have been so stupid as to believe that she and Chris had been an item? That she had been Allison's mother?

How could she have forgotten Scott?

"Scott!" Melissa shouted again, and this time she heard movement upstairs.

"Mom?" came Scott's voice, and Melissa's knees almost went out from under her. Scott. Scott was here. Scott was safe. "Mom, are you okay?"

Scott thundered down the stairs and Melissa caught him, patted him down, checking for injuries. "Oh, god, Scott," Melissa said in relief.

"Mom, that was so weird," Scott said, putting his arms around her and hugging her just a little too tight. "What happened? Did you forget everything too?"

"I did," Melissa said, taking a deep breath. Scott was okay. Her baby was okay. Yes, he was a werewolf and practically indestructible, but that didn't matter to Melissa's maternal instincts.

Scott pulled away and looked at Melissa. There was something in his eyes, some hurt Melissa didn't understand. "Even me?"

That question, not really an accusation except in Melissa's own head, cut through her. "Everything," she said. "I'm sorry, baby."

"It's okay," Scott said, looking crushed. "But we're all better now, right? Do you know what happened?"

"Not a clue." Melissa had been at the hospital when everyone's memories came back, and with that had come a whole other slew of problems. The first-responders around town had been calling in attempts at self-harm and a few suicides already, and Melissa was dreading what that night would bring. "What were you doing? Did you get enough to eat? Were you safe?"

"Yeah, I was at the vet's clinic," Scott said. "I didn't know what was going on but I knew someone had to take care of the animals, so I stayed and did that. I slept a bit in Deaton's office."

"Of course you did," Melissa said, smiling. Her boy was almost grown up, so caring and considerate. She'd raised a good one.

"What did you do?" Scott asked. "I mean, you smell like the hospital. Were you at work all this time?"

"Lots to do," Melissa said. "People don't stop getting hurt just because they don't remember who they are."

"Just." Scott frowned a little. "Did Chris Argent get hurt?"

It was such an odd question that Melissa stared. "What?"

"You smell like him a little bit."

Oh, fuck. Frantically, Melissa thought about all those things Stiles had told her about his experiments in lying to werewolves. And how it very seldom worked. "Chris didn't get hurt, but he was helping at the hospital," she said. Not a lie, she told herself.

"What was he doing that made your hair smell like him?"

"He was—there was some heavy lifting," Melissa said. She was not going to blush. She was also not going to think about the previous night when she and Chris had ended up exhausting the supply of condoms in Chris's medicine cabinet. Not at all. "It was good he was there, we needed all the help we could get." She forced a smile onto her face. "Come on. I'm starving. Let's get some dinner and you can tell me all about your night at the vet's."

"Okay," Scott said slowly. "Mom, are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes," Melissa said. It was a lie, of course. She'd forgotten all about her son, all about her life, and fallen into some fantasy with a man who had tried to kill Scott on more than one occasion.

And the absolute worst part of it was, she wasn't even all that sorry it had happened.

"Come on," Melissa went on. "Dinner. I need to get back to normal around here."

"Okay," Scott said again. "I, um. I'll get the spaghetti on."

"Thanks." Melissa kissed Scott's cheek and watched him walk into the kitchen, before dropping her head into her hands.

Oh god. Everything was a disaster.

At least Scott was okay. At least Scott had been safe.

At least, he said he had been.

Melissa shook her head and tried to stand tall. Everything was going to be okay. Scott was going to be okay. Melissa was going to forget she'd ever laid eyes on Christopher Argent.

On all of Christopher Argent.

All of—

"Stop it," Melissa said to herself, shaking her head to get rid of the memories of the previous night.

"Mom?" Scott called.

"On my way!" Melissa replied.

The best thing she could do was to put it all behind her. She had two jobs, one as a nurse, one as a mother, and neither of them had any room for Argent-sized mistakes.

Down that road lay only strife and pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well done, Allison. It's not like Peter's not going to focus on this end of the world stuff, not him. 
> 
> The consequences are only beginning. Next chapter sees an influx of Avengers to town, as Beacon Hills takes a turn towards the traumatized, and the future moves closer to that path not travelled. 
> 
> I'm behind in responding to comments from last chapter, but I'm getting to them! Thanks as always for your continued interest and support for this story :D


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the amnesia curse, the town of Beacon Hills is reeling. Thwarted in her efforts to help out, Allison ends up by the river where she runs into old friends, strangers, and most of the Avengers currently on Earth. What will Allison say when pressed about what she knows about the Winter Soldier and Hydra? What lies will she have to spin to keep the world safe? And is this a possible second chance for Allison to connect with her father? (Spoilers: Yes)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: This chapter talks about suicide in a number of places, including a character with suicidal thoughts on-screen and reference to off-screen deaths, including one canon Teen Wolf minor character. Also, remembered child abuse.

* * *

Sunday morning was terrible. Allison woke from nightmares after a few sparse hours of sleep and lay awake in the dark, unable to shake the images from her head of all the horrible things that had happened in her life, and everything and everyone she'd lost.

That meant she was awake when Stiles started screaming. Allison bolted out of bed and ran to Stiles' room, looking for an intruder, but she only found Stiles trying to kick his way out of his sheets, disoriented and terrified.

"Stiles, it's okay," Allison called, crossing the room. She could hear movement behind her, Noah's footsteps. "Stiles!"

Stiles looked at her without recognition. "Leave me alone!" he gasped, crawling back into the headboard.

Allison jerked away, flung hard to the memory of Stiles screaming at her after Derek died. Overhead, the lights went on. "Stiles?" Noah demanded. "Allison?"

Allison kept moving until she ran into the closet door. "It was probably a nightmare," she said, fighting off the wave of guilt and remorse that would always follow her from Derek's death.

"Stiles?" Noah brushed past Allison and went to the bed, where Stiles had curled up into a ball, hiding his face. "Stiles, son, can you look at me?"

"Leave me alone," Stiles said into his pillow. "Go away!"

Allison's breath caught in her throat, memory dragging at her. It hadn't happened, she told herself, blinking hard. Derek wasn't dead. Allison wasn't going to kill him.

"Allison," Noah said, his hand hovering over Stiles shoulder. "Can you give us a few minutes?"

Noah's words were quiet, but they cut into Allison. Of course. She didn't really have a place in the Stilinski house. They were just letting her stay here temporarily.

So Allison gave a jerky nod and left the room, walking back to her bedroom on a floor that felt spongy under her feet. She didn't bother closing the door behind her, just went to the bed and collapsed.

She didn't have a place here. She didn't have a place anywhere in the past. For the last sixteen years of her life, her home had been her family and her friends, Morgan and Bucky and Sam and Carol and Shuri and Kamala and Kate and everyone in her pack in Beacon Hills.

Allison didn't know what she was doing here.

"Stiles," Allison could hear down the hall. "Son, do you want to talk about it?"

"About what?"

"Whatever woke you up."

"What would have woken me up?" Stiles said. The mattress springs creaked, like he was sitting up. "How about being forced to remember every single stupid fucking thing that ever happened to me?"

"Is this about Mom?"

A loud sniffle. "I wish it was about Mom," Stile said. "No, this is just _stupid_. Like remembering every time Lydia ignored me or when I got shoved into the lockers in my freshman year. Why can't I be traumatized like a normal person?"

Allison pressed her hand over her eyes. She wished that she could focus on stupid childhood memories. Instead, all she got was the universe ending and a sister who would never exist.

"Stiles, everyone's going through a lot right now," Noah said. "It only happened yesterday. Everyone's going to process things in their own way."

"What about you?" Stiles asked bitterly. "Why aren't you having nightmares?"

Noah sighed. "You have to fall asleep before you can have nightmares."

"That sucks," Stiles said with another sniffle. "Do you have to go into work today?"

"After everything that happened? Yeah, I do." The floor creaked. "I've been checking in. Things aren't great out there."

Allison sat up. How bad were things, in a town of people who had been forced to remember their worst memories? Could she help?

"Like what?" Stiles asked.

"Nothing you need to worry about."

"Yeah, okay, when did that line ever work on me?"

Allison stood up and walked to the door. If there was a problem in town, anything she could fix, she had to do something.

"It's nothing catastrophic," Noah said to Stiles. "Some folks aren't handling things too well. A few people are in crisis. We're working on it."

Stiles was silent for a moment. "Did anyone kill themselves?"

Noah sighed again. Allison was straining to hear when he finally said, "Yeah, a few."

Allison wrapped her arms around herself. That was what she'd been worried about with Peter and Derek; those returning memories pushing someone into a fragile state where they would do something bad. But she had been so tired and hurt so much after finding Peter, after falling apart, that she hadn't been able to step on her own pain to go focus on the rest of the town.

She should have. She should have done something.

"Anyone I know?" Stiles asked.

"I don't think so," Noah said. "But that girl who tried to poison Lydia and Isaac—"

"Dolores?" Stiles interrupted. Unable to stay still any longer, Allison hurried back to Stiles' room. "What happened?"

"She's on suicide watch at the hospital," Noah said as Allison nearly fell through the doorway. "Don't worry, people have their eye on her."

"What can I do?" Allison asked.

"What?" Noah asked, sitting back.

"I can help," Allison said, tucking her hair behind her ears. "Right? I can do something to help."

Noah rubbed his hand over his face. "Allison…"

"You deputized me before," Allison argued. "If you still need people to help out, you can give me back the badge."

"Allison." Noah stood.

"You don't need to pay me," Allison went on. There was something churning in her gut, the need to do _something_. If she couldn't help people, what was the point of her even coming back to the past? "I can do the routine patrols, or answer the phones or something."

"Allison, stop," Noah said. Allison bit down on her lip. "You don't need to do anything. This isn't your responsibility."

"But I can help."

"Allison, no." Noah looked exhausted, but his jaw was set. "You're eighteen. This is not something that I am going to put on your shoulders."

"Why not?" Allison demanded. "Noah, we've talked about this."

"Yes, that you'd take care of supernatural problems in town," Noah said. "Not police work."

"But why not, if you need the help?"

Noah let out a breath in frustration. Behind them, Stiles was sitting still on the bed, chewing at his thumb. "Because you're eighteen and you are in high school. You helped out when we were in a bind, and I really appreciate that. But we all have our memories back now and I can't have an unqualified teenager doing the work of a deputy."

Allison clenched her hand into a fist. She wanted to fight with Noah, but since any argument she had was based in time travel and superhero business, she didn't know how. "I could drop out of school and write my GED, then I could become a deputy."

"Yeah, you could," Noah said. "And it'll be a damned waste if that's what you end up doing with your life." He let out another frustrated breath. "You and Stiles, you're both such smart kids. You deserve so much more than this town."

"I don't know if that's true," Stiles said. He got up. "You're here."

Noah looked at Stiles with such sadness that Allison wanted to cry. "And I've got you."

Stiles put his arm around Noah's back. "Yeah," he said softly. "You got me."

Allison turned away. Stiles had his father. They didn't need her around. "I'll go make coffee," she said.

"Allison," Stiles called, but Allison kept on walking.

The nogitsune-induced amnesia had been good for one thing, at least. It had shaken off the blinders on what Allison had been doing in Beacon Hills since she came back. She couldn't justify spending time running around town playing supernatural cop. She had to figure out a solution to the bigger problems. Stop Hydra from their nefarious schemes, stop Thanos from getting the Infinity Stones, stop the Snap, save the universe.

It made her tired just to think of it.

Maybe the Time Stone had made a mistake, sending Allison back to where it did. Maybe it should have sent her back further. Maybe it should have sent someone else entirely. Dr. Strange had seemed to know what he was doing, folding magic and time together in the control room so many years in the future, but did he? Did he really?

There was no one Allison could ask, now.

In the kitchen, she made coffee, then girded herself to turn on the radio to the local Beacon Hills news station. It didn't sound as bad as Noah had said, but then, Allison doubted they would want to play up the most recent round of chaos. The crime beat segment had some information on various altercations around town the previous night, but honestly, it wasn't much different from a normal Saturday after the bars closed. There had also been three shootings, one homicide, and a handful of break-and-enters, but Allison knew from the description of the last that it was likely Angler Charlie, back from his most recent stint in the state lock-up.

And maybe that was what bothered Allison so much about Noah's refusal to accept her help. She knew so much about what was going on in Beacon Hills. Sure, so did all the other deputies, but there were only so many of them.

Allison just wanted to help.

Because otherwise, what was the point of her?

Eventually, Stiles and Noah came downstairs. Stiles was moving like he was underwater, and Noah looked wrecked, but they were both conscious.

Stiles sat down and let his head fall onto the table. "What are you going to do today?" he asked Allison.

"Depends." Allison went to the fridge. "Am I allowed at the station to do my criminally underpaid internship, or am I banned from the premises?"

"It's just for a few days," Noah said, reaching for the coffee like it was a lifeline. "Give us a week to sort everything out and then you can go back to your regular hours."

"A week," Allison repeated, pulling out the egg carton. "Sure. Why not? It's not like I actually need the money or anything."

"It's going to get messy, and I don't want you around that," Noah said. "I already had the FBI breathing down my neck last night. When they lift the barricades this morning, I'm going to get swarmed with Feds. They were already up my ass on the Killian thing, now I don't know if I'll ever get rid of them."

"Gee," Allison said sarcastically. "If only you knew someone who could call in a favour from the Director of the FBI."

Noah turned. "Who, Natasha?"

"Me."

Stiles jerked up. "Why does the Director of the FBI owe you a favour?" he asked, blinking as if he had been falling asleep.

"Because of Aldrich Killian and Maya Hansen." Allison pulled more food from the fridge. "Do you want breakfast tacos or frittata?"

"Tacos," Stiles said. "Could you really ask the Director of the FBI to get all his men to leave town?"

"Ask? Sure." Allison went to the freezer to pull out the tortillas she knew Stiles had stashed there after the last grocery trip. "Straker would tell me I was out of my mind, but a girl can dream, right?"

"Then why would you do it?" Stiles asked as Noah sat down, mug in one hand, coffee pot in the other.

Allison paused by the stove. Why would she harass Straker on something she knew he'd deny? "Maybe to reintroduce myself as a thorn in his side."

"What thorn?" Noah asked, confused. "You met him once when you went to DC, but that's all, right?"

"Ted Straker knew Howard Stark, and he's probably ass-deep in the domestic fallout from the Avengers versus aliens in New York," Allison said. "And when we met, do you know what he said?"

Stiles shook his head, fascinated.

"He said, 'it's not every day that the victim of a famous kidnapping takes out the world's most dangerous terrorist before arriving on my doorstep to solve a problem baffling scientists across the country'," Allison recited. "And then I went and cracked open Maya Hansen like a fortune cookie. Straker doesn't know what to make of me."

"You don't have to be the director of the FBI for that to be a thing," Stiles said. Noah whapped his arm. "What? Allison's weird!"

"That might be your opinion," Noah said. "But she's also making breakfast and I don't see you helping."

"She's a better cook than I am," Stiles said, but he got up to assist.

"That's not true," Allison said. "I can make five things, and then mostly it was just so I didn't starve in c—" She clamped her mouth shut before she finished the word, _college_. "After school growing up."

Luckily, Stiles and Noah didn't pick up anything amiss, and they eventually got breakfast on the table. Conversation mostly died away as they listened to the radio, with Noah adding a few things as the texts from the station picked up with the morning shift.

After breakfast, Noah went upstairs to get into his uniform, leaving Stiles and Allison to stare at each other across the table. "Do I want to ask why you got back so late last night?" Stiles asked, taking the last tortilla.

Allison rested her elbows on the table. "Do you? You've asked me multiple time to refrain from telling you anything about Peter's dick."

Stiles pretended to gag. "How the hell could you think of sex after everything that happened?" he demanded.

"Peter can be very clarifying," Allison said. "Well. Parts of him, anyway."

"You two are so disgusting," Stiles muttered, pulling over the eggs.

"And I think he asked me to marry him."

Stiles went still. "He _what?"_

Allison poured the last of the coffee into her mug. "I asked whose engagement ring we'd found in his dresser the day before and he said it was his mother's and I couldn't have it." She put the pot down. "Then he asked if I wanted the ring after all."

Stiles pushed his chair back. "And what did you say?"

Allison shrugged. "I told him that if he asked me to marry him after everything that happened, I might actually say yes. He didn't say much after that."

"Oh my god," Stiles said, wilting like an emptying balloon. "Okay, new rule, you and Peter are totally never allowed to make life-altering decisions after a town disaster."

"When else should we make them?" Allison asked.

"Never!"

"Fine." Allison slurped at her coffee. "What are you going to do today? Go see Derek?"

It was as if a switch flipped in Stiles. He looked down at his half-eaten taco. "No."

Allison's ears pricked. This was not Stiles' normal _talking-about-Derek_ posture. "Did anything go wrong last night?"

"No." Stiles scratched his head. "He and Cora were okay, just, you know, traumatized."

He still wasn't meeting her eyes and his heartrate was slightly elevated, but he didn't look distraught. And the fact that it hadn't come up before suggested to Allison that whatever was going on between Derek and Stiles now, wasn't life-or-death.

"I thought they might be," Allison said. "I found Peter at the graveyard where his family is buried."

Stiles nodded. "Cora told me she went to see the graves last week. She said it was terrible." He sucked in a breath. "I haven't been to see Mom in a while."

"Do you want to go today?"

Stiles poked at his plate. "I, uh."

Allison slipped around the table to put her hand on Stiles' arm. To her relief, he didn't shake her off. "You don't have to do anything right now," she said. "We can take a few days to deal with stuff."

"Okay." Stiles looked at Allison's hand, then reached over to fiddle with her fingers. "Can I ask you a question?"

Allison tried to prepare herself. "Okay."

"You and Peter… I mean, how do you know you're in love?"

Allison frowned. She wasn't sure she understood what Stiles wanted. "How do I know I'm in love with Peter?"

She could hear Noah approaching the kitchen as quietly as any human wearing full police kit could, but decided that this conversation with Stiles was more important than delicacy over Noah's feelings.

"No, how does anyone know they're in love?" Stiles asked awkwardly.

Allison exhaled. This, at least, the violent return of her memories could help with. Along with all bad had come some good. "It's always different," she said. "With Scott, it was…" She put her free hand over Stiles'. "It was a good thing, being with him. In the beginning, at least, when I was with him, I felt like it was an answer to a question I hadn't known I was asking."

"What about after the beginning?" Stiles asked as Noah came into the kitchen, leaning silently against the wall.

Allison took a deep breath. "Well, I could have used less lying about the werewolf stuff. That… I felt like he didn't trust me, and that hurt. Also there was all that epic weirdness with the Argents, so it was a bad time for everything."

"And what about Peter?"

Allison squeezed Stiles' hand and looked him in the eye. "Peter and I started somewhere in the middle," she said. At least, it had been the middle for her. She still had no idea what pushed Peter into falling in love with her in this do-over timeline. "We're both extremely realistic. We understand what it means to have everything taken from us. And we are people who would do anything we had to, to protect what's ours."

Stiles wrinkled his nose. "You had me until that last part. What has Peter ever done to protect anyone?"

Allison reached up to tap Stiles' forehead. "Peter's primary focus is his own self-interest. I'm the idiot who wants to protect the entire world." She let go of his hands and stood up. "Anyway, the point I'm trying to make is that sometimes love is feeling like your whole body is fizzing, and then other times it's being able to close your eyes and hold someone's hand and know that you're finally home."

She started to clear the table, feeling oddly raw. She'd never taken the time to examine how she felt about Peter in words, and the honest confession she'd offered to Stiles left her vulnerable.

"What about you, Dad?" Stiles asked, picking at his plate.

"What about me," Noah mused. He walked over to put his hand on Stiles' shoulder. "Me and your mom, it was complicated."

"Not love at first sight?" Allison asked.

"No, we knew each other in high school here, never really crossed paths," Noah said. He picked up the coffee pot. "But when I ran into her at college, everything changed."

"Was it her?" Stiles asked.

"Probably not," Noah said. He went to the sink. "I'd just been discharged from the Army. Meeting Claudia again, after everything I'd been through…" He rinsed and filled the pot, then moved over to the coffee maker. "It was like figuring out what really mattered."

Stiles put his head in his hands. "Why can't anything be easy?"

"Because." Noah replaced the coffee filter and added more grounds. "Anything worth having is worth working for."

"Allison didn't have to work for Peter," Stiles grumbled.

Allison turned on the tap to begin filling the sink. "If you don't think that Peter is a hell of a lot of work, Stiles, thinking again."

Before Stiles could react, Noah's cell phone went off. He had it out and to his ear in an instant. "Stilinski."

There was a moment of silence in the kitchen. Allison couldn't hear the voice on the other end of the line over the water.

Then Noah sagged. "Yeah, okay," he said. "I'll be there in five." He hung up and shoved his phone in his pocket. "You two stay safe today," he said as he gave one last regretful glance at the half-assembled coffee maker. "If you need to talk, call me."

"We'll be okay," Allison said, turning off the water. "Right?"

"Right, Dad," Stiles said. "Go. We'll be fine."

Noah slapped Stiles on the back on his way to the hall. A moment later, the front door opened and closed, and Noah was gone.

Stiles kicked at the table leg. "Is he going to be okay?"

Allison dried her hands and went to Stiles' side, daring to put her arms around him in a hug. He returned the embrace, resting his forehead against her hair. "Noah has a job and a lot to do, and he knows at the end of the day, he's coming home to you. He's going to stay safe. You need to do the same."

"And what about you?" Stiles asked. He gave Allison another squeeze before backing away. His eyes were a little red. "Are you going to stay safe?"

"As safe as I can be," Allison said. "I'm not going to go out looking for danger but I can't not help people if they need it."

"Okay." Stiles wiped his eyes. "Are you going out?"

Allison sighed. "I think if I stay inside, I'm going to lose my mind. Maybe I'll go for a walk or something. How much trouble can anyone get into on a walk?"

"In Beacon Hills?" Stiles asked, his eyebrows up.

Allison ignored that. "What are you going to do?"

Stiles grabbed a dishtowel from the hooks by the fridge. "I don't know."

Allison almost asked about Derek again, but decided to leave that bruise alone for now. She picked up the dish sponge. "Scott?"

Stiles took in a breath. "I don't know," he said after a minute. "Things are just so weird with him right now. Even after Jackson and Kira almost died, he's being all stand-offish."

Allison washed a plate. "He's probably still angry at me. I'm sorry if you're getting dragged into this."

"It's not fair." Stiles leaned against the counter. "I don't know. I don't know what to do."

Allison washed dishes in silence, while Stiles dried and put them away. Not everything was bad, after their memories had come back, Allison reflected. Sure, a lot was terrible, and she kept getting flashes of events or conversations from across her past and future.

But this morning had given Allison a few very valuable gifts. It was a reminder than in spite of her worries that morning, she still had Stiles, and Noah, even if he was keeping her from helping out in a town going off its hinges.

And Allison still had Peter. And whatever the day threw at any of them, that was something to hold on to.

* * *

After dishes, Allison went and changed into her only remaining work-out outfit, a pair of Erica's almost-too-short running shorts and a tank top. She still hadn't gotten around to replacing the running bra Killian had torn in his assault, but her runners were mostly dusted off, with the smell of smoke nearly faded.

Allison grabbed one of Stiles' hoodies, lest she be hauled in by any of her co-workers for public indecency, and filled the pockets with her phone, her throwing knives, two hair elastics, ten dollars in various bills, and her sheriff's department ID card. Detaching her house key from the ring, Allison headed downstairs, to find Stiles on the couch texting furiously.

"You're going to sprain your thumb if you keep doing that," Allison said as she pulled the hoodie on. It was a little long on her, dipping nearly down to the hem of her running shorts. But she supposed walking around town with her leather jacket and these shorts might be almost worse.

Stiles paused to look at her. "Where are you going?"

Allison tossed her key into the air. "Like I said. Out."

"Okay." Stiles' phone buzzed, and he sent off another text. "I might go over to Lydia's."

Allison paused. An interesting development, after that morning's breakdown post-nightmares. "Oh?"

Stiles shot her the stink-eye. "Yes. Lydia said she remembered something about when her grandmother died and she's freaked out. And Kira is also freaking out and won't explain why over the phone."

"Oh," Allison said. "Lydia and Kira." That was an interesting development.

Stiles sat upright. "Hey, shut up."

"No," Allison said. "Just remember that they're both seventeen and I'm too young to be a grandmother." She turned on her heel and headed down the hall.

"Not everyone in town uses traumatic memory reacquisition as an excuse to bone!" Stiles shouted after her.

Allison slammed the door, taking a moment to lock Stiles in, then shoved her hands into her hoodie pockets and wandered out into the morning.

The town was relatively subdued as Allison headed towards the river. She supposed that people were having their breakdowns behind closed doors. That was what she had done. Gotten back from the mission, finished the report, then gone to whatever makeshifts quarters she'd been assigned for the duration to collapse into a heap until the shaking and crying was over.

That was, that had been how she had handled things until a few years into her partnership with Sam and Bucky. One day, one terrible day, Bucky had found her behind a rusty old lattice on the steamer they were using as a temporary base and sat down beside her and said, _Sometimes I sit with Sam after missions when things go bad._

Allison had tried to pull herself together and only succeeded into letting out a sob so loud they must have heard it in the engine room. Bucky had put his flesh hand on her arm and it was the closest Allison had been to a werewolf in over a month and she just folded into him, someone real and someone solid to help her fend off the demons in her head. _I didn't think Sam ever had bad days,_ she had said when she could finally breathe.

 _Who was talking about Sam?_ Bucky asked, his eyes glowing like the Rigel blue-white star they had just left behind in their mission through Orion's Belt. _You don't think a guy like me has bad days?_

 _I didn't think it was going to be like this,_ Allison confessed. _So hard._

 _I know what you mean, minnow,_ Bucky had said, and let her hold onto him for just a little bit longer.

Allison blinked back tears. She was never going to get her Bucky back. But she had to do something to get him away from Hydra. She just didn't know what, because if she did things wrong, Hydra would kill Bucky.

She didn't know what to do.

As she reached the river path, her phone rang. It was her aunt Anna.

"Hello, Anna," Allison said on answering. Sliding into Spanish to talk to her family was a familiar comfort. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," Anna said, sounding harassed. "Are you okay? We just heard that something happened up in Beacon Hills."

"Everything is better now," Allison said. "What is the CDC telling everyone?"

"The CDC?" Anna repeated. "No, one of my reporters heard that the traffic diversion up around Beacon Hills was due to a gas leak and the town had been quarantined."

Oh, hell. Allison hadn't put much thought towards the outside world, especially the media. When the blockades came down, the town was likely to be overrun. "It wasn't a gas leak." Allison turned to walk along the river. "For your ears only, it was a curse."

"A _curse?"_

"Magic," Allison clarified. "For a while, everyone forgot everything about who they were, then the memories all came back."

There was a moment of dead silence on the phone. "What?"

"I know, it's a lot to deal with," Allison said. "To summarize a very long and annoying story, the curse is broken, everyone has their memories again, and I would like very much for the real cause of this to never be found out."

"God," Anna muttered. "I hate magic. Are you really all right?"

"I guess," Allison said. "It's terrible and I can't really sleep, but I think I will be." She looked out over the Sacramento River, the movement of the water slow and sleepy as it flowed south. "I think I will be."

"Can I do anything to help?"

Right. To business. "I would never try to subvert the media, but I'm not sure that 'magic made it happen' will help anything," Allison said. "Can your reporters just talk about what the CDC and the state patrol have to say?"

"A lot of my audiences don't necessarily trust the narrative spun by the English authorities."

"Which is why Vasquez Media is so popular," Allison agreed. "Aunt Anna, I'm not asking you to lie to anyone. I'm asking you to consider if telling your reporter something that I told you in confidence will make anything better."

Over the line, Allison could hear Anna sigh. In the background, children's' voices rose to a screech. Then Anna let out a soft _oof_ and Allison heard snuffling close to the phone.

"Hello," Allison said. "Do we have a visitor?"

"Who are you?" came Hannah's voice. "Mama's not supposed to work on Sunday."

"Mama's not working. It's Allison, your cousin," Anna said. "Hannah, can you go back out to your nanny?"

"No!"

"It's fine," Allison said. "There's nothing that tiny ears can't hear. From what I've heard from the sheriff, some people are having a hard time dealing with things, and this town could probably use a severe influx of mental health support, but it's not like an epidemic or anything."

"Is there any possibility of this happening again?" Anna asked. "Or spreading?"

"No," Allison said. "The curse itself was very specific. I'm pretty sure it pulled power from the weird ley lines under the town, which makes it pretty limiting."

"I've heard that Beacon Hills has a strange convergence of energies," Anna said. "But is it dangerous?"

"Just like most power, it's only dangerous if someone wants it to be." Ahead, the path diverged. Allison took the branch that led towards the bridge across the river, heading north. "Is that the story of my life?"

"I want to hear a story," Hannah said before Anna could reply.

"Maybe another time," Allison said. She was nearing the little park by the river where she and Lydia had sat, only a few weeks ago, arguing about Peter before Dupont's team came along and shot Allison. "Anna, unless there's anything else, I should go."

"Allison… Are you being careful?"

"I am always careful," Allison said, glad that Anna didn't know her well enough to hear the lie in her voice. "Can I call you tomorrow?"

"Please do," Anna said. "And I will figure out what to do about this story."

"I want to hear a story," Hannah whispered.

"Goodbye," Allison said, and hung up the phone. She couldn't keep talking to Anna, not when she was standing in the same place where she had been shot, not even three weeks before.

The memory of that incident was a little hazy, which Allison was going to blame on the elephant tranquilizers. But she could almost feel the pain of the bullet going through her, the tight, hot burning. Putting the phone into her pocket, Allison looked around. The patch of blood in the parking lot had been mostly scrubbed away, and there was hardly any sign of what had happened here.

In spite of the heat, Allison shivered. The forced return of her memories was making her maudlin.

Deliberately, she turned her back on the park and moved on. This part of the river was a strange one, with the construction of the bridge all those years ago turning the river currents downstream deadly. Fences had been put up to prevent unwary swimmers from getting caught in the undertow, and signs along the river warned against entering the water.

That hadn't stopped a few drunks from trying over the years, Deputy Wu had told Allison. They usually found the bodies washed up in the grating down by the water treatment plant.

Allison looked at the water, deceptively slow and smooth at the surface. There was a metaphor in there, she was sure, but she was too tired to dig it out.

She continued towards the bridge. She had some half-formed idea of walking up to Peter's place, to see what he was doing, when she spotted someone standing at the bridge's midspan. The man was looking down at the river, his shoulders slumped, and a sudden awareness zinged through Allison.

She didn't know why, but that man was in danger.

Quickly, Allison sped into a jog. As she got closer, she realized that it was Zach from the coffee shop, Mark Strong's nephew. "Hey!" Allison said as she got in ear-shot. "Zach!"

Zach jerked his head up at the call. Allison didn't know him well, but she knew that haunted look in his eyes. She'd seen it in the mirror far too often, and she wondered what this big, brash boy had done to feel so guilty about. "Uh. Hi."

"It's Allison," she said as she slowed to a stop, a few feet away from him. "How are you doing?"

Zach shrugged and went back to staring at the water.

"How's your mom?" Allison pressed, moving a step closer. Zach's hands were tight on the metal railing.

"Fine." Zach's forehead creased and his face crumpled for a moment before he pulled himself together. It look like it took an effort.

"She might be the only one in town, then," Allison said. She took another step. "Yesterday was a disaster. I was at the sheriff's station, things were a mess. Did you talk to your uncle Mark at all?"

Zach nodded. "He came over to the café after everything. We didn't…" Zach faltered. "Me and Mom, we were both there on Friday when everything happened. Just made sense to go back yesterday."

"That's good." Allison leaned against the railing. She would be able to get to Zach in time if he decided to make a swan dive into the river. "Keeping busy can help."

Zach picked at the edge of the _Danger – No Swimming_ sign bolted into the concrete of the bridge. "Uncle Mark said a lot of people drown, going off this bridge."

 _Fuck_. "A few have," Allison said. "The water looks calm, but there's an undertow that can be deadly."

"What do you think it's like?" Zach asked. "To drown."

Normally, Allison would have given the exact details on what a terrible way it was to go. She had never experienced it herself, thank the stars, but she had read up on waterboarding and drowning as a teenager after she learned all that Tony had been through in Afghanistan.

But something about how Zach was looking out at the water made her hesitate. "It's probably not great," she said cautiously. "It's probably pretty rough. Why, Zach?"

Zach's face crumpled again, and this time he didn't try to stop it. "My dad. He." Zach bent over, clutching at the rail. Allison reached out to catch his arm, but he didn't try to go into the water. "Uh. He drowned."

"I'm sorry," Allison said. "When?"

"A long time ago. I was five. We were out on the lake north of town. We were fishing." Zach choked back what might have been a sob. "He got tangled up and went into the water, and he never came up. I saw it happen."

And the day before had likely brought it all back, Allison thought.

"I didn't do anything to help him," Zach went on. "I just watched it happen."

"You were five," Allison said. She had to get Zach away from the water. This was the most dangerous spot in town to go into the river, and he was tall enough that he could toppled over the railing with very little effort. "That must have been a terrible thing for you to experience."

"I should have done something," Zach said. "Mom never said anything, but she must have thought so too, she had to."

"She wouldn't," Allison said. This had to end. "Zach, I need you to listen to me, okay? Your mother would absolutely never blame you for your father's death."

"I should have done something."

"Could you swim when you were five?" Allison asked.

After a moment, Zach shook his head.

"Can you swim now?"

A nod.

"Was there anything you could have done?" Allison went on. "You're nineteen now, not five. Maybe you, now, might be able to do something if someone fell in the lake. But you were five. You were just a baby."

Zach put his hand over his face as his knees gave out, and Allison wrapped her hands around his arm. But the moment of danger had passed, Allison could feel it. "It's my fault," he said, voice wrecked.

"Was it?" Allison asked, hooking her arm around his. He probably outweighed her by a hundred pounds and as long as they stayed on land, she could handle him. "Was it your fault?"

Zach was quiet for a long time, his shoulders shaking. "No," he said finally. "It wasn't."

"I know what guilt feels like, even when it's about something you couldn't stop," Allison said. "I know it can eat away at you every minute of every day. But that's one of the things we have to deal with in being alive."

Zach seemed to be holding up on his own, so Allison risked pulling him away from the edge of the bridge.

"How did you get here today? Did you drive?"

Zach put his hand down and took in a huge breath. "My bike," he said, and gestured down to the end of the bridge. Allison spotted a bicycle, tossed haphazardly on the ground, like its rider hadn't cared what happened next.

"Okay, let's go down there." Allison pulled Zach along with her. "I walked. It's a nice day. Too nice, considering what happened yesterday. It should be raining, you know? Grey clouds and angry thunder, that's what I feel like."

"You don't have to hold my hand," Zach said. "I'm not going to do anything."

"Good." Allison let go of Zach's arm and slapped him on the back. He wheezed. "Do you like rain?"

"Not really. Me and Mom moved up to Seattle for a while after Dad died," Zach said. He wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his t-shirt. "We came back after a couple of years. Every time it rains, I think of how sad she was then."

"You must have been sad, too," Allison pointed out as they reached Zach's bike. He turned then, looking at her.

"I mean, I guess."

"Where's your mom now?"

"At work."

"Why aren't you there?"

Zach shrugged. "We don't normally work Sunday. But Heather needed the day off to deal with yesterday, so Mom went in."

"Maybe you can go help her out."

"I don't know if she wants me there."

"Zach, I'm sure she does," Allison said. She didn't want to leave Zach without a goal in mind, in case he got it back in his head to return to the bridge. "If not, you can go to the station and hang out with Mark. He's on duty today."

Zach rubbed his eyes. "I'm not supposed to bug uncle Mark at work."

"Trust me, he could use with the bugging. He's pissed off at the world after all the bullshit we had to deal with Friday night."

Zach looked out at the river, now a safe distance away. "I wasn't really going to jump."

She didn't believe him. "Good," Allison said. "I promised Stiles that I wouldn't make any life altering decisions until at least next Thursday. Maybe we should all do that."

"Next Thursday?"

"Yeah."

Zach ran his hand through his hair. "Maybe I can do the same thing."

"Good idea," Allison said. "What about right now? Are you going to go to the station to see Mark?"

"No, I should go help Mom. She shouldn't have to work alone on a Sunday. She works too hard."

"I'm sure she'll be glad to see you."

"Maybe." Zach turned towards his bicycle, then back to her. "Um, Allison?"

"Yeah?"

Zach was looking straight at her. "Do you have any idea what happened?"

"Why would I have any idea of what happened?"

"Because you're, you know." He sketched something undecipherable on the air. "Uncle Mark said you're a little strange, and he only says that about a few people in town."

Perfect. "I've had a weird life," Allison said, and that at least was truthful. "But just because I'm strange, that doesn't mean I know jack-shit about what happens in Beacon Hills."

"Okay," Zach said. "I don't believe you, but okay."

"Go to work," Allison said. "Give your mom a break. She could probably use it, with how the people in this town love their coffee."

Zach picked up his bike. "You can come by any time," he said. "You know, if you want."

There was enough lingering guilt in his eyes that made Allison say, "Sure, how about on Thursday?"

"Thursday?" Zach repeated. "Aren't you going to the Homecoming dance?"

Allison had completely forgot that Homecoming was on Thursday, before the professional development day on the Friday before the long weekend. "No, not this year."

"Oh. Okay." He got on his bike. "I'll see you on Thursday, then."

"Bye." Allison watched as the boy rode off. She waited until he rounded the bend of the path before yanking out her phone and calling the station. Luckily, Deputy Strong was at his desk, and after a very brief and somewhat truncated explanation of Allison's encounter with Zach, he promised to go past his sister's coffee shop to make sure Zach was all right.

Then Allison shoved her phone back in her pocket and retraced her steps to the little park. She wondered if she should call Noah to get him to put someone on watch at the bridge. It probably wasn't a high priority for law enforcement, given all the other places in town someone could go to harm themselves. Besides, Zach had gone there because he was thinking about his father's drowning. How many other people in Beacon Hills might have the same thought?

Allison found a shaded bench that had a good enough view of the bridge, and plunked herself down. If Noah wouldn't let her go to work, she might at least be able to do some good here.

And if not? Then at least Allison wasn't getting in anyone's way.

She sat there for a while, letting the tendrils of memory flow past her like the river by her feet. The thoughts of Morgan were the worst, because most of them were her good memories, of the sister she would never have.

She missed Morgan so much it felt like a knife in her gut.

Eventually, her phone rang. She pulled it out, saw Jarvis's name on the screen, and girded herself. Time to face the music. "Hello?"

"Allison," Jarvis said. "How are you?"

"Can we skip the meaningless pleasantries?"

"As you wish," Jarvis replied. "I am calling to ask you if you are in the mood for some company."

Oh, _crap_. Now she was going to have to deal with Tony in person, the last thing she wanted when her memories were still so raw. "Is there any way to convince Tony to stay in LA?"

"No, I am afraid," Jarvis said. "The quarantine on travel to Beacon Hills was lifted half an hour ago, and he is in flight as we speak. I thought it wise to give you a warning, as your last few encounters have not been entirely harmonious."

"Can you tell him to go home because I lost my memory again?" Allison asked hopefully.

"No. He has been quite worried about you since he learned that Beacon Hills was struck with amnesia. At this point, the only thing that would keep him away is if you specifically asked that he not bother you."

Allison sighed. That would be so easy to do, to tell Tony to fuck off and leave her alone.

But that would probably destroy any chance they had at building an actual father-daughter relationship, and Allison was probably supposed to be the adult in the room on this. Reluctantly, she said, "Don't do that."

"I will not," Jarvis said. "In addition to Mr. Stark, there are two others who have just arrived in Beacon Hills at the request of Director Fury. May I tell them of your location?"

"Two?" Allison repeated. If it had been just one, she would have assumed that Fury had pried Clint off the farm and sent him to find Natasha. But two?

"Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson," Jarvis said.

Allison sat up. "Hold up, why the hell are Steve and Sam in town?"

"Once Director Fury apprised him of the situation, Captain Rogers was concerned about Agent Romanoff. Master Sergeant Wilson volunteered to assist."

Allison pulled her legs up on the bench. "So why not send them to the sheriff's station? Natasha's probably there."

"She is not," Jarvis said. "She is on patrol, and so Captain Rogers asked after your location."

"That fucking letter," Allison muttered. "Fine, whatever, tell him where I am. We may as well punch it out like men."

Jarvis hesitated. "If you are concerned about an altercation with Captain Rogers—"

"Nah, Steve would never punch a lady without provocation," Allison interrupted. "We may as well get this over with."

"As you wish." A pause, then Jarvis went on. "I have to say, Allison, that I am very glad that you have recovered your memories."

"I… I am too," Allison said after thinking about it. "I mean, it sucks. But that's the thing about memories. They make us who we are. The good and the really bad."

"I have found that the longer I am active, and the more I experience, I know more of who I am," Jarvis said.

"That's good." The sound of a car slowing down made Allison turn around. A black SUV had pulled into the parking lot, with Steve and Sam visible behind the windshield. "Jarvis, can I ask you a delicate question?"

"If you wish."

The car stopped, and the engine died. Sam and Steve seemed to be arguing about something. "Maybe it's less a question and more of a statement," Allison said. She had to phrase this carefully, because it had to appear like a recent realization and not years of hearing of how Jarvis had died at Ultron's hands. "Things would have gone a lot better for me, losing my memories, of I'd had a diary or something like that. A backup set of memories."

"I have a fully secure set of backups," Jarvis said.

"Could it hurt to have more?" The car doors opened, and two Captains America got out. "I have to go, Jarvis. Tell Tony where I am, okay?"

"I will. And best of luck." The call ended, and Allison lowered her phone.

"Captain," she called to Steve. "Looking tall, as always. Sam."

"Hey," Sam said. "Is there a coffee shop around here or anything? Or a convenient bush?"

"There's the bathrooms by the playground," Allison said, pointing. "Long drive?"

"And someone won't stop drinking Big Gulps," Sam said, as Steve headed over towards the small building. "Mind if I join you?"

"Go ahead." Allison shifted around as Sam settled on the other end of the bench. "Big Gulps? Really?"

"He says he's got high metabolic needs," Sam said with a shake of the head. "I told him about those gel things that marathon runners use, and he said he couldn't stand the taste."

"What about the fine art of pissing out the window?" Allison asked, lifting one eyebrow. Sam looked young, which she'd picked up on in the FBI headquarters, but out in the open air and strong California sunshine, Sam also looked tired.

Allison wondered how much of a toll the Snap and taking up the shield had taken on Sam, and how much of what kept him up at night had happened before that.

"It's hard to do that when you're driving," Sam pointed out.

"Amateurs," Allison said. She settled on the bench to resume her scan of the bridge, crossing one knee over the other. "How are you doing, Sam?"

Sam exhaled. "I'm fine," he said. "It's been a trip, you know? One failed blind date turns into getting swept up by Avengers and superheroes."

"Is Steve treating you right?"

"Yeah, he's okay." Sam slumped to rest his elbows on his knees. "What the hell happened in this town?"

"Do you mean on Friday, or originally?"

"Friday, mostly," Sam said. "Why, is there more?"

"This town has an origin story of its own, going back thousands of years," Allison said. "But I'll spare you the gory details. Suffice to say that a lot of weird shit happens here."

"Weird like the whole town loses its memories?"

"Please, that's just a Tuesday to us." Allison could hear someone approaching from behind. "Steve, glad you could join us."

Steve Rogers came around the bench and stood awkwardly. "Allison."

Allison leaned back to look at him. She hadn't known him well in the future, just another one of her father's friends, and then not-friends, and then friends again over the years. She didn't understand the decisions he had made, and had spent so many years disliking him for what his choices had meant for Bucky.

But this Steve wasn't that Steve at all. Not that this Steve looked much _younger_ , not on the outside. But Steve hadn't been through the hell that was the Snap yet, hadn't gotten Bucky back just to walk away from him again.

Allison didn't know what to think of this Steve.

"Are you going to sit down or are you going to loom?" she asked after a moment's stillness.

"That depends," Steve said. "Are you going to explain that letter or not?"

Sam groaned. "Not that fucking letter, man," he complained.

Steve frowned at Sam. "Don't future people watch their language around ladies anymore?"

"Do you see any ladies around here?" Allison asked Sam. He shrugged. "Look, Captain—"

"Steve," the man interrupted. "Please. It might make all this less weird."

"Highly doubtful," Allison said. "I can't move, I'm on bridge-watch. Sam can shove over and you can sit down."

"Bridge-watch?" Sam asked as he shuffled over, leaving some space for Steve to perch on the bench.

"Yeah, I already talked one potential jumper off the bridge before you got here." Allison pointed at the _no swimming_ sign. "This part of the river is deadly, everyone who grew up in town knows that. Someone having a difficult time dealing with the sudden onslaught of every single trauma they've ever experienced might get the bad idea in their head that this is a way out."

"Is that what happened to people here?" Sam asked, sounding a little appalled.

"Yeah." Allison looked downriver for a moment, then back to the bridge. "The worst thing in the world isn't forgetting everything. It's when it all comes back at once."

Sam rubbed his hands together. "What came back for you?"

Allison turned her eyes on him. "How much do you know about me?"

"I know your father is Tony Stark," Sam said. "And that you were attacked by a terrorist a few days before we met, and all the stuff Steve's told me about when he was in town a few weeks ago."

Allison nodded. "Remember in DC when I made that quip about shell-shock?"

"You said you were talking about what happened with Killian and Hansen."

Allison let her gaze drift back to the bridge. "I might have been under-reporting the origins of my problems."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

Allison made herself nod again, which was hard over the sudden lump in her throat. God, Sam didn't even know her. "It wasn't easy, growing up with the woman who murdered my mother. But for almost a day, I forgot it all. I forgot everything and everyone I lost, every time I got hit, every time I had to claw my way back up on my own. And then it all came back at once and it was just—" Her voice cracked and she had to bend over, her head almost on her knees. Sam and Steve were mercifully silent.

Allison flashed forward to that terrible time after Derek died, when Bucky found her and sat beside her in Lydia's house. When she had said, _I'm scared_ , he said, _I've been scared since 1941. Still gotta get up every day and do what you're gonna do. Now, you gonna stay here hiding? Or are you gonna do something about it?_

She made herself sit up and take a deep breath. "It was a little overwhelming," she said, her voice only shaking a little. "I have a job to do, that's how I deal with things. But other people, when they're flung back to the worst things they've ever lived through… there have already been a few people who killed themselves, and more who've tried." She nodded out at the river. "And if I can stop someone who's having a hard time dealing with that grief from making a very final decision when they're emotionally compromised, then I have to do it.

"That makes sense," Sam said. "But why you?"

Allison settled back. "It's a big town, and not a lot of cops."

"Tony said you were working at the sheriff's station," Steve said.

He had no way of knowing it, but the words were like a slap on a bruise. "Not today," Allison said. She worked her hands into the pockets of her hoodie, touching her knives to make herself feel better. "It has been pointed out to me that I am eighteen and neither qualified nor trained for police work."

"So you're on a bench by the river," Sam said.

"If I had to stay home by myself I might lose my mind," Allison said. "My foster brother is off making interesting life choices, and the sheriff is at work. So, I went for a walk."

"I get it," Sam said. "After the few days we had, I feel like going for a walk too." He elbowed Steve in the ribs, making the other man smile a bit. That was a good sign. If Steve was really angry at Allison, he'd have been demanding answers by now.

"What have you two been doing since I saw you in DC?" Allison asked.

"You know, this and that." Sam leaned back on the bench and told Allison a tale of their road trip across the States, which sounded only mildly improbable. Steve eventually thawed enough to add the odd anecdote here and there.

Sam had just gotten to the part where Nick Fury suggested that Steve and Sam, who had been in Nevada, head over to Beacon Hills to deal with the amnesia outbreak, when Allison's phone vibrated with a text from Jarvis. _Mr. Stark's arrival is imminent._

Allison let out a breath. Okay. Her father was on his way. She would handle this like a goddamned adult.

But getting her memories back had pushed the last times she saw Tony, in Beacon Hills, into a grey area. The brightest memories she had of Tony were from a future she'd never live, with a sister she would never have.

She didn't know what to do.

"What's up?" Sam asked.

Allison pointed to the sky. Already she could hear the distant whine of the Iron Man suit's flight repulsors. "Have you ever seen the full landing?"

"No," Sam said, while Steve just sighed. "What, is it a whole event?"

"No, it's Tony Stark," Allison said, as the red-and-gold of the armour streaked across the sky. "And Tony was never one to pass up an opportunity to show off."

With flawless ease, Tony swooped into an arc, peaked over the river, and sank down to the river path without so much as an armour joint out of place.

For a moment, everyone just looked at each other. Then the Iron Man visor flipped up and Tony's face appeared. "Jarvis did tell you I was coming, right?"

The years fell away, and Allison found that she was on her feet. He was here, her dad was _here_ , he wasn't dead.

"Seriously, why does everyone look so grim?" Tony asked, the suit opening to let him out. "Are you sick? Did someone die? Did you lose your memories again? Come on, someone say something."

Allison's throat hurt. Her father was alive. She'd known that, of course, but seeing him after all this time… She moved forward without thinking. It was hard to see and her throat hurt and her chest hurt. "Hi, Dad."

Tony's eyes locked on hers. "Hi, kid," he said softly. "You okay?"

Allison shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. God, why was she falling apart? She was supposed to be the adult here.

"Do you want some candy?" Tony asked, starting to look panicked. "I usually keep some M&Ms in the suit in case my blood sugar gets low—"

"Give her a hug, you idiot," Sam called from the bench.

Automatically, Tony held out his hands. "Are we at the hugging stage yet because I don't know where we left off and—" He stopped when Allison stepped closer, hesitating. Tony didn't know her, she didn't want to presume, she knew how much he hated being touched when he didn't initiate it. "But we could be. If you want."

Allison took another step forward to put her arms around her father. He wasn't that much taller than her and he still smelled like expensive cologne and a zing of ozone, and under it all, Allison's alpha senses could make out the barely-there traces of the arc reactor that kept his heart going.

Tony put his arms around her. It was an uncomfortable embrace, but it was her _dad_. She had him back.

"Hey, kid." Tony said, patting her back. "Psst, guys, what am I supposed to do?"

"Have you really never hugged your kid before?" Sam asked.

"He's only ever met her once," Steve explained as Allison pulled away from Tony, trying to rebuild herself emotionally. "The day before you and I ran into her in DC."

Allison curled her arms around herself, wishing the tears would go away, that she wasn't reacting like some _teenager_ who'd gotten her father back from the dead. She had to drag up the most recent memories of interacting with Tony, not let herself be consumed by what might have been.

"That's messed up," Sam commiserated.

"Tell me about it," Allison said. She faced Tony. "I'm sorry."

Tony was still standing with his arms out. He let them drop. "About what?"

"For calling you Dad," Allison said, wiping her cheeks with the cuff of her hoodie.

Tony rolled his shoulders. "It's okay," he said. "Weird. Really weird. And probably at the root of some deep trauma that I should see a therapist about, actually."

"Are you two good?" Steve asked.

"Yeah," Allison said. She shook her head and turned to him. "Why?"

"Because I have some questions."

Tony looked at Steve a little incredulously. "Really, Bomb Pop?" Steve frowned at him. "I'm having a touching reunion with my daughter and you're bringing out twenty questions?"

"Allison said if I went to Los Angeles, she'd tell me why she slipped a letter with Bucky's handwriting into my pocket," Steve said mulishly.

"That's your question?" Tony demanded. "Not why everyone in town developed amnesia?"

Sam rolled his eyes.

"Tony, it's fine," Allison said, putting her hand on his arm. He jerked under her touch, and she pulled away. Right. She had to remember that this Tony didn't know her and didn't want her touching him. "That was just a curse, it's broken now."

"Curse?"

Allison waved her hand. "Magic is real. In the meantime, Steve had questions about that letter." She tried to get her thoughts in order, because she was walking the knife's edge in her lies about Bucky and Hydra. "Sam, how much do you know about Hydra?"

"What Steve's been telling me," Sam said. "Stuff that wasn't in the history books."

"Okay. So, historically, Hydra, pretty terrible," Allison said, trying to ignore Steve's constipated expression. "I met someone this summer in France who told me a lot about Hydra."

"The Winter Soldier," Tony said, and the words sent a zing up Allison's spine. "Natasha told me a bit about him. Big bad guy who works for Hydra."

"He doesn't work for Hydra," Allison snapped. "They made him into their weapon—"

"How does that make any sense?" Tony exclaimed. "Everyone's got a choice—"

"He doesn't," Allison said, trying to hold in the anger, the power of the alpha that wanted to lash out, wanted to protect her wolf. "He's not a normal soldier, Tony. Hydra's had him for decades, brainwashing him, manipulating him—"

"Sounds like he's not the only one being manipulated."

Yes, Allison remembered this too, Tony using words as a weapon in an argument. Only he'd never aimed them at her before. Then again, the girl Allison had been the first time wouldn't have been quick enough to fight back.

She let her anger bleed away until she was cold inside. This wasn't about winning a fight with Tony. This was about priming Steve and Sam and yes, even her father, into being prepared to deal with the return of Bucky Barnes from Hydra's clutches.

Because even though he wasn't going to remember her, Allison was going to save Bucky if it was the last thing she did.

"He's put through a constant cycle of torment," Allison said, ice in her veins. "Mind-altering chemicals, electric shock, implanting false memories and programming, then they send him out on a mission and pull him back in a few days before his brain can start to heal. Then they hose him down and drop him back into a cryostasis tank to keep him on ice between missions."

"He told you this?" Tony asked.

"I am not the only one in town who knows him," Allison returned. "Natasha can confirm everything I just said."

"Wait, Natasha knows him?" Steve asked.

"Yes."

"Does she also buy this brainwashing crap?" Tony asked.

"Ask her." Allison paced over to the edge of the river path. A jogger was crossing the bridge from the other side, pace never slowing. Still, Allison kept her eyes on them. "Anyway, Steve, he found me in France and I don't know if he was on the run from his handlers or he was on a mission to gain my trust, but he was out of their hands for so long that he remembered a lot."

The jogger safely reached the other side of the bridge, and Allison relaxed slightly.

"Not his name, or where he came from," Allison continued. "But a few things. Like Natasha. A lot of the things he'd been forced to do over the years."

"What does all this have to do with the letter you put in my pocket?" Steve asked.

Allison turned around. Tony, who had fallen oddly silent, was watching her closely. Sam was frowning. Allison shifted her gaze to Steve. "He knew a lot about things that were going on in the world," Allison said. She should probably have felt bad about all this lying, but if it had even a shred of a chance at getting Tony and Sam on her side to save Bucky, she'd take it. "He told me how to hack into Tony's servers, to get any information I needed. He told me about Natasha, and what Hydra knew about Bruce Banner." She paused. "And he told me how to get to you."

Steve was on the alert now, all of his attention focused on Allison. "And how was that?"

"He said, if I wanted to get to you, mess with your head, that all I had to do was throw Bucky Barnes in your face." Oh, and there it was, the anger Allison had been expecting. "That I could sling arrows and bullets at you all day long, and you'd stop it all. But drop mention of your best friend at your feet, and you'd be compromised."

Steve's anger was bleeding into fury. "And so that's what you did?"

Allison nodded, barely noticing the woman on the path behind her, pushing a stroller. "I read up on some of Bucky Barnes' handwriting in letters in the online Smithsonian exhibit."

Steve let out a sharp bark of air and scrubbed his hands over his face.

"I'm sorry," Allison put in, knowing it wasn't going to help.

"Why did you do it?" Sam asked. "I mean, I saw the letter. But why?"

Allison cast another look at Tony. She didn't understand why he wasn't saying anything. "When Steve showed up in my history class, it helped me make the connection between Hydra and Extremis. And I'd already pinged Extremis for Tony, but I thought that Steve might be the only person alive who would really understand how much danger everyone was in, if Hydra had infiltrated SHIELD."

"So you wrote the letter to, what? Rile Steve up?" Sam asked.

"Not exactly." Allison did another automatic scan of the bridge. Another pair of runners. "I needed to get Steve down to LA to help Tony look into things."

"So why didn't you just tell me?" Steve demanded.

"I didn't know you!" Allison retorted. "I didn't know how you'd react to some stranger telling you that Hydra had infiltrated SHIELD, if you'd have gone directly to Nick Fury, or someone else, and if they were Hydra then you'd be in danger."

"So you did what the soldier guy told you to," Tony said, finally breaking his silence.

"It worked, didn't it?"

"What if it hadn't?"

Steve stood up and took a few steps, before stopping and put his hands on his hips, looking out at the river.

Allison kept her eyes on him as she said to Tony, "It was always going to work." She paused, wondering how much worse she should make this. "Hydra knows that Bucky is your weak spot, Steve. Zola made sure of that."

"And how the hell did he know?" Steve asked, not turning around.

"You stormed a Hydra base deep behind enemy lines with an aluminum shield and a six-shot pistol to get him back," Allison said.

"There were over three hundred men prisoner at Kreischberg," Steve said.

 _And only one of them was Bucky_ , Allison thought. Instead, she said, "I'm sorry."

"So I've got a question," Sam said, leaning forward. "This Winter Soldier guy, he spends the summer with you, telling you all this stuff. Then what?"

"What?" Allison asked.

"Then what?" Sam repeated. "He gets his memories back, which you said never happened before, and then he just walks right back to the people who tortured him?"

"He didn't tell me what he was going to do after I left," Allison improvised. Really, she should sit down one day and map out the fictional backstory if she wanted to keep things straight. "But he did say that no matter where he went, how far he ran, Hydra would always find him. And that if I ever saw him again, I needed to run, because he wasn't going to know who I was."

"But why you?" Tony asked. Allison looked over at him. "Why you? If he found you on his own or Hydra sent him, why you?"

This at least was easy, as she'd been sticking to the same script on this one over the last few weeks. "I don't know."

"Really?"

"Really."

"He finds you in the back woods of France and dumps a whole bunch of critical intel at your feet," Tony said. "Including a lot of stuff I'm assuming Hydra didn't want him blabbing about. Why did he tell you, instead of someone who could do something about it?"

"Like who?" Allison asked. "Natasha? She couldn't have acted without someone at SHIELD getting very suspicious, even if she believed him."

"Why not me?"

"Would you have believed him?"

"Of course not," Tony said. "But I believed you."

And oh, here they were, back at the _is Allison the bad guy_ part of the conversation. "You didn't believe me," Allison pointed out, the truth of it grinding at her. "You still don't believe me. If you didn't have a DNA test that I'm sure you've had Jarvis run independently at least four different times, you probably wouldn't believe I'm your daughter."

"Because nothing you do makes any _sense_ ," Tony said, suddenly flaring to life. "Teenagers don't make friends with brainwashed assassins or have to run away from self-immolating terrorists or whatever else you've been getting up to—"

"Getting up to?" Allison interrupted. Anger was coming back, this time aimed at all the bullshit she had been dealing with since returning to the past. "Are you talking about having to try to survive a bunch of Hunters who wanted me dead? Who shot me and kidnapped me and my friend? Or about a sociopath mad scientist who decided the best way to get some sort of stupid revenge was to chase me through the woods to kill me?"

"I'm not—" Tony said, but Allison was done with it all. Tony might have been the person he always was in this part of the timeline, but Allison was not. She wasn't some dumb kid with stars in her eyes about a brand-new father anymore. She was old and she was tired and she ached with how much she'd fucked up with Tony.

"I haven't been 'getting up' to anything," she finished. "I have been trying to survive a lot of people who have been literally trying to kill me over the last month, and if you don't have any time or respect for me, at least understand that I am _trying_."

Sam coughed. "Hey, uh, maybe you two can take a step back?" he suggested.

"I'm not going to take a step back," Tony said, turning on Sam. "I'm having a conversation with my daughter, do you mind?"

Allison dug her fingernails into the hem of her hoodie. She mad herself turn and scan the bridge again, but no one was in sight. She almost wished someone was, so she could go do something more useful than argue with Tony.

"I don't mind," Sam said mildly. "Allison, do you mind?"

"It doesn't matter if I mind," Allison said, drawing her hair over her shoulder. She wrapped one strand around a finger and pulled hard, the sensation bringing with it the memories of the riverbank in France, of the pain and helplessness as she thought she was going to die.

"Why not?" Sam asked, voice still mild.

"Because none of this matters," Allison said. She let go of her hair. She was just so tired. "Because once Steve's anger simmers down, he's going to go punch SHIELD until Hydra falls out. And once Tony gets this out of his system, he's going to leave. And I'll still be in Beacon Hills, waiting until the next terrible thing happens."

"Why do you think I'm going to leave?" Tony demanded before Sam could say anything.

"Because you don't need to stay," Allison said. "The world needs Iron Man. It needs the Avengers."

"And what about you?" Tony asked. "You don't seem to need anyone."

"That's right," Allison said. The words tasted like acid. "I can handle things on my own."

"You can?" Steve asked from the sidelines.

"Yes," Allison said, turning to look at him. Behind them, a sheriff's patrol car was pulling into the little parking lot, and Allison could see a flash of red hair through the window. Natasha. "Dupont is in jail and his crew scattered. Killian is dead. And I might not know who's causing all the current turmoil in Beacon Hills, but I am on my way to finding out, at which point I'm going to stop them."

The car pulled to a halt, and Natasha got out. "I see you started without me," the woman called, slamming the car door. "What the hell is going on?"

"Hi," Steve said. "Sam, you remember Natasha."

"I do," Sam said with a smile. "Ma'am."

"Just call me deputy," Natasha said. She looked exhausted, but that deep blankness from the previous day had gone. "Stark."

"Deputy," Tony said, barely any sharpness in the word.

"Cap." Natasha turned to Allison. "Strong told me you talked his nephew down off the bridge a little while ago."

"Sort of," Allison said, worry starting to grow in her stomach. "Why, did something happen? Is Zach all right?"

"He's fine," Natasha said, going over to the bench. She poked Steve in the bicep until he moved over enough for her to sit. "Strong went by the coffee shop, Zach's there and he's fine."

"So why are you here?" Allison asked.

"Because three weeks ago you got shot in the gut over there," and Natasha jerked a thumb at the parking lot behind her. "So when I hear you're returning to the scene of the crime, I get a little worried."

"Why, did you think I was going to get shot again?" Allison asked.

"Wait, you got shot _here?"_ Tony asked. Both Sam and Steve looked slightly perturbed, not that Allison could figure out why.

"Yeah, so?" Allison looked at the parking lot. "They got most of the blood off the asphalt, it's not a big deal."

"Blood off the…" In a few quick steps, Tony strode over to where Natasha had indicated. He blanched as he looked down. "Oh."

Damn it. "Tell him I'm fine," Allison said to Natasha.

"Allison's fine," Natasha deadpanned. "But not everyone is."

Allison turned on Natasha, alpha power surging in her. "What happened?" Allison asked. "Is Noah okay?"

"He's fine," Natasha said. "Everyone at the station is fine."

"But?"

Natasha sighed. "There's been more stuff happening around town. And Noah said he'd told you to stay away from the station today, but I figured that you'd feel better if you had inside information."

Allison put her hand on Natasha's arm. "Would you stop with the preamble and just give me the report?"

There was almost a sardonic expression in Natasha's eyes as she said, "Sure thing, boss." She turned slightly. "Stark, get back over here."

Reluctantly, Tony returned to the group. "What?"

"So we've got pretty much what I'd expected," Natasha said. "A few old grudges flared up this morning. We've had a few fights. Someone drove their car into a neighbour's garage as payback for the affair the neighbour had with the guy's wife twenty years ago. A woman took a tire iron to her cousin for some family fraud."

"That's not too bad," Sam said. "Right?"

"Well." Natasha leaned back. "That doesn't take into account the rest of it. Someone called in a lead to a missing person's case from back in 1976, where we can find what's left of the body. Noah's got Ibarra and Wu heading up onto the preserve to check now."

"Would you please give the bad news?" Allison asked. She was ready to jump out of her skin. All the things that were happening in town, and Allison wasn't able to go help.

A shadow flickered through Natasha's eyes. "We've had a murder, in the east of town," Natasha said, and Allison's heart sank. "We're still not sure about the motive, but the perpetrator was seen leaving the scene, and we expect to have him in custody shortly."

"Anyone I know?" Allison asked

Natasha gave out a name Allison didn't recognize. "And lastly, there have been more suicides."

Allison nodded. She had been expecting that, quite frankly, but it still stung. "Who?"

"One was an old man, in the Two Pines nursing home. He left a note saying that he'd gotten the memories of his wife back, ten years after she died, and he wanted to go out before he forgot her again."

Steve let out a breath. "Damn," he muttered.

Of course, Allison thought. He must be thinking of Peggy Carter, in a nursing home in Washington, her Alzheimer's making him sometimes a stranger to the woman he'd loved.

"And then there's the other one." Natasha shook her head. "A man who lost his wife and two daughters in a car crash eight years ago went to the cemetery where they're buried and blew his head off. No note, but I guess he couldn't handle it."

Allison's stomach dropped. By now, she knew the history of every death in Beacon Hills over the previous few decades, and there had been only one such accident in 2004. "Who was it?" she asked, her voice hollow.

Natasha turned and looked at her, eyes green in the sunlight. "A man named Henry Tate."

Allison closed her eyes. Henry Tate, Malia's adopted father. No matter when they got Malia back now, Henry was never going to know she'd survived, and Malia was never going to have her adoptive father back in her life, no matter how tumultuous their relationship had been.

"Allison?" Sam asked. "You okay?"

"No," Allison said, blinking as she stood up. "I have to call Peter."

"Why?" Tony asked.

"Oh, I don't know," Allison snapped as she dug into her pockets for her phone. "Man loses his wife and two children in a horrific way and then gets the full memory of it all back at once?" Stalking towards the river, Allison tapped on the screen until the phone was dialing.

Please, let Peter be okay.

"What?" came a voice on the other end of the line

"Peter," Allison said in relief. "You're okay."

"Not really," Peter said. He sounded irritated. "You know what I've decided? Forget about ripping Derek's spine out. No, I'm going to make his life as miserable as possible."

Allison crossed the path to reach the fence blocking anyone from entering the river. "Do I want to ask why?"

"Spite," Peter said. "What else is there?"

"But you're okay?"

"Like I said, no," Peter said. There was the sound of a thud, and Peter swore. "But since I'm not able to do anything about the abject rage I have towards my sister right now, Derek's going to have to be a well-deserving proxy."

Allison wrapped her fingers around the links in the fence. She was pretty sure that Peter had gotten back the memories of Corrine's pregnancy and Malia's existence. But it was too soon for Peter to have done anything about it. Finding out where Malia was adopted would take Peter months through legal channels. He couldn't have had anything to do with Henry Tate's death.

"What's wrong with you?" Peter asked, finally distracted. "Why did you call me?"

"Just some bad stuff happening around town," Allison said. She didn't want to explain about Tony. "I was worried about you."

"Don't be," Peter said. "If you're so interested in my wellbeing, you can always come back over to my place and climb back into bed to distract me."

"I can't, I have things to do."

"Far be it from me to keep you from your very busy day."

"Why are you such an asshole sometimes?"

"Years of practice. Is there anything else?"

Allison thought about all the things she could say, and all the things that were not yet ready to be untangled at this point in the timeline. She had to find Malia and bring her back to the human world, but that was not something that she could do overnight. "No."

"Okay, then go away, I have things to do."

"I'll call you later," Allison said. "Love you."

"Love you too." The words slipped out, and then Peter went very quiet.

But he didn't take it back.

"Bye, Peter," Allison said with a smile, and hung up. Even though everything was horrible, a warm glow of happiness burned in Allison's heart. In spite of everything, Peter loved her.

Even if everything fell apart, she still had that.

Allison tucked her phone into her pocket and retraced her steps to the group, where Natasha and Tony were arguing about something. Sam and Steve were looking at each other, having a silent conversation.

Allison was weary of it all. She clapped her hands. "All right," she announced, pulling everyone's attention. "Enough. Natasha has to go back to work. Sam, Steve, plans?"

"None," Sam said. "We were told to come to Beacon Hills to help with the amnesia thing, and we're here, and it's gone, so, what, take in a movie?"

"Whereas Steve is no doubt itching to go punch Nazis, which is a laudable life goal," Allison said. "Da—Tony?"

Tony looked mutinous, which was never a good sign. "Maybe I'll stay in town, too," he said.

"Your shareholders won't approve," Allison pointed out.

"Pepper's the CEO now, she can deal with shareholders."

 _"Pepper_ won't approve."

Natasha shook her head. "Tony, what are you even going to do?" she asked. "Annoy a lot of people who have a lot to deal with?"

"Maybe I'll boost morale," Tony shot back. "Give Iron Man rides to all the kiddies. Sign autographs."

"I notice that 'try to get along with your daughter' isn't on that list," Natasha said. "Add it."

"Don't even think about telling me what to do."

"Hey, I thought you all were a team," Sam interjected. Allison turned her back on them to resume her scan of the river. Someone was walking across the bridge from the other side, slowly. "Steve was telling me about New York, and Avengers assemble, all that."

"Teams don't hide things from each other," Tony said.

Allison's heart spend up. That person on the bridge was walking too slowly.

"Of course they do," Natasha retorted.

Tony made a sound like a dying vacuum. "Yeah, about where the Chips-Ahoy bag is hidden, not about someone's somehow-not-dead _daughter!"_

That person nearing the middle of the bridge was familiar, Allison realized in between one heartbeat and the next. That was the woman who had been pushing the stroller past them not ten minutes before.

But where was the stroller now?

"I had a reason—"

The woman on the bridge stopped midspan and bent down, obstructing the view, and all of Allison's instincts exploded in alarm. "Cap, bridge!" she shouted, pointing, hoping it was enough for Sam to get her meaning. She dug her foot into the ground and pushed off, as the woman straightened up, holding a child in her arms. The next instant, the woman tossed the child into the river.

Allison heard the shouts from behind her, but there was no time. The undertow was going to pull that child down to the bottom of the river and Allison had to do something. She slammed into Alpha mode, shedding her hoodie as she ran, vaulting over the fence by the river in a clean movement. A few more steps, then she was at the river's edge. She could see the bright red of the child's shirt being swept downstream.

She triangulated, calculated, realized that she had very little chance of saving that child from death.

She dove into the water anyway.

Allison had always been a strong swimmer, even as a child. Victoria put her into swim lessons whenever they moved to a new town, then pulled her out whenever the bruises became too hard to explain. Still, Allison had loved swimming and was eager to learn. After she became the alpha, she'd taken to escaping into the pool whenever she could get a chance. She could hold her breath longer, swim faster, and she revelled in it. Bucky had laughed and called her a sea wolf on more than one occasion.

And now, Allison swam as fast as she could, taking a deep breath before the undertow dragged her below the surface. Eyes open in the murky water, Allison kicked her shoes off and then kicked harder as she swam, hands out before her, searching for a child she knew she might not find in time.

The force of the water buffeted her, flinging her around. She kept kicking, kept reaching, kept hoping.

Just as her lungs were about to burst, her hand brushed against something soft. Wet fabric. Allison closed her fingers around the fabric and hauled in, pulling the small body against hers with one arm. She knew she had no chance of escaping by going up, so she turned into the flow and swam as hard as she could in the direction of the current.

After another perilous few seconds, the force of the flow lessened, and Allison angled herself towards the surface. Almost there. She was almost there, then she could swim to shore with the child.

Allison broke the surface at speed, nearly kicking her way half out of the water before she fell back with a splash. She sucked in a breath, turning so the child was out of the water.

The familiar whine of repulsors screamed overhead. "Give me your hand," came Tony's voice through the suit, and Allison turned her head to see Iron Man speeding towards her. Treading water, Allison reached up with her free hand. The next instant Tony curled his glove around her and pulled, yanking her and the child out of the water and flying them towards the bank. "You okay?"

"Fine," Allison said, focusing on holding the limp little body against her. The child wasn't moving. "I need a medic."

"Jarvis called 911." They were at the bank now. Sam was there, his hands out as Tony slowed.

"All right, come on in," Sam said, reaching up to steady Allison on the way down. "Easy now."

"Can you stabilize his head?" Allison asked, staggering as Tony set her on the ground. "I don't know if he hit anything in the water."

"I've got it." Sam put his hands on either side of the little boy's head, and together he and Allison knelt. "You?"

"Fine," Allison said shortly. She laid the unresponsive boy on the ground, distantly aware that she was shaking. "He's not breathing." She pressed her fingers onto the boy's arm. "I can't feel a pulse."

"He needs CPR," Sam said. "I'll hold his head in case of a spinal hit. Do you know what to do?"

"Yes." Allison moved around to the boy's side. Some part of her was aware that Iron Man was beside them, that there was yelling distantly, and she hoped that o one else had gone into the river.

She had to focus. Alpha strength meant that giving chest compressions could be dangerous. But Allison had been through this with Bucky and with Sam, knew her strength, knew how much force to use and not break the person's ribs.

She knew how to do this.

She kept her focus on the CPR and the rescue breathing for what felt like an eternity, before Sam interrupted her. "Spell off," he ordered. "Next round."

After the next round of chest compressions, Allison moved around to hold the boy's head and neck still while Sam started CPR. Allison gasped for breath, trying to slow the pounding of her own heart.

The boy had to be okay. He had to.

Distantly, Allison could hear sirens.

"We need a defibrillator," Allison said, glancing around. No Steve or Natasha, but Tony stood there, still in the armour, his faceplate up. "Does the suit have resuscitative capabilities?"

"No," Tony said. He was pale as milk as he looked at her.

"Right," Allison said. "Make a note of that for a future build."

The sirens were getting closer. Allison looked back down at the child, lying motionless on the ground as they tried to save his life. His lips were blue, but he was still warm under the chill of the river. He had been alive when he went into the water, and Allison was going to do whatever she could to bring him back.

He couldn't have been any older than Gabriela Ibarra; hardly more than a baby.

"What happened to the mother?" Allison asked.

"Steve and Nat got her before she went into the drink," Tony said. "Deputy Rushman called in the paddy wagon to deal with her."

"You shouldn't be listening in on police lines," Allison said. Then the little boy convulsed and Sam pulled back with alacrity.

"Recovery position," Sam said.

Allison kept her hands on the boy's neck as Sam rolled the child onto his side. Watery vomit came out of the boy's mouth, but he was breathing on his own.

"Easy," Allison murmured, curling up behind the boy's back to support him. "You're on land now."

"Damn," Sam said, sitting back. He felt the boy's wrist. "I can feel a pulse."

"He's still not out of the woods," Allison said. "He's got water in his lungs and we don't know if he took any other damage on the way down."

"The paramedics can take care of him," Sam said. "You did good, getting him out."

"I'd have done better in staying on the bridge in the first place," Allison said. What had she been _thinking_? That being in the park would be good enough? She wasn't thinking clearly, and it had nearly cost this kid his life.

She had to be better than this.

"How could you know what was going to happen?" Tony asked. "Are you psychic now, too?"

"No." Allison let alpha reassurance flow over the little boy, who was still unconscious. Some tension in him settled. "But I should have known."

The sirens peaked as the ambulance pulled into the little parking lot, and two exhausted paramedics hopped out. The next several minutes were a blur as she and Sam transferred the little boy to the paramedics' care, then the ambulance peeled out as the police van arrived, and the woman who'd thrown the kid in the river was placed inside. Allison wasn't close enough to catch most of what she was saying, but it looked like she might be having a psychotic episode.

Allison sat on the path by the river, cold and wet and shivering just a little. She hated this all so much. What was the nogitsune getting out of all this pain? What was the _point?_

The doors on the police transport closed, Natasha slapped the van's side, and it drove away, nearly sideswiping another patrol car pulling into the parking lot. It was Noah, and when he screeched to a stop and got out of the car, he looked mad.

Allison took a breath. Of course. She had told him multiple times that she could handle things, that she could help, and she'd gone and messed that up.

The memories crowded at the back of her head, of Victoria screaming at her, at Victoria's hand falling towards her. Allison swallowed those down, trying to think rationally. Noah wouldn't hurt her. Worst case scenario, if he was so angry at her, he'd probably just kick her out of the house. Allison could handle that. She could probably sleep at Peter's place for a while, or even bunk in with Lydia or Erica for a few days.

"What's going on here?" Noah demanded of the assembled Avengers. Steve and Tony exchanged a look, while Sam crossed his arms over his chest.

Natasha faced Noah. "You heard it on the radio, woman tossed a kid into the river and nearly went in after him. Allison fished the kid out, Tony fished Allison out, and Allison and Sam performed artificial resuscitation on the child while Captain Rogers and myself apprehended the woman before she could jump into the water. Transport's taking her to the hospital for a psych eval."

"Yeah, I heard all that," Noah said. He was still walking towards Allison, and she knew she should get up, should prepare to face him, but she couldn't move. Her legs didn't want to move. "Why didn't Allison go to the hospital too?"

He was on her then, and Allison was ready for whatever he threw at her, yelling or screaming or even cold disappointment. But he was just crouching down beside her, anger gone, concern in its place.

Allison didn't understand.

"What happened to your shoes?" Noah asked in a gentle voice, holding his hands out, but not touching her.

Allison stared at those hands. "I had to kick them off in the water."

"Okay. Can you stand up?"

"I think so."

"Can I help?"

Allison nodded. Noah put one hand under her elbow, the other around her waist, and stood like Allison didn't weigh anything. He held her steady as Allison's knees refused to lock under her for a moment. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Noah asked. His grip was solid and for a moment, just a moment, Allison let him steady her. "You saved that kid's life. Mark said you talked Zach out of doing something stupid, too."

"I should have been on the bridge." Slowly, Allison straightened up. For some reason, the shivering was getting worse.

"Why?" Noah shrugged off his jacket and put it over her shoulders. The sudden warmth was almost too much.

"I don't know," Allison said, holding the jacket close.

"Remember how we talked about how you can't take responsibility for other people's choices?"

Allison didn't, but it sounded like something Noah would have said to her.

"Come on, let's get you home." Noah tried to turn Allison towards the parking lot, but she resisted.

"What if someone else goes into the water?" she protested.

"I'm posting someone on the bridge," Noah said. He put his hand on her elbow again, and this time Allison let herself be guided back along the path. "I was on the phone with the governor before this all happened and he's letting me have a couple dozen highway patrol officers for a few days, hopefully until things calm down. We have the staff for it."

"That sounds like a slippery slope," Allison said. The ground was rough under her feet. "What's next, martial law?"

"I'm thinking about a curfew tonight, mostly to keep the drunken shenanigans to a minimum."

"Spoilsport."

"All right." They had neared the group of Avengers. Steve had retrieved Allison's hoodie and was holding it awkwardly. "Deputy Rushman, I thought you were supposed to be off-duty."

Natasha lifted her chin. "I finished up with the scene at the graveyard when I heard from Strong what happened here, and I came along to make sure Allison was okay."

Noah helped Allison cross over to his patrol car. "Can you go back out on the roads for another hour, until the state troopers get out on the roads?"

"Sure."

"What about the rest of you?" Noah asked, holding out his hand for Allison's hoodie. Steve took a few steps forward to hand it over.

"I was hoping that we might be able to help out," Steve said. Noah transferred the hoodie to Allison, who reluctantly took off Noah's jacket and pulled the hoodie on over her wet clothes. It wasn't nearly as warm as the sheriff's jacket.

"Sheriff Noah Stilinski, this is Captain Steve Rogers," Allison said, zipping the hoodie up. "And Sam… do you still go by Master Sergeant, Sam?"

"Nah, I'm out of that game," Sam said. "Sam Wilson."

"Hi," Noah said. "Not sure what you can do, the town's pretty much running on empty at the moment."

"What about that call we got from the VA centre?" Natasha asked. "They were asking if there was anything they could do. It sounded like some of the vets in town were looking for something to take their mind off things."

Sam's spine straightened at this. "Maybe I can go lend an ear," he said. "I work at Veterans' Affairs back in DC."

"That's a good idea," Allison said before Noah could object. "Sam, you and Steve go to the VA and see what you can do. You're outsiders, but at this point that might be more helpful than local knowledge."

"Ma'am," Sam said, with only a tiny quirk around his mouth. Allison decided to ignore him.

"And with Natasha back on duty, that leaves you." Allison turned to Tony. She knew she looked pathetic, bedraggled with river water and almost swallowed up by Stiles overly large hoodie, but she was too tired to care. "I don't know if there's anything left in town for you to do."

Tony narrowed his eyes at her. "Are you telling me to leave?"

"No, I'm telling you that you don't have to stay."

There was a moment in which Allison was convinced that Tony was going to just slap down the faceplate and take off, flying out of her life forever. Then the man set his jaw and said, "I think I'm staying." He looked around. "Maybe get into local real estate."

"Finally," Natasha muttered. "I'm going back to work."

"We're going to go find the VA," Sam said.

"But what about Hydra?" Steve asked.

"Vets first, Nazis second," Sam said. "Which, the fact that we're having this conversation is messing with me."

"Me too," Steve said. He and Sam started moving towards their car, while Natasha headed to her patrol car, obviously finished with the entire scenario.

"And I'm taking Allison home," Noah concluded. "Stark, do you really think hanging around is a good idea?"

"It's fine," Allison said before Tony could protest. She wasn't sure what Tony wanted to get out of this, but if he wanted to stay in Beacon Hills, she couldn't stop him. "Noah, I don't need to go home."

"If any of my guys went for a dunk in the river to rescue a drowning victim, I'd be sending them to the hospital to get checked out before I sent them home," Noah said.

"You have reminded me several times today that I'm not one of your guys."

"No, you're not." Noah looked at her with that sad expression he sometimes had when he was watching Stiles. "You're part of the family. And if Stiles had done what you just did? What do you think I'd be doing right now?"

Allison bit her lip. "Tossing him in the backseat of the cruiser and speeding off to the ER?"

"Correct."

"I don't need to go to the hospital."

"Are you absolutely sure that you didn't inhale any water?" Noah asked.

"Yes."

"Then how about home instead?"

"As long as someone's going to be able to keep an eye on the bridge," Allison said.

"They will."

Allison turned back to Tony. "What are you going to do?"

Tony rolled his shoulders. "Maybe I could keep you company."

Allison wasn't sure if she wanted to smile or cry. She didn't have the energy to fight with Tony any more, and that was all they ever seemed to do. Still, she should probably make an attempt. "Sure," she said, pushing off the car. "You know where the house is. You can park the suit in the back yard."

"Right. Okay." Tony hesitated, glancing at Noah. "You got a problem with that, officer?"

"Yeah, a big one," Noah said. "But it's not my call."

Tony looked at Allison again. "I guess I'll see you there." He flipped the faceplate down, and lifted off into the sky.

This left Noah and Allison alone in the parking lot. "Come on," Noah said, rubbing his hand over his eyes. "Let's get you out of here."

"I was just trying to help," Allison said, walking around to the passenger side.

"I know." Noah got into the car, and waited until she was seated before starting the engine. "You saved two lives today."

Allison pulled her legs up to her chest. She was still cold. "Day's not over yet," she said, watching the scenery go by as Noah pulled out onto the road. "Zach should be fine, but I don't know about that little boy. Drowning's tricky."

"He's at the hospital now," Noah reminded her. "That's the best place he can be."

Allison shook her head. "What else is going to happen?" she asked. "I hate this, not knowing what's next. How many more people are going to do something while they're emotionally compromised?"

"I don't know, but we're going to get through this."

Allison bit her lip again. She could taste the river water on her skin, and all of a sudden she wanted to throw up. Swallowing down the urge, she said, "Not everyone. Not Henry Tate."

Noah turned south. "That one hit hard," he admitted. "I think I can understand. When it all came back, and I remembered what happened with Claudia…" He trailed off. Allison kept her eyes on the road. "I don't know what I would have done if I'd lost both Claudia and Stiles at the same time."

"You didn't," Allison said quickly. "Stiles is fine. Stiles is going to be _fine."_

"I know," Noah said. "I know that, Allison, I do. But I can also understand why Henry Tate did what he did."

"Blowing his brains out on his family's grave?" Allison asked. Noah winced. "This is all so fucking stupid. Everything's so terrible and I can't stop it."

"You did stop some of it," Noah said. "Allison, I know you're probably not going to listen to much of what I have to say today, but you did stop some of the bad things. You helped Zach. You got that little boy out of the river."

Allison pulled her wet hair over her shoulder. "But is it enough?"

"It has to be." Noah slowed at a red light. "Allison, take it from an old cop. You can't own other people's actions. If you do, it's going to eat you alive."

"I know." Allison looked at him. "I know that."

In all those years as Alpha, as part of A-Force, saving the galaxy, Allison had tried to compartmentalize the things that had happened. Most of the time, she had been able to do it.

Others… well. Other times, the guilt and anger at the things she hadn't been able to stop, that ate away at her.

"Maybe just today's a bad one," she went on. "Maybe I'm mad at myself for not being able to stop this from happening in the first place."

"How would you have been able to stop it?" Noah asked. "You're not the nogitsune."

"No, but—"

"You had no idea this was going to happen."

"No."

"So what could you have done?"

Allison let out a frustrated breath as the car turned onto the Stilinskis' street. There was no way she could explain. The first time she had lived this month, the nogitsune was still weeks out, with Stiles only just on the edge of falling apart. Stiles as the nogitsune hadn't done anything like this, not inciting this town-wide chaos. That nogitsune's approach had been subtle, more targeted, not this blanket assault.

That worried Allison, because she didn't know what might happen next.

"Noshiko Yukimura has an idea of how to handle this, right?"

"I sure as hell don't."

"So we work together," Noah said. "Allison. We have to work together."

"Are you just saying that so I don't go off half-cocked and do something stupid?" Allison asked, her eyebrow going up.

"Partly," Noah said. He pulled into the driveway. "The other part is that I actually mean it."

"Okay." Allison undid her seat belt. "Thanks for the ride."

"Do you want me to go in with you?"

"Why?" Allison asked, pausing with her hand on the door latch.

"You and your dad, you don't get along too well."

Allison sighed. "At this point I don't know what I can do to make things worse."

"It's not you making things worse that I'm worried about."

"It's fine." Allison opened the door. "Go back on patrol, the town needs you."

"Okay." Noah rolled down the power window as Allison got out of the car. "If you need anything, just call me."

"I will," Allison said, fishing her keys out of her pocket. "And you let me know if there's any change in that boy's condition."

"Allison…"

"I just…" She pressed her thumb against the teeth of the key. "I just want to know."

Noah looked at her for a long moment, then nodded. "I will."

"See you later." Allison stood and watched as Noah reversed the car out into the road, and then pulled away. Only then did she go into the house.

Closing the front door behind her, Allison made her way to the back of the house. Part of her hoped that Tony had changed his mind and flown back to LA, but no, there he was, lurking on the back porch, already out of the Iron Man suit.

Allison opened the back door. "Are you coming in?"

"Am I?" Tony asked.

Allison left the door open and walked back into the house. "That's up to you."

"Do you even want me here?" Tony asked, following her in.

Allison turned towards the kitchen. "If I didn't want you here, I'd have told you to shove off back at the river." She went to the sink and cranked the taps open. "We don't seem to do so well when there's a chaperone, might as well see what permanent damage we can do to our relationship when it's just the two of us."

Tony stopped in the entranceway. "Why do you hate me so much?"

Allison stuck her hands under the flow of water. "I don't hate you," she said. "I am just sick of having to justify every single fucking thing I do to you."

"You don't have to justify everything," Tony said, but it sounded weak.

Allison looked at the dirt under her fingernails. "Really? Because that's what it feels like."

"Because you don't make any _sense_ ," Tony burst out.

"We already talked about this," Allison shot back. She turned off the taps and reached for a paper towel.

"No, we started to talk about this and then that Wilson guy shut us down." Tony leaned against the wall. "And Rhodey shut us down. And Stilinski shut us down."

"When really we should be doing what Starks do best?" Allison asked, turning on him.

"What's that?"

"Tearing things down to rebuild them?" Allison unzipped her hoodie. "Look, this is all interesting, but if I don't get this muck from the river off me, I am going to start scratching my skin off."

"Oh," Tony said. "What do you want me to do?"

"Hang out for ten minutes without setting the house on fire?"

Tony straightened up. "I can do that."

"Good." Allison headed for the stairs.

"Can I just ask one question?" Tony blurted out before Allison's foot hit the first step.

She stopped, let her shoulders slump, and turned back to him. "What?"

"Aldrich Killian."

Allison frowned. "Not a question."

"How did you get away from him?" Tony had gone still, his dark eyes steady as he looked at her.

Allison put her hands into her pockets. "What do you mean?"

"Jarvis was still recording the video feed on your phone," Tony said. "Killian got you at the house, but something pulled you out from under him."

Allison turned her head, the memories coming back to her hazy. She hadn't considered that Jarvis would have kept recording during the attack. "You didn't see what it was?"

"You told Natasha and Rhodey it was a dog, but there was no dog on the camera feed." Tony swallowed. "And you said, 'Talia, get away'."

"Oh." Allison looked at Tony, thought about keeping up with the lie about the dog, then figured there wouldn't be any point. Tony probably wouldn't believe her regardless. "It was the ghost of Talia Hale."

Tony blinked. "Ghost?" he repeated.

"Yes." Allison turned back to the stairs. "Talia died in the living room of the Hale house, in the exact spot a certain someone slit her murderer's throat last winter. That got her spirit walking again, and I've spilled enough blood in that house to bring her back nearly all the way."

"Ghost?" Tony said again.

"Yeah." Allison headed up the stairs. "Don't worry, I'm the only one she can touch. Something about my blood."

"Are you sure you don't need to go to the hospital?" Tony called, following Allison upstairs. "Ghosts aren't real."

"Sure, just like werewolves aren't real." Allison walked to her bedroom. Inside was just as she left it, books on supernatural lore scattered over the floor, the laptop on the dresser, Peter's cashmere sweater half tucked under her pillow. "Aliens aren't real." She scooped up the books, added the laptop to the stack, and went back into the hall to dump the whole lot into Tony's arms. "Ghosts are very rare. I'm pretty sure the only reason I can see Talia is because I'm an alpha and she's licked up enough of my blood."

Tony blinked again. "I'm supposed to believe all this?"

"I don't care," Allison said. "Go back downstairs and do the required reading. I'll be down in ten minutes."

"Do… do all werewolves become ghosts?" Tony asked, and something in his voice was as sharp and brittle as glass.

Allison leaned against the doorframe. Exhaustion was beating at her with grey wings, and she wanted to sleep for five days. Not that that was ever going to happen. "No," she said, because she didn't want Tony even thinking that there was a chance he could see Clara again. "The only ghosts I've met have been alpha werewolves. Hale alphas. Maybe it's something in their family line."

"How many other ghosts have you met?" Tony asked, shifting the pile of books in his arms.

"Just Laura," Allison said. She would keep the details of Peter's death and resurrection to herself, as she didn't want Tony trying to solve the mystery of death through werewolf resurrection. "Derek, Laura's brother, slashed her murderer's throat in the same spot he buried the top half of Laura's body. So. Thematically consistent."

"The top half…" Tony bit down on the words. "Are you sure you didn't hit your head under water?"

"Go downstairs." Allison went back into her room.

"This sounds insane," Tony called after her, but she could hear his footsteps retreating. "You probably have brain damage."

"Everyone in town lost their memories for a day," Allison yelled as she gathered up a change of clothing, her bulkiest borrowed sweats. "Ghosts aren't even the strangest thing that's happened all month!"

They weren't. That dubious honor could be claimed by Allison's own unceremonious return to the past.

Not that Allison was going to tell Tony that.

She made her way to the bathroom and locked the door before climbing into the shower. Her hair was a tangled mess, and it took two bouts of conditioner to get most of the knots out. It helped, to be able to concentrate on the pain in her scalp and the relating flashes of memories instead of the current conundrums of Beacon Hills.

Too soon, Allison had scrubbed the river from her skin, gargled a gallon of cold water from the tap to get the taste out of her mouth, and was left staring at her reflection in the barely-steamy mirror as she attempted to comb out her hair.

She still wasn't used to seeing her face this young, her body this skinny. She wanted her muscles back. She wanted her age back. She wanted…

Allison dropped the comb as a tidal wave of agonized grief hit her. She wanted Morgan back. She wanted Bucky back.

But it didn't matter.

Allison breathed through the pain until every breath didn't stab, didn't tear at her. She had spent the last month grieving for her sister and her best friend. She would just have to learn to live with their loss a second time.

"Just gotta do it," Allison said to her reflection. That was what Bucky had said to her, when she was hurt in the field, when she was bleeding and broken and wanted to just lie down and stop. "Gotta keep doing it."

So she turned away from the mirror, and got dressed.

Taking her brush with her, Allison descended the stairs. Tony was at the kitchen table, the books open and ignored around him as he typed on the laptop. "That was more like twenty minutes," Tony said, looking up as she entered the room. Then he stopped typing. "Why are your eyes red?"

"Because I've been crying," Allison said, dropping the brush on the table as she went to the pantry.

"Why were you crying?"

"Because I am trying to process an entire lifetime of memories and it's a little overwhelming." Allison looked for anything to eat. The box of Pop Tarts looked about as appetizing as sawdust. But it was either that or soup.

She hated soup.

Tony typed a bit more, then pushed the laptop away. "How does that even work?"

"Getting all my memories back?" Allison asked.

"Yeah."

"It's…" Allison spotted a bag of skittles behind the canned soup, and pulled them out. So much for Stiles' secret stash. "So you know how memory works, right?"

"Yes."

"I mean from the standpoint of cognitive psychology." Allison plucked a small bowl from the drying rack and carried it over to the table. "Something happens to you, and your brain encodes most of that into your memory." Allison ripped open the skittles bag and poured the candy out onto the table. "As time passes, and more memories are formed, older ones can be harder to retrieve, or to get all the details of."

Allison pushed the skittles into a row, leaving little clumps of two or three on occasion.

"I know how memories work," Tony said. "When did you become an expert in cognitive psychology?"

"I picked it up somewhere," Allison said. It had been in 2028, when A-Force had been facing down the Wild Hunt, who manipulated people out of all existence. In the end, A-Force had won, but not before countless lives had been ripped apart. "It's human nature that negative experiences get encoded differently. That's the monkey part of the brain trying to ensure survival of the species, that you can deal with bad shit if it happen again." She ate a green skittle.

"What about trauma?" Tony asked, sneaking an orange skittle.

Allison looked at him. "You know what trauma does," she said, and moved three red skittles to the head of the line. "So this," and she gestured to the row of candies, "Is my life. Then on Friday, this happened."

She swept the candies off the table into the little bowl, and held it so they couldn't see inside.

"No more memories," Tony said.

"Nope." Allison put the bowl down. "Then my history teacher comes back into town from Sacramento, finds his nine-hundred-year-old wife not knowing who she was, and comes flying into the sheriff's station with a fantastical tale."

"Nine-hund—what?"

Allison brushed that away. "She moisturizes. Anyway, to make a wearisome story short, we break the curse, and this happens." She poured the candies out into the table, pulling them into a little heap in front of her. "There's no space between my memories anymore, Dad. It's like everything that ever happened to me, happened two days ago."

Tony stared at the candy. "Everything?" he repeated.

"Everything," Allison confirmed. "Killian." She moved a purple skittle from the pile. "Dupont." An orange skittle. "Victoria." Her fingers shook a little as she moved three yellow ones.

Tony stared at the candy. "How…" He cleared his throat. "So, stuff from when you were a kid, you can remember that?"

"I've always been able to remember what happened." Allison scooped up a handful of candies and shoved them into her mouth. "But the memory of the pain had faded. That's back now, too." She crunched down, the sugar and tang blooming on her tongue.

"I." Tony took a red skittle and crushed it between his fingers. "I know what happened."

"With what?" Allison asked around her mouthful.

"With Victoria. Well. With you." He picked a bit of candy shell off the mess and put it in his mouth. "Jarvis found your medical records."

Allison nearly bit her tongue. Anger mixed with humiliation in her gut. "So you've gotten a bit of an idea what life was like for me, growing up."

Tony nodded. "I mean, my dad smacked me a few times, but not much."

Allison went to get a glass of water. She swallowed the too-sweet mouthful and then drank glass after glass until her mouth didn't taste so foul. "Did Jarvis let you hear our phone call yesterday?"

"The one where you were looking for Peter Hale?" Tony asked. "Um. Yes?"

"Then you'll have heard what I told him." Allison filled the glass for a fourth time and returned to the table. "Victoria spent my childhood trying to beat the wolf out of me. Every time I acted up, defied her, she slapped me around. I got bad grades, I got the belt. I brought home a book on fairy tales, I got hit. That was just how life was."

"What happened when you were twelve?" Tony asked. He had picked up another skittle to crush. "When you were in the hospital for a month?"

Allison turned the glass on the table, leaving rings of moisture on the surface. "I don't remember. I smashed my head pretty bad. It took me a couple weeks to wake up." She took a deep breath. The memory of the hospital floated through her mind as scents, of the sheets, the cleaning stuff they used on the floors, the bandages, and for a moment, she thought she might be sick.

Breathing through the nausea, Allison put the glass down. That was over. It was in the past. It was either six or thirty-three years behind her. And Victoria was dead.

"Before that, Chris used to travel a lot. After, he was home. When he did have to leave, he usually suggested that Kate come visit, to keep me company." Allison pulled her legs up to her chest. "Victoria was different, too. She only ever beat me for my bad grades after that."

"Did Chris Argent ever hit you?"

Allison opened her mouth to say no, then stopped and rummaged around in her mind. She had a very vague recollection of her face stinging, and Chris being there, but she didn't know if he had hit her, or if it had been someone else. "No," she said, because it was easier than explaining.

"He just trained you to be a killer instead," Tony said, something in his eyes sharp.

"It's the Argent family way."

"Argent." Tony stuck the smushed candies into his mouth. "It's kind of ironic, isn't it? A guy named Argent kills werewolves."

"What?" Allison asked, not really sure what Tony was getting at.

"The whole thing in the movies," Tony said. "Silver kills werewolves?"

"Silver doesn't kill werewolves," Allison said.

"No, I know, Clara told me."

"No, it's a mis-translation," Allison said. Tony was looking at her like he didn't understand. "If I said _, L'Argent tue les loups-garous_ , what do you hear?"

"Silver kills werewolves," Tony said.

"Don't translate the family name," Allison said. "Silver doesn't kill werewolves, Tony. Argents do."

Tony stared at her. "And this is how they raised you?" he demanded, incredulous. "To think like this?"

"Actually, they didn't," Allison said. "Chris tried to keep me out of the Hunter life." She sipped at her water. "We moved around from town to town, him and the guys doing God knows what, and no one ever told me about the supernatural."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"I know," Allison agreed. "I always wondered why Victoria didn't tell me, you'd have thought she'd be keen to get me killing my own kind. Can't ask her, now." She put the glass down. "I didn't find out the Argents hunted monsters until Chris tried to kill the guy I was dating at the time to show me he was a monster. Guess the one thing that could turn that man's stomach was the idea of his daughter getting fucked by a monster."

Tony flinched, but since that was what Allison had been going for, she didn't react. "Chris Argent tried to kill a teenager?"

Allison shrugged one shoulder. "He didn't like Scott."

"And no one told the cops?"

"Tell them what?" Allison asked. "Most of the towns we've been through, the cops are paid to look the other way."

"What about here?" Tony asked, waving his hand around the room. "Would Stilinski hear that Chris Argent tried to kill a teenager and just be _okay_ with that?"

"No," Allison said sharply. "No, he wouldn't. But I didn't know that last year, and the fact that Stiles was so careful not to tell his dad about the supernatural? We took our cues from him."

"And now?"

Allison frowned. "Chris isn't going to try to kill Scott anymore. Scott has excellent control."

Tony sat back. "Do you hear what you're saying?" he asked. "You're talking like the man who kidnapped you going after a teenager makes _sense._ "

"Did Clara ever wolf out in front of you?" Allison asked.

This pulled Tony up short. "What?"

"The fangs, the face, full _grr-arg_."

"Yeah, once or twice."

"Did she ever lose control?"

"What do you mean?"

"Did she ever lose control?" Allison asked again. "Go feral, attack innocent people, hurt you?"

"What? No, of course not!" Tony exclaimed.

"Clara was born a wolf and she had years to perfect her control, in a family that knew how to train their children," Allison said. She couldn't look away from Tony now. He had to understand. "Scott was bitten last year and he had no alpha, no mentor. He had to find control on his own. Do you know how hard that is?"

Tony leaned back in his chair. "Did he ever hurt you?"

"No," Allison said firmly. "He did not. But Scott is a very rare case. A freshly turned wolf with no training, no support, very often can't handle the shift. They hurt themselves and they can hurt others, so easily. That's what Hunters expect in new wolves. They expect mindless monsters. And if that's what you expect, sometimes you don't wait around to see if they can master the wolf first."

Tony ran his hands through his hair. "So you're telling me that a man whose family kills werewolves to the extent that an entire mythos has been built up around the family name just decided to stop his homicidal ways?"

"No, I'm sure that his sister and father abusing the Hunter code to the extent they did, also changed his opinion." Allison picked up her brush. "I've asked Chris to leave the supernatural creatures in this town to me. So far, he has."

"So far," Tony repeated.

"Yes." Allison untangled a knot in one dark-brown lock. "And I have the same deal with Noah. If anything supernatural happens in town, I handle it."

"You are eighteen," Tony said, appalled.

Allison untangled another lock of hair. "Mom was slaughtering her enemies when she was fifteen. I don't see why my age should have anything to do with it."

Tony put his elbows on the table and put his face into his palms. "This is insane," he said into his hands. "This isn't happening."

Allison could taste acid at the back of her throat. "Life isn't fair," she said, slapping the brush onto the table. The doorbell rang. "You might not like what I've turned into, Tony, but I did what I had to do to survive." She stood up. "And at the end of the day, so did you."

With this, Allison turned and stalked towards the front door. She couldn't handle looking at Tony right then, when she was so angry at him. He had built weapons for decades, fuelling wars and armed conflicts around the world. He might not have pulled the trigger, but he'd built the guns.

He wasn't some shrinking innocent, even before he had become Iron Man.

Picking up Stiles' lacrosse stick, just in case, Allison looked through the peephole, to see Derek standing on the front step. The sight of his expression made Allison's heart sink. What _now?_

Allison opened the door. "Are you here to talk about Peter?" she asked. "Because I'm not responsible for his bullshit."

"No," Derek said, looking absolutely flattened.

"Is Cora okay?"

Derek nodded. "She's been talking to her pack over Skype a lot. They're helping her."

"Good." Allison put the lacrosse stick down. "What about you?"

"I." Derek scrubbed his hand over his face. "Is Stiles here?"

"No, he went over to Lydia's. Why?"

Derek took a deep breath and met her eyes. "Did he say anything?"

"About you? Not a word."

"Oh."

Allison slumped against the door. "Derek, I'm in the middle of ruining my relationship with my father, is there anything I can do for you?"

"No." Derek turned to leave, then hesitated. "Do you think Stiles hates me?"

Oh, the drama of young werewolves. Allison mentally put on her alpha hat and focused on the man in front of her. "Why would Stiles hate you?"

"When we didn't have our memories, he and I…" Derek looked like he was going to throw up. "I kissed him."

Allison's eyes went wide. That certainly was a development. "How did he take that?" she asked, keeping her voice steady.

"He said that maybe we could go on a date after we remembered everything. I thought that was a good idea."

"And now you have your memories back," Allison pointed out. "What did you say to him last night when he went to check on you and Cora?"

Really, Derek was almost turning green. "I told him I fucked up, and we shouldn't—we can't—"

"Derek," Allison interrupted, putting the snap of authority into her voice. Derek straightened up automatically. "Did you tell him you never wanted to see him again?"

"No," Derek said. "I told him I fucked up. He said okay, he'd forget about it."

"And?"

Derek looked at her with such self-loathing in his eyes Allison almost thought about breaking her _no-touching-Derek-Hale_ rule to comfort him. "He's seventeen."

"And you're twenty-three," Allison agreed. "And he's not you, and you are not Kate."

Derek looked away.

"Derek, listen to me," Allison said, pulling in that alpha power that Bucky had always called her mom-voice. "I know Stiles, and I know that he would do anything for you. You are his friend in a way that I don't think even he understands, okay?"

"But…"

"You added Stiles to the group chat, remembered? The chat you said was pack only?"

"That fucking group chat," Derek muttered. "Yes."

"You listen to him about supernatural business. You trust him."

Derek was silent.

"And he trusts you," Allison said. "Stiles doesn't trust anyone but Scott and me and you. That's it. Even with his dad, I think he's still holding out judgement on a lot of things."

"But why?"

"Because he gets you," Allison said. "And you get him, in a weird way. And yes, he's seventeen. And he has a lot of growing to do. And if you'll take some advice from someone you don't like all that much, it might help if you focus on yourself and finding some healing, before you get into a relationship."

"So you're telling me to stay away from Stiles," Derek said, sounding almost relieved.

"I think that you should focus on being Stiles' friend," Allison said. "Do you really want to date a seventeen-year-old?"

"No, I'm not Peter," Derek said, which made Allison want to punch him, but she held her hand.

"Good. Then you're going to alpha up, and text Stiles to tell him that you were emotionally overwrought yesterday and hope that you can still count on him for pack business."

"What, and say sorry I molested you when we didn't have our memories, can we still be friends?

Allison glared at him. "Did you molest him?" she demanded. "Because I saw how Stiles was looking at you on Friday."

"Like what?"

"Like he wouldn't have minded kissing you."

"No," Derek said reluctantly. "It was, uh. A mutual thing."

"Great," Allison said. "So you can both chalk this up to the awkwardness of missing memories, bundle it up into a corner, and when Stiles comes home from his third year of college, then you can ask him on a date. Okay?"

"Third year of college?" Derek repeated, confused. "Why then?"

"Because he'll be twenty-one and you'll be twenty-seven and it'll be less weird. And you'll have had at least four years of therapy under your belt."

"What about the girls?"

"What girls?"

"Lydia and Kira?" Derek looked uncomfortable even saying their names. "Cora told me that Lydia told Erica who told her that Stiles is taking Lydia and Kira to the Homecoming dance."

Allison wanted to scream. "Derek, Stiles is seventeen and he's got two cute girls who want to hold his hand while they figure out who's going to end up with whom. It's a high school dance. They're not getting married."

"I know." Derek took a deep breath. "I know."

"Okay, good." Allison pushed off the door. "Now go text Stiles and get out of my hair."

"Why do you look so awful?" Derek asked. "Did Peter do anything to you?"

"Hardly," Allison said. "But I'd stay away from Peter for a while. He's pissed off at something and determined to direct that ire onto you."

"I can deal with Peter," Derek said.

"Or, you two can stay apart," Allison said again.

"He's not your wolf," Derek said, starting to get annoyed.

"Technically, my claim on him supersedes yours," Allison pointed out.

"Only under old pack law. It's archaic."

Allison sighed. "Please don't make me fight you over Peter, he would enjoy that way too much."

Derek shuddered. "I hate everything."

"Go home," Allison said. "Text Stiles. And text everyone else, too. The pack needs support right now."

"They're not getting it from you?" Derek asked sarcastically.

"I'm not their alpha," Allison retorted. "Go away."

Derek turned and strode down the walk, giving Allison the finger as he went.

"Yeah, real mature," Allison muttered, then slammed the door closed. "Asshole wolves."

Tony was in the kitchen where she left him, but he had the flurried air of a man who had been eavesdropping. Allison returned to her chair and resumed brushing her hair.

Tony broke first. "Who was that?"

"Derek Hale." Allison untangled a knot with her fingers.

"Oh." Tony looked into the distance for a moment, in a _rummaging in the attic_ look Allison remembered well. "He wasn't in the house during the fire."

"Him and Laura were at a lacrosse game," Allison said. Of course Tony had done his research on the Hale fire; probably due to the Kate Argent connection. "And neither was Cora, but no one knew it at the time."

"Laura, who Derek buried at the house?"

"Half of her." Allison ran the brush through the final section of her hair, then began braiding it. "Whoever killed her cut her body in half. The cops found the bottom half. Derek found the rest."

Tony looked at Allison. "How are you so calm talking about all this?"

"What?" Allison let her braid fall down her back. "It's over. And it didn't happen to me."

"Wow, okay." Tony tapped his fingers on the table. "So Derek and Laura and Cora weren't in the house, but everyone else in the Hale family was."

Allison pulled one leg up to her chest. She was getting cold again. "Talia and Kevin," she said, moving two skittles to the side of the pile. "Their daughter, Julia." Another skittle. "Kevin's father and stepmother." Two more. "And Peter and his wife and his kids." The last four skittles joined the rest.

"Peter," Tony said. "How did he survive?"

Allison shrugged. "We haven't talked about it. But the police report indicated that one of the support beams in the basement had fallen on him. Kevin was a carpenter, he probably figured that if they could get part of the house or foundation to collapse, that might break the line of mountain ash that was keeping them in the house. They could have broken the beam, but if the fire had already reached the foundations…" She shrugged again. "Anyway. Peter got trapped."

"You read the police report?"

Allison took a deep breath. She didn't understand the expression on Tony's face. "It was instructive."

"I saw some of the file," Tony said. "Just after you tapped into Jarvis for the first time. I was looking for what the Argents did."

"It's pretty terrible," Allison said. "And it's all academic to me, but yesterday when I found Peter at the cemetery… He watched his family die and he'd just been forced to remember it all."

"Was that why you called him this afternoon? After you heard about that guy who killed himself?"

"Yes," Allison said without hesitation. "I needed to know that Peter was okay."

Tony fiddled with the edge of the laptop. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Is anything I say going to stop you?"

Tony put his elbow on the table. "Why are you dating him?"

Allison had been expecting this, not that she had an answer prepared. "Do you want the flip answer or the real one?"

"What's the flip answer?"

"At first, it was a hell of a way to rile Chris up," Allison said. "I'm pretty sure that's the whole reason why Peter got involved with me, in any event."

"And the real answer?"

Allison leaned on the table. "Have you ever been in love?"

Tony's eyes went wide. "Okay, no," he objected. "You are eighteen and Peter is _thirty-nine_. You cannot be in love with someone who is old enough to be your father."

"And yet, here we are," Allison snapped back. "Do you want me to answer your question or do you want to bitch for a while?"

"What's wrong with both?"

Allison got up. She needed coffee if she had to put up with Tony in this state. "I'm going to assume that you loved Mom."

"Of course I did!"

"And now you love Pepper."

A moment's silence, then Tony said, "Your point is?"

"I'm sure they were both what you needed at the time," Allison said. She dumped coffee grounds into the basket. "I'm in love with Peter because he gives me what I need."

"I'm going to be traumatized by asking, but what exactly is that?"

"He understands me."

"Are you _joking?"_

Allison turned around. "I take it that you don't believe me."

"I'm sure you believe it," Tony said. "I just have no idea how you fell for some bullshit line like _I understand you_."

Allison took the coffee pot to the sink. "He was born a werewolf, Tony, just like Mom. His father was their pack's alpha, his mother their enforcer." Allison filled the pot with water. "After his parents were killed, his sister became the pack alpha. Peter has spent his entire life watching the women in his family do what they have to do to keep the pack and this town safe."

Tony's eyebrows were doing something strange. "What does this have to do with anything?"

Allison stopped and stared at him. "Peter understands what I have to do as Alpha. What did you think I was talking about?"

"I had assumed it was some creepy sex thing."

Allison shook her head. "For all his protests to the contrary, Peter is perfectly satisfied with letting me keep this town safe, so he can keep on enjoying his hedonistic lifestyle." She went back to the coffee machine. "Which is perfectly fine with me."

"It's not fine with me."

Allison poured the water into the machine, replaced the pot, and pressed the brew button before turning her full attention back on Tony. "You don't get a vote in my relationship."

"Allison—"

"No," Allison said, letting a hint of alpha red flash through her eyes. Tony went still. "Listen to me. Peter is my business. This town is my business. I'm doing what I have to."

"But you don't have to," Tony said. "You're a kid, you shouldn't have to be doing any of this."

"I'm not a kid," Allison said, leaning against the counter. "Maybe I never was. I have to do this."

"How is any of this your responsibility?"

Allison crossed her arms over her chest. "How is any of it yours?" she retorted. "I get building the suit to get you out of that cave in Afghanistan, and take down Obadiah Stane, but the rest of it? Fighting terrorists and aliens? Who made that your problem?"

"Sure, I'm Iron Man," Tony said. "But I'm also a grown adult. Not a kid in the eleventh grade."

"You're Iron Man because you want to be," Allison said. She was getting angry at Tony, and it wasn't fair, because everything that was stirring up in her, was for things he hadn't done yet. "You could have made the suits and handed them off to the military, or sold them to the highest bidder, but you didn't."

"I wouldn't have done that."

"I know you wouldn't." Allison pulled at the end of her braid, the loose ends starting to dry. "But you could have. And that's what makes us different. We do the things we do because we can't not be the one holding the line."

Tony put his head in his hands. "What made you like this?" he complained.

"I think it's a Stark thing." Allison turned her head to watch the coffee drip slowly into the pot. "Or maybe an alpha thing."

"About that."

Allison's shoulders tensed. "About what?"

"How did you become an alpha?"

Allison let her gaze drift back to Tony. She had no idea how to answer that question. The others, she could let stand in their assumptions that she'd killed an alpha werewolf in France that summer. But Tony was the only one who would actually try to find out _who_.

And Allison could not let that happen.

Allison let out a breath. Tony was still watching her, eyes steady. She knew he was waiting for her to say that she had murdered someone, and that he might not even mind it.

That turned in her stomach.

"I can't tell you," she finally said.

"It's okay, I won't tell anyone," Tony started, but stopped when Allison shook her head.

"No. I can't." She went to the cupboard for a couple of mugs. "Can you just be okay with that?"

Tony jittered as Allison brough the mugs to the table. "Are you in any danger because of it?" he asked. "Is anyone going to come after you in revenge?"

"No," Allison said. She set the mugs down and went back to the fridge for milk.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Okay."

Allison returned with the milk, retrieved the coffee pot, and sat down. She poured out two cups, added milk to hers, and pushed the other over to Tony. "I'm sorry I can't be the daughter you wanted," she said after a minute. "I'm doing the best I can with what I've got, but… yeah. I'm sorry."

Tony pulled the mug towards him. "And what's this daughter I wanted supposed to be like?"

Allison shrugged. "Smart. Determined." _Someone like Morgan_ , Allison thought miserably.

"How are you not those things?"

Allison quirked up the corner of her mouth in a wry smile. "Maybe someone a little less damaged than I am."

"Is that how you see yourself?" Tony asked. "Damaged?"

"Don't you?"

"Are we talking about me or you?" Tony reached for the milk.

"Maybe that's another things Starks have in common." Allison sipped her coffee. It still wasn't enough to make her feel warm.

"That's depressing."

"But realistic." Allison looked into her mug. "How's Pepper doing?"

"Fine. She's worried about you, with, you know. Amnesia."

"Is she still freaked out about the whole werewolf thing?"

"I don't know. Rhodey talked to her about it. She says she understands, but…" Tony took a hit of coffee. "Sometimes it's hard to tell with her."

The doorbell rang. "At least Rhodey gets it," Allison said, dragging herself up. "But he knew Mom. It's easier when you know someone first before finding out they're, you know."

"Pepper knew I was a disaster from day one, I don't know what difference that would make," Tony said, his voice following Allison down the hall.

"She made the choice to go work for you, whereas I was pushed into her life involuntarily," Allison replied, reaching for the lacrosse stick again. This time, when she opened the door, it was to find a red-headed deputy sheriff on the mat. "Natasha."

"Is Tony still here?" Natasha asked. "Or did you end up burying his body in the back yard?"

"Oh great, the Ruskies are here," Tony said from the kitchen.

Allison stood aside to let Natasha in. "Burying him in the backyard is still on the table. What happened?"

"I'm finally off-shift." Natasha trudged into the house. "Noah told me if I didn't go home to get some sleep, he was going to toss me in lock-up."

"I'm sure he didn't mean his home." Allison closed the door and followed Natasha to the kitchen, where the woman was rummaging in the cupboards for a mug. Tony was eyeing her suspiciously. "Really, is everything okay? How's the kid?"

"Still in the hospital." Natasha crossed to the table and collapsed in a chair. "It's early days."

"What about the mother?" Allison asked, returning to her chair.

"Seventy-two hour psych eval at Eichan House," Natasha said. Allison shivered. "I'm kind of surprised that we're not seeing more mental breakdowns."

"Any more deaths?" Allison asked.

"Not yet." Natasha watched as Tony poured her a cup of coffee. "That Sam Wilson guy, he was organizing a lake-front cleanup at the VA, for anyone who's interested."

"Why?" Tony asked.

"Being outdoors, helping people take their mind off past trauma," Natasha said. She pulled the coffee towards her. "Steve and Sam are a good team. Steve gets everyone's attention, Sam is the voice of reason, and they make it work."

"Who would have thought that Steve Rogers would end up the wise-cracking sidekick?" Allison suggested.

Natasha threw her a look. "I see that you and your father are on speaking terms."

"Turns out we do better without a studio audience."

"Figures." Natasha rubbed her eyes. "Anyway, I think Steve isn't done with you yet. He said that this place looks like such a nice town, he's thinking of staying for a few days."

"Why?" Tony asked. "Does he honestly think he's going to pry anything else out of Allison by lurking around town?"

"I don't know." Natasha picked up her coffee. "Allison really messed him up with that dead best friend thing."

"I wasn't exactly overflowing with options," Allison said. "Does he want me to say sorry again?"

"I don't know." Natasha drank some coffee. "I wish you made sense."

Allison frowned at Natasha. Even Tony looked a little confused. "What?"

Natasha took a deep breath. "You don't make any sense."

"I've told you—"

"And I don't believe you," Natasha interrupted. She met Allison's eyes over the mug. "I don't understand why anyone would drop the Winter Soldier in your path. It doesn't make any sense."

Allison put her hands on the table. She had committed to this lie, she may as well run with it. "Maybe they dropped him in front of me for the same reason they dropped him in front of you."

Natasha's eyes hardened, and she put her mug down. Off to the side, Tony said, "What?"

"Maybe," Allison went on. "They wanted to see how alike you and I are?"

"No, really, what are you talking about?" Tony asked.

"What did he tell you?" Natasha ground out.

"He didn't tell me a thing," Allison said. With her memories so recently returned, it was easy to bring back the encounter with Dupont and the others on the hill, the first time the man had been in Beacon Hills. She could remember everything he had said about Natasha's family. "But I've seen the pictures of the slaughter of the hidden Romanoffs, in the eighties." There was no gentle way to say this, and Allison already knew bringing this up had been a mistake. But she didn't know how to stop. "All those werewolves, who looked so much like you."

Natasha sat back, digging her fingers into her arm. It took her a moment to say, "I really hate you right now."

"I'm sorry," Allison said. "I'm sorry your family died. I'm sorry all those things happened to you."

Natasha pressed her lips together.

"What's going on?" Tony asked.

Natasha sucked in another deep breath. "What your charming daughter is trying to say is that she and I are a lot alike." She shook off the emotions, pulling back control. "My parents were like you and Clara. I come from a family of werewolves." She placed her hand flat on the table. "And they all died."

"Hunters got them," Allison said in an aside to Tony.

"And most of the time I can look at Allison and be glad she's not going to turn out like me."

"And the other times?" Allison asked.

Natasha just looked at her, expression cold, but her eyes were shadowed.

"And the other times," Allison said, standing up. "You look at me and hate that you didn't get the same chance that I did."

"That's not fair," Tony said.

"Nothing about this is fair, Dad." Allison went around to Natasha. The woman's eyes followed her. "If I try to comfort you right now, are you going to stab me?"

Natasha blinked. "No."

"Can I put my hand on your shoulder?"

"Whatever."

Allison put one hand on Natasha's back, the other on her shoulder, and leaned against her arm. "I'm sorry that happened to you," Allison said, pulling up the strength and comfort of the alpha until she was practically burning with it. "I'm sorry no one helped you when you couldn't help yourself."

Natasha closed her eyes. Allison could feel her shaking, just a little, and stepped closer. Natasha let her head rest against Allison's ribs, as Allison pushed _calm_ and _safe_ at Natasha. She didn't know who the alpha in Natasha's pack had been, a parent or a grandparent, but Allison couldn't imagine being ripped away from a loving family, a loving pack, and thrown out into the cold by murderers and villains.

And those memories for Natasha, churned up close to the surface after the nogitsune's curse…

"I'm sorry," Allison said softly, putting her hand on Natasha's head. "It wasn't fair."

Natasha slowly sat back, opening her eyes. She looked up at Allison. "Why did you tell Fury to get Clint to call me?" she asked.

Allison smoothed the hair back from Natasha's forehead before returning to her chair. "Because last night, you looked like you were falling apart."

"Why Clint?"

Allison shrugged.

"Did the Winter Soldier tell you about him?"

"No," Allison said. "But I watched you two together. Here, and on the trip to Washington. You relax around him."

"And?"

"And sometimes that's enough."

Natasha shook her head. "I'm back to not believing you." She turned to Tony. "What are you going to do now? Pull a Rogers and stay in town?"

Tony looked between Allison and Natasha for a moment. "Are you serious about Hydra?" he finally asked Allison.

"What, that Hydra has sleeper agents woven through the highest reaches of SHIELD?" Allison said. "Yes."

"And Steve's staying here." He exchanged a glance with Natasha, which Allison didn't understand. "Do you need me here?"

It took Allison a moment to realize that the question was directed at her. "No. I mean, thank you for coming to see me, but if it's me or fighting Hydra, you totally have to fight Hydra."

"Crap," Tony muttered. "I guess I'm fighting Hydra."

"I'm here for the foreseeable future," Natasha said. "I'm going to try to get Steve headed down south, but he might dig in."

"I don't have anything else to tell him," Allison said.

"Doesn't matter." Natasha wiped her eyes. "He's staying. I'm staying."

"I should be staying," Tony said.

"It's okay," Allison said. "You don't have to." There was something on her father's face that she didn't quiet understand. "But, um. You can come back. If you want to."

"You mean that?" Tony asked.

"Of course."

"How about Friday?" Natasha suggested. Both Tony and Allison looked at her. "I have the night off. Barring any more black magic or alien invasion, you can bring Pepper to town and we can all go out for dinner."

"I'm not sure I want any family bonding activities to take place with an audience," Tony said.

"It'll be entertaining for us." Natasha stood up. "All right. I'm going home. Allison, thank you for ruining my day."

"Any time." Allison let Natasha head off, waiting until she heard the door close behind the woman. "You don't have to come back so soon."

"Well, maybe I want to," Tony said with a lift of the chin.

"Okay."

"If you want me to."

"It's up to you." Allison thought about the week ahead. "Homecoming is on Thursday, and we have a day off on Friday."

"See? Perfect day for a visit."

"I don't want to make Pepper come if she doesn't want to."

"She'll want to."

"Tony." Allison reached out to touch his arm. He went still. "Don't push Pepper if she's not ready."

"Okay." Tony shook himself. "Do you want me to go now?"

"You don't have to stay."

"What if I want to? For a little bit?"

Allison bit her lip. It felt weird, the idea of her father actually wanting to spend time with her, get to know her. But she wanted it. She wanted it so bad. "That's okay."

"Okay." Tony turned the laptop towards her. "I'm thinking of building a paramedic bot, something that can resuscitate remotely. Help me out here."

Allison pulled her chair closer, listening to Tony expound on his ideas for the robot, and putting in her opinions. It was a whole new experience, as Allison hadn't had the understanding of robotics to help out in Tony's work until after the man died, and it felt strange.

But it also felt right. And for the first time since she had fallen back into the past, Allison dared to hope that she might actually be able to build something solid with her father.

She wasn't going to let the chance pass her by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Allison: I don't know why Steve and Natasha are so intent on staying in Beacon Hills.  
> The adults: So we all agree that Allison knows too much and might be in danger from Hydra, specifically this deadly Winter Solider, and someone needs to keep an eye on her? Check.  
> Allison: It doesn't make any sense.
> 
> So Allison says she's never been drowned – this story is obviously canon divergent after the end of season two of Teen Wolf and she and the boys never did the surrogate sacrifice by drowning thing to save their parents.
> 
> In referring to Natasha's family history, Allison is thinking back to the scene in [Child of the Wolf chapter 7](https://archiveofourown.org/works/564316/chapters/43747402) when Dupont's taunting Natasha in the forest. Oh, those were halcyon times…


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allison and Stiles talk about what’s up with Stiles' love life. Back at school, Allison has to deal with the fallout of the amnesia episode on her friends, before a chance comment brings Allison up against a realization of her own. Finally, Peter and Allison have a conversation about birth control (and their lack thereof) that really should have been addressed between them several chapters ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beacon Hills, where the map is made up and consistent scene locations don’t matter.

* * *

Tony eventually packed himself up into the Iron Man suit and lifted off for LA, promising Allison that he would keep her in the loop on the design of the paramedical bot. Allison sat on the back porch for a long time after he left, watching the sun sink in the sky, thinking about the future she wasn't going to live, all the things she was never going to get to experience with her father, with Pepper as her stepmother, with Morgan.

That was where Stiles found her. "Are you okay?" he asked from the back door.

"Does it matter?" Allison asked, looking up at the soft early stars.

Stiles slipped out onto the porch, coming over to sit beside Allison. "Dad texted to let me know your father was here."

"He stayed for a while," Allison said. "We talked about robots. He thinks Peter's terrible."

"Peter is terrible," Stiles said reflexively. He bumped Allison's arm with his elbow. "Is that why you're crying? Because Peter's terrible?"

Allison ran her hand over her face, and it came away wet. Damn it, not again. "No." She scrubbed at her cheeks. "Maybe I'm sad about all those things that could have been, and I'm never going to have now."

Stiles exhaled. "Yeah, me too."

Allison slid over an inch and leaned against Stiles. "How are Lydia and Kira?"

"Better than this morning." Stiles put his arm around her shoulder. "Did Lydia text you at all?"

"No. What happened?"

Stiles sighed, his leg bouncing. Allison could smell Lydia's perfume and Kira's bodywash on his shirt, like he had been hugging more people that day than just her. _Good,_ Allison thought fiercely. Let Stiles and Kira and Lydia have this time to be teenagers. "She remembered what happened to her grandmother when she died."

Oh, fuck. "What happened?" Allison asked, because this was something that she could not possibly know. Hell, Lydia hadn't remembered until months from now in the original timeline, when her banshee powers were spiraling.

"Her grandmother was in Eichan House when Lydia was a kid. You know, the mental hospital?"

"I know what Eichan House is," Allison said, managing to hold in her anger. She really, really wanted to burn that place to the ground.

"Something happened and Lydia said she saw her grandmother after her grandmother tried to drill a hole in her head. There was blood everywhere." Stiles' fingers tightened on Allison's arm. "Lydia says she forgot about it, but then after she remembered."

"That must have been really scary for her."

"Yeah. She said she tried to talk to her mom about it last night, but her mom told her she wasn't supposed to talk about bad stuff like that."

"That's bullshit," Allison muttered. "Like, what kind of parenting is that? Hi, sweetie, just go forget you walked in on your grandmother performing trepanation on herself in Echo House, that's a good girl."

"Trepanation?" Stiles repeated. He pulled back to look at Allison.

"That's what it's called," Allison said. "When you drill a hole in your skull." She looked at Stiles, his eyes glinting a bit in the early evening light, and decided to throw it all in. She and Lydia would need all the help they could get as Lydia explored her banshee powers. "I read that sometimes that can be done to a banshee to enhance their powers, but it's really fucking dangerous."

Stiles' expression morphed into one of horror. "Yeah, I'd say that drilling a _hole_ in your _head_ is dangerous." He shuddered. "Is Lydia going to have to do that?"

"Absolutely not," Allison said firmly. "And if anyone tries to do it to her, I'll kill them."

Stiles nearly rose to his feet in alarm. "Is someone going to try to drill a hole in Lydia's _head?"_

"No!" Allison exclaimed. "Like I said, no one is going anywhere near Lydia."

"Oh my god." Stiles slumped down. "What the fuck."

"We're going to keep Lydia safe," Allison said. She put her arm around Stiles' shoulders and hauled him in for a hug. He was vibrating with intensity. "We're going to keep everyone safe."

Stiles turned his forehead against her shoulder. "How?" he asked, voice muffled.

"I don't know," Allison said softly. Overhead, a shadowed cloud floated across the mauve-and-amber sky. "But I refuse to accept any other outcome."

"Same." Stiles poked absently at her knee. "Why is life so fucking hard?"

"Because the existence of life in the universe is practically impossible," Allison said. "The impossible is the hardest thing of all."

"You're weird."

"You're weird."

"And you smell."

Allison took an overly dramatic sniff of Stiles' hair. "You smell like Lydia and Kira," she said, making Stiles jerk away to glare at her with a wounded expression. "Like you were holding hands? Teenage cuddle-pile?"

"Shut up!" Stiles exclaimed. "They were upset! I was just trying to be nice!"

Allison relented. Stiles looked really freaked out. "You are nice," she said. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well." Stiles shook himself to settle his ruffled feathers. "You should be."

"I heard that you're taking them both to Homecoming."

"No, not like that." Stiles' cheeks had gone red, noticeable even in the fading light. "We're all going together. As friends."

Allison raised her eyebrows at him. "Explain," she ordered.

Stiles bit at his thumb. "Lydia asked me to go with her to Homecoming, like, a week ago," he said. "As a friend. She'd already bought her dress."

"Whoa, what?" Allison exclaimed. This was the sort of thing she would have expected him to shout from the rooftops about, or hire a skywriter to brag about. "When?"

"Last Sunday when she was here."

"When I found you two _making out_ on the porch?"

"That was a friendly kiss," Stiles said weakly.

Allison shifted around to give Stiles the glare he deserved. "Friendly? I don't see you making out with Scott like that."

"Shut up," Stiles said. "It doesn't matter."

"How the hell does Kira come into all this?"

"She's new at school, it would be rude to leave her out of the dance."

Allison put her hand over her mouth, ready to start screaming or crying, she wasn't sure which. "So you have a date with the girl you have been dreaming about since you were seven, and then the new girl starts and you both magnanimously invite her along. As a friend."

"Yes."

"Stiles." Allison pinched the bridge of her nose. "Okay. Okay."

"We're just going to go and have fun," Stiles said.

"Who's picking up who?"

"I'm going to go pick them up at Lydia's place. They're going to get ready there after school."

"Does Kira have a dress?"

"She said her mom is making her one. And I've got my new suit, I'm not going to, like, embarrass them."

"Lydia would never let that happen," Allison said. "Okay." Stiles obviously wasn't giving the situation the proper attention, in his _we're all just friends_ mode. "You'll need matching corsages. And we really need to look into your tie situation."

"No, we don't," Stiles said. "Lydia and Kira both said, it's no big deal."

"Stiles." Allison put her hands on his cheeks, squeezing his mouth shut. "Worst case scenario, both Kira and Lydia are being absolutely honest, then neither of them will mind that much if you go all in and get them flowers. They'll just think that you're overly excited."

Stiles pushed her away.

"Best case? Both Lydia and Kira are secretly hoping for a little bit of romance, and you buying flowers and being super chivalrous about everything will make them both very happy." She leaned forward. " _Very_ happy."

Stiles rubbed his hand over his face. "Why do you have to make everything sound skeezy?"

"This isn't about being a perv, it's about being considerate of the two young ladies who are agreeing to take your sorry ass to the dance." Allison pulled her phone out. "I'll find out what colour their dresses are, so we can coordinate. And you can go by the department store on Wednesday after school, you're going to need a new tie."

"I have a tie."

"You have a red tie," Allison corrected. "Which is going to clash horribly with Lydia's hair in the pictures."

"Pictures?"

"That Mrs. Martin and everyone else will take," Allison said, typing out a few notes for herself. "Do you have condoms?"

"I'm not going to sleep with anyone!" Stiles squeaked. "Allison, stop it!"

"You say that now, but then you're at the dance and everyone's holding hands and someone spikes the punch and all of a sudden someone falls vagina-first onto someone else's dick, and then it's three rounds at the doctors for STIs."

"Allison." Stiles yanked Allison's phone out of her hands. "For the love of _god_ , stop!"

"No." Allison grabbed her phone back. "I'm not saying you're going to get any action at the dance, but if the possibility opens up, do you _really_ want to be unprepared for when the magic happens?"

There was something in this line of conversation that pricked at her mind, but she couldn't quite catch it. She tucked the thought away to deal with later.

"Oh my god," Stiles said, dropping his head into his hands. Allison returned to her list. "I can't, like, have sex with one of them when I take them both to the dance."

"Then don't." Allison considered, then turned Stiles' face towards her. "You should start using chapstick."

Stiles shot off the porch. "You are now officially making it weird!"

"Kissing someone with chapped lips is not a thrill," Allison said. "Speaking of which, Derek came by earlier."

Stiles froze. He turned wide eyes on her. "What did he say?"

Allison shrugged. "That there was a kissing situation going on during the amnesia extravaganza," she said, trying to keep her voice casual.

"That's it?" Stiles flung his hands out. "There was a kissing _situation?"_

Allison tapped out a final note, to make sure Stiles had nail clippers in the jeep in case anyone broke a nail at the dance, and looked up. "He also said that you suggested that you two wait to get your memories back and then go on a date."

Stiles gawped at her for a moment, then stalked off into the darkening yard.

"He told me that he freaked out on you yesterday," Allison called after Stiles. "And I told him that he's a fucking asshole and that he needed to apologize to you and make it clear that he still wants to be your friend. Did he do that?"

Stiles walked into a tree and stood there, breathing hard.

Allison put her phone down. "Do I have to go find Derek and kick his ass?"

"No," Stiles replied after a moment.

"Did Derek apologize?"

"Why should he?"

Allison hauled herself to her feet and drifted across the yard to join Stiles by the tree. "He said he fucked up."

Stiles picked at the tree bark. "Have you ever had something happen and you realize afterwards that you're the world's biggest idiot?"

"Yes."

"No, but really."

"Yes, but really."

Stiles rested his forehead against the tree. "I think I had a crush on Derek," he said. He was practically glowing in the dark with how hard he was blushing.

"I see," Allison said. "Past-tense? What happened? Is he really that bad a kisser?"

Stiles shook his head. "He wasn't… it wasn't bad. It was the first time I kissed a guy."

Allison leaned against the tree, holding her tongue with an effort.

"It was… I thought…" Stiles gulped down a big breath. "And then we got our memories back and Derek said what a fucking _mistake_ it had all been."

"That must have really hurt," Allison said quietly.

"Whatever." Stiles slapped the tree. "It doesn't matter."

"It does matter."

"No." Stiles turned to look at Allison. "So today he wrote me a goddamned essay about how sorry he was, and now I find out that you made him do it."

"I didn't make him do anything," Allison said. "I told him that if he wanted to keep being your friend, he should apologize, but that's it."

Stiles rubbed his eyes. "I don't get him. Like, I know getting our memories back was shit. I know Derek's life was terrible. I know he's a literal disaster of a person."

"And it still hurts."

Stiles nodded. "I'm a horrible human being."

"Why, because you got your heart broken?" Allison stepped in to put her arm around Stiles. "It's a complicated situation. The best thing you can do is to take care of yourself and accept Derek's apology if you want to."

"I want to," Stiles mumbled, letting Allison walk them towards the house. "But I still want to be mad at him for a while."

"Okay." Allison steered them up the steps. "And one more thing."

"Oh god," Stiles whimpered. "Now what?"

"Lydia and Kira." Allison stopped by the door and turned to look at Stiles. "Are you taking them to the dance because you like them and want to spend time with them, or are you doing it as payback for what Derek did?"

Stiles gave her a very strange look. "I like them," he said vehemently. "And I might be pissed off at Derek, but I'd never do that to Lydia or Kira."

"Good."

"I'm not a complete asshole," Stiles went on, heading into the house.

"I know."

"If I was an asshole I'd go key Derek's car."

"No, you wouldn't." Allison followed Stiles into the kitchen and put the kettle on. "You'd put Nair into his shampoo or something."

Stiles let out a surprised giggle. "That's terrible."

"Broken hearts lead to inventive solutions." Allison pulled open the fridge. "Do you want dinner?"

"Yes." Stiles headed towards the pantry. "What else happened today?"

"Steve Rogers is back in town for god-knows what reason," Allison said. "And I stopped Zach Strong from jumping off the bridge into the river, and then had to go save a kid when his mother tossed him over at the same point." She turned around to find Stiles staring at her. "What?"

_"What?"_

Allison sighed. "Okay, so after I left here, I walked to the river, and then my Aunt Anna called me," she began. This story was going to take a while, and it might be enough to distract Stiles from his funk. At least she could keep it entertaining.

The things she did for the sake of Stilinski harmony.

* * *

Monday at school was a trial.

Lydia was prickly and stand-offish when Allison said hello by their lockers. Kira hovered nervously nearby, but didn't say anything as Lydia grabbed her gym bag and swept off towards the locker rooms.

"What about you?" Allison asked when Lydia was out of earshot. "Are you mad at me, too?"

Kira bit her lip. "Why didn't you tell me about my mom?"

Allison shoved her helmet into her locker, then pulled out her history textbook. "Your mother's secrets are not mine to tell."

"And mine?"

Allison met Kira's eyes. "The only thing I care about right now is finding out where the nogitsune is," she said. "And stopping them. Nothing else is any of my business."

"But you knew that my pictures would look weird," Kira said. This pulled Allison up short. "On my phone."

Allison wondered if it was too late to drop out of school. "Did anyone tell you about me?" Allison asked, shifting her textbook to her backpack and moving in a bit closer to the nervous girl. Kira shook her head. "Tell Lydia and Stiles they should. In any event, I can see things differently than a normal human."

"So you saw that I was different?" Kira demanded. Behind them, Jackson was skulking at his locker, Isaac lounging nearby. Neither looked happy.

"Yes," Allison said. She closed her locker. "And I didn't know what you knew, so I kept my damned mouth shut." She snapped the lock and donned her backpack. "It's a good life skill."

"You could have told me," Kira said again.

Allison wanted to scream. "Kira, I met you a week ago," she said. "That's hardly enough time to ask if I can borrow your notes from class, let alone ask you about deep personal secrets." She caught a scent of _werewolf_ and _female._ "Erica."

"Allison." The word was cold and unfriendly. Allison turned around, to find Erica glaring at her, Boyd a few steps behind her with the attitude of _don't bring me into this._

Suddenly, Allison was done. She faced Erica head-on. "All right, let's go."

"What?" Jackson demanded, jerking around startled. Isaac's eyes had gone huge. "You two can't fight in the hallway!"

"Erica's expression says otherwise." Allison met Erica's glare. She knew that deep anger in Erica, the fundamental rage that powered the girl into keeping going under the worse circumstances. And Allison could bet she knew what memories were fuelling Erica at the moment – all those times the previous year when Allison had been so incredibly terrible towards Erica.

Including all the stabbing.

"Part of me hates you a lot right now," Erica said, her eyes gleaming just a tiny bit amber.

"Legitimate," Allison agreed.

"Like, gut you in the middle of the hallway, a lot."

"If you get into a fight, you're going to get suspended," Isaac said from behind Jackson. "And then you can't go to Homecoming."

"Isaac, shut up," Allison ordered. "Erica, if you think eviscerating me before gym class will make you feel better, I'm not going to stop you."

Erica took a step towards Allison, and Allison was a little confused. The scent coming off Erica now wasn't fury, but the sour tang of humiliation. What on _earth?_ "Why not?" Erica demanded.

"Because you're hurting," Allison said softly, out of the ears of the gathering crowd around them. "I want that to stop."

Erica's lip trembled, and she took another step forward to hug Allison with all her might.

"Oh my god," Isaac muttered, then let out an _oof_ as Boyd punched his arm.

Allison wrapped her arms round Eric and hugged her back, one hand on Erica's head. "I am so sorry," Allison whispered in Erica's ear. "I'm so sorry I hurt you."

"Can you do that thing?" Erica whispered back. "Where you make me feel better?"

"Sure." Allison closed her eyes and pulled up the full power of the alpha, _reassurance_ and _safety_ and _home_. Erica clung to Allison, and Allison took it, even though her ribs creaked a bit under Erica's grip.

"What's going on here?" came a new voice. "Break it up, no fighting!"

"They're not fighting, Coach," Boyd said.

"Oh." The footsteps stopped. "Right. I can see that." Coach Finstock sounded embarrassed, but Allison couldn't open her eyes, not when she was still pulling on so much alpha power. "Er, no gratuitous displays of affection in the hallways, girls."

"Not sure how much affection there is," Isaac said.

"For the love of god, shut up," Jackson hissed.

Allison managed to tamp down the alpha just enough, then opened her eyes. Finstock looked like hell. _He's drinking again,_ Allison deduced. Not that she blamed him. "Is there a problem, Coach?"

"Not really." Finstock scratched his nose as Erica turned in Allison's embrace, tucking in at her side. "Don't you all have gym class?"

"Not me." Boyd put his hands up.

"Get to class," Finstock said, and shuffled away.

"I think he would rather have put someone in detention," Erica said. She stayed plastered to Allison's side.

"We have gym," Kira said. "I'm going to go change."

"Come on," Isaac said to Jackson, and hauled him off.

Boyd edged in close enough to put his hand on Erica's back. "Are you going to be okay?"

"No."

"Oh." The boy looked at a loss. "Should I stay?"

"No." Erica sniffled. "Allison can walk me to class."

"Okay." Boyd rubbed her back. "I'll see you at lunch, okay?"

Erica nodded, and Boyd, after fixing Allison with a glare, left.

"What's going on?" Allison asked, slowly steering Erica in the direction of the locker rooms.

Erica was quiet for a long time. "Do you know how many seizures I've had at school since kindergarten?"

"No."

"Twenty-three." Allison squeezed Erica's arm. "And every time, everyone made fun of me. I was helpless on the floor and they made fun of me."

"I'm sorry."

"But not you." Erica sniffled. "I mean, you did try to kill me and that was awful, but you never made fun of me."

"Everyone?" Allison asked. "Stiles? And Scott?"

"No," Erica admitted. "And not Boyd. But Isaac did. And Lydia. And Jackson." She pulled back slightly from Allison and hooked her arm through Allison's, rebuilding her poise. God, Allison was so proud of her. "You were just easier to get mad at."

"I have that effect on people."

Erica leaned her head against Allison's shoulder. "What would you have done if I had tried to gut you?"

"In the middle of the hallway? Stopped you, because that would have meant that you had lost control."

"Stop me how?"

Erica sounded curious rather than upset, so Allison decided to go with it. "The same way I pulled Jackson back from the Kanima," she said. "Quiet the wolf, so you could get a clear head."

"You don't think I'd have a clear head?"

Allison turned to look at Erica, and smiled. "If you were mad at me with a clear head, you'd corner me out in the woods where we won't freak out the humans."

"Hmm." Erica pretended to consider. "We'll save that for next time."

"Deal." They turned the corner towards the locker rooms. "Do you have your dress for Homecoming?"

"Yeah, it's blue."

"You're going to be gorgeous."

Erica took a deep breath. "And everyone there's going to see me and know what I look like flopping around on the ground."

"And anyone who thinks that is a loser, okay?" Allison kissed Erica on the temple. "And if anyone actually says anything, let me know and I'll step on them."

"Okay." Erica turned. "Aren't you dressing for gym?"

"No, I lost my sneakers in the river yesterday."

Erica opened her mouth as the overhead bell rang. "Oh, shit," she said, and ran.

Allison turned and went into the gymnasium. Ms. Collins was standing in the middle of the room, glaring, so Allison went to join Danny on the bleachers. "Hi."

"Hi." Danny looked exhausted. "You okay?"

"No. You?"

"No."

"And here we are."

Ms. Collins was scathing all class, but Allison tuned her out and focused on re-reading the propaganda in her history textbook. She wondered what Mr. Yukimura would do during their history class. She desperately hoped that there wouldn't be any recurring visitations by Steve Rogers. She wasn't sure she could take any more of the man right now.

Gym passed with glacial slowness, as did computer science. History was better, at least with Mr. Yukimura doing his best to distract a morose class with a lecture entitled 'Top Ten Wacky History Facts.'

Allison was at least smiling as the man recounted the folklore surrounding Rasputin's death, but she let her mind drift. She hoped that Kira was having fun, even if the girl was still hesitant around Allison. Allison also hoped that Stiles taking both Kira and Lydia to the dance would work out, or at least not end in tears.

She was also going to make sure Stiles had condoms with him, or at least hidden in the jeep, because she'd seen the way those three had been looking at each other and given the state of everyone's overwrought emotions, she wouldn't put it past the teenagers to end up in an awkward situation. She knew Lydia was on birth control pills, but Allison had no idea what Kira's history was, or if she'd even had any kind of basic sex ed or—

Suddenly, that missing piece that had been rattling around in Allison's brain finally slotted in.

Birth control.

Allison was on depo for birth control.

Victoria had always taken Allison to the doctor every three months for her shot.

Allison's last shot had been with Victoria.

And Victoria had been dead for five months.

Allison made herself sit still as every fiber of her being wanted to jump up and run out of class. Oh, _no_. She'd been having unprotected sex with Peter for over a month, just assuming that she was fine, that she was protected against getting pregnant.

Allison flashed back to Saturday night, when she and Peter had last been together. They'd had sex three times and Peter had come inside her every time.

Oh god, what if she got pregnant?

"Allison?"

Allison blinked off the panic and looked up at Mr. Yukimura. "What?"

"Are you okay?" the man asked, frowning at her.

"Yes," Allison lied.

"Okay." He moved on.

In front of Allison, Jackson turned around. "What's wrong with you?" he whispered.

"Nothing," Allison whispered back. She felt numb. Oh, god, she could not be pregnant right now, especially not with Peter's child.

Or.

Given the fact that her first pregnancy was likely to be twins, children.

She was eighteen and had to save the universe. She could not be pregnant with _werewolf twins._

As Mr. Yukimura droned on, Allison desperately tried to yank back her focus. She had to focus. She had to make a plan, had to figure this out.

Step one. Well, if she was pregnant already, she was pregnant already. There would be no time travel to stop that particular snap. And if she wasn't, Allison needed to take immediate steps to get back on birth control.

Okay. Okay. She could do this.

She thought about going to ask Melissa McCall for help, then discarded that idea out of hand. She didn't know where she stood with Melissa, following the amnesiac _you might be my mother_ thing. And Melissa would only be able to point Allison at options, which was a step Allison could skip.

Allison didn't have a doctor at the moment, or health insurance, or any money. But for this, she would break one of her cardinal rules, and ask for help. But from who?

Noah? Absolutely not. He would lose his mind that Allison had been so reckless with her health, and probably go shoot Peter for the hell of it.

Peter? It would make sense, given that the only reason Allison had been letting Peter fuck her without a condom was for his benefit.

Which.

Why the hell hadn't Peter ever asked if she was on birth control?

No. Allison shoved that line of thought away. She could deal with Peter Hale's mind games after she dealt with the situation at hand.

She needed to find someone who had ready cash, ask then nicely at first, them mug them if they said no, and get herself to the clinic as soon as possible. Screw school. This was actually important.

Finally, the bell rang. Allison dragged herself up, trying to think. She had to find someone with money. Stiles only carried thirty dollars with him, in case Roscoe needed gas. Lydia was mad at Allison and would probably eat her purse before handing Allison anything that would be for Peter's benefit. Erica? Boyd? Certainly not Isaac.

But.

Allison turned slowly, fixing her eyes on Jackson. Beside the boy, Danny went still. "Dude, what?" Jackson complained.

Danny pointed at Allison. Jackson turned, and froze.

"Jackson Whittemore," Allison said.

"Help," Jackson squeaked, but Danny just slapped him on the back and vanished as fast as he could with bruised ribs.

"Jackson," Allison said, picking up her backpack. "I need a favor."

"No."

"It's not going to hurt."

"That's not what the expression on your face says."

"Come on," Allison said, conscious that Mr. Yukimura was watching them. "Let's talk."

"Why can't you be nice to me like you're nice to Erica?" Jackson complained, shouldering his bag and letting Allison bully him out into the hall.

"I can only be nice to one person a day." Allison hauled Jackson in the opposite direction from the lunch rush.

"Okay, then just don't hurt me."

"I'm not going to hurt you." Allison stopped and turned to face Jackson. "So. This favor."

"I'm not killing anyone for you."

"What?" Allison demanded, appalled. "What are you talking about?"

"You looked like you wanted someone to die," Jackson faltered.

"Jackson." Allison put her hands on his shoulders. "I commit my own murders, okay?"

"No, not okay!"

"This isn't about violence," Allison said. "I need to borrow some money."

"Oh." Jackson frowned. "What for? Drugs?"

Allison rolled her eyes. "I have to go to the doctor."

"Don't you have insurance?"

Allison stepped back to gesture at the air. "With what money?"

"Your dad's Iron Man," Jackson pointed out. "And Derek keeps telling everyone how rich your mother's family is."

Allison pointed at her chest. "Jackson, if I had any money to hand, would I be wearing clothes Stiles outgrew three years ago?"

Jackson gave her a once-over. "I don't know, you are weird."

Allison glared.

"Fine." He pulled out his wallet. "How much do you need?"

"How much do you have?"

Jackson thumbed his bills. "Two hundred."

Allison held out her palm. "All of it."

"For a doctor?" Jackson yanked out the wad of bills. "Are you sick?"

"No." Allison reached out for the money, but Jackson pulled it back. "What?"

"What do I get out of this?" he asked.

"Your money repaid," Allison said. "Eventually."

"Or." Jackson licked his lower lip. Oh, god, now what? "You helped Lydia out with chemistry."

"Her lab write-ups, yeah, so what?"

Jackson was looking crafty, which never ended well. "I'll give this to you as an advance if you agree to tutor me in chemistry."

"I thought you were doing okay in chemistry." Allison took the bills and shoved them into her pocket.

"I am, but this is junior year. If I don't get all As, how am I going to get into law school?"

"We talked about this," Allison said. "You don't want to go to law school."

"Like I'm going into journalism?" Jackson demanded. "Either way, I need an A in chemistry. And Harris hates me."

"He doesn't hate you," Allison said. "He just dislikes everyone."

"Great."

Well. Allison had her money, and she had the possible opening of a new avenue to make more. "I'll come over after school on Wednesday to help with your chemistry," she said. "In the meantime, I'm off."

"Wait, you're going to the doctor now?"

"Why wait?" Allison asked, heading down the hall. "Thanks!"

While everyone was at lunch, Allison gathered up her helmet from her locker, swung past the office to sign out for a medical appointment, then zipped off into town before anyone could hold her up.

At the clinic, Allison asked if it was possible to see a doctor as soon as possible, as she had to be back at school soon. The admitting clerk gave her a thoughtful glance, turned to her computer, and in short order had Allison filling out an invasive medical questionnaire. The only tricky part was in trying to figure out what to put on the form, as _got shot two weeks ago_ might set off more alarm bells than necessary.

In the end, Allison wrote that she'd had a blood transfusion in the last month, left out the shooting and subsequent drugging, and then went on to her medical history.

She was just trying to figure out what to say about heart risks in the family (surely Tony's arc reactor wasn't any indication of a hereditary condition) when she was called in to see the doctor. Allison attempted to be as calm as possible, asking for a depo shot as she had been unavoidably delayed in getting one, but the doctor seemed overly curious as to Allison's home life, her health situation, and her sexual history.

Allison had wanted to get out of there without throwing Peter under the bus, but, seeing how reluctant the doctor was to just inject her full of depo and let her go on her way, Allison crafted a story about how important it was to have a birth control method that didn't require a daily pill. No, she couldn't have an implant or an IUD, she was involved in too much physical activity that risked either of those failing. And she didn't want to rely on barrier methods. Please, _please_ , depo would be best.

And no, of course she hadn't had any unprotected sex in the last two weeks.

Finally, the doctor put her chart down. Allison girded herself for the lecture, and the likelihood that she was going to have to drive to Redding to hit up the Planned Parenthood there, but all the doctor said was, "I have concerns about you being on depo for so long already. This medication can cause bone density loss, especially in girls as young as you."

"One more shot's not going to do more harm," Allison objected. "Look, hopefully in three months, my living situation will be more stable, and I should have more leeway in my options." Which wasn't likely, but Allison would be able to find another doctor to give her the next shot. That was what Victoria had done, whenever the doctors had expressed concern at why Victoria was getting her fourteen-year-old daughter dosed with undetectable birth control.

"Can I ask you some more questions?"

Allison bit back impatience. "Sure."

The doctor walked Allison through a wearisome set of questions around Allison's home environment and her relationships, which Allison recognized as the obligatory domestic violence screening. She gave truthful answers, still received a brochure on how to seek help in getting out of an abusive relationship, had to go pee on a stick to show she wasn't pregnant, and was injected with the shot and chucked out into the waiting room once again with the firm warning to avoid unprotected sex for a week.

She paid the bill for the exam and the shot with Jackson's money and the dimes scraped from the bottom of her bag and every last cent in her bank account, and left. On the ride back to school, Allison tried not to let the complete obliteration of her finances bother her. Sure, she only had one bra and no running shoes, but both of those things were easy to fix. Far better to spend her money on preventing a pregnancy now, than have to raise twin werewolves as an unemployable drop-out single mother.

She got back to school halfway through last period, slipped into her math class, where Mr. Lazarov was sitting on his desk and talking about the old days in Bulgaria and at how life behind the Iron Curtain sucked.

Everyone escaped into the hallways at the end bell, drifting off in their various directions. Allison was at her locker, wondering what the hell she was going to do now that she didn't have a job to go to, when Lydia appeared in the corner of her vision.

"Ms. Martin," Allison said evenly, sorting her schoolbooks for the voyage home. "Fine day, isn't it?"

"No."

Allison put her history textbook into the locker and closed it. "Are you going to tell me why you're mad at me?"

"I was thinking about it."

Allison shrugged her backpack on her shoulders. To her slight surprise, Lydia was alone; no sign of Stiles or Kira. "Okay."

But Lydia just glared at her, so Allison shrugged and started walking towards the exit. After a moment, Lydia scurried after her. "I was talking to you!"

"No, you weren't," Allison said. "You were glaring at me, which, unless you've developed telepathy in the last four days, isn't going to help either of us."

Lydia let out a strangled screech, but there was no power behind it. "Will you stop?"

Allison stopped and whirled, catching Lydia when the girl walked into her. "What?"

Lydia detangled herself from Allison's hands. "Why are you like this?"

Now Allison wanted to start screaming. "Like what?"

"Like this!" Lydia pushed her hair out of her eyes. "Stiles said you were running all over town when we didn't have our memories, saving people, then yesterday you were saving people again and all I could do was break down and you didn't even _call_ me!"

"You had Stiles and Kira," Allison said, confused.

"They're not _you."_

"What am I?" Allison demanded. Did Lydia want Allison to solve her problems? Allison was way too tired to deal with this.

"You're my friend."

"And Kira and Stiles aren't?"

"They weren't with me in that tunnel."

Allison took in a breath, pulled on her Grown Up Hat, and hauled Lydia along until they were outside. There, Allison manhandled Lydia onto a bench and sat beside her. "What about the tunnel?"

"Just." Lydia buried her face in her hands for a moment. "It was dark and I knew we were both going to die and you could have left and saved yourself, but you didn't. You stayed with me."

Lydia's eyes were glittering like emeralds in the afternoon sunshine and Allison was suddenly very angry. "Lydia," Allison said with feeling. "I am never going to leave you alone. Not there, not in that creepy torture room, not anywhere, do you understand?"

Lydia nodded, slipping her hand into Allison's.

"You're a banshee and I'm an alpha," Allison went on. "Together, you and I can save the world from anything."

"I don't know if I want to save the world," Lydia said.

Allison smiled at her. Lydia was so young right now, compared with the woman Allison had known. That woman, who had survived the Snap and so much in her life, had always been one of Allison's best friends, and knowing that they'd never have that kind of friendship again made Allison want to cry.

But she couldn't cry. She was the resident adult in the room, and she had to stay strong. "Then we'll just focus on saving Beacon Hills."

Lydia looked down at their hands. "Kira told us what her mom said about the nogitsune."

"Yeah, it's scary."

"So someone is possessed?"

"Someone in town, most likely."

"And they're doing all the bad things?"

"They set off the curse," Allison said. "And they might have been behind getting Dolores to do that thing with the wolfsbane. But we don't know about that one."

Lydia wrinkled her nose. "It doesn't make any sense."

"I know." Allison put her arm around Lydia to pull her in for a hug. "Are you really mad that I didn't call you yesterday?"

"Not really," Lydia said after a moment.

"Then what?"

Lydia let out a long sigh. "I hate Peter."

It was such a strange comment that Allison pulled away to look at Lydia. "What?"

"Peter Hale," Lydia said again. "I hate him. I hate him so much that I have actually researched how to get away with the perfect murder. I have three ways I can do it and leave no evidence."

"Okay?"

"And I thought I was doing better," Lydia went on. "I hadn't thought about homicide in over a week, and then we get our memories back and do you know what I remembered?"

"Peter attacking you at the dance?"

"Nope!" Lydia said with brittle brightness. "Bringing Peter back from the dead. I did that, all on my own, and so the only person I have to blame is myself."

"And Peter," Allison said. "You can also blame Peter for that. He was manipulating you from beyond the grave." And oh, wow, didn't that sound melodramatic.

"I should have been able to fight it."

"According to who?"

"According to me."

Allison sighed. "Okay, Lydia, look, ghosts are weird. Hauntings are weird. Peter is weird. Most of all? This town is _strange_."

"What's your point?"

"My point is, be mad at Peter, and sure, continue your research project into murder, but at some point you're going to have to figure out what you're going to pursue, and what you're going to let go."

"You think I should let my anger at Peter go."

"I didn't say that," Allison said carefully. "I think you need to figure out what it's going to give you." She shifted around on the bench. "Lydia, you're my best friend. And you have two really great friends in Stiles and Kira. And you just figured out that you're a banshee, and we're going to find out how to help you grow into your powers."

Lydia looked up at the sky. There were tears forming in her eyes.

"And I know I'm the last person who should be talking about Peter, but you're going to have to figure out how much of that hate you want to hold on to."

"I'm never going to like him."

"You don't have to like him."

"And I hate that you're always falling all over him."

Allison, who had never fallen over Peter in any way except physically, bit her tongue.

"But maybe I can stop planning his death," Lydia finished grudgingly.

"Good." Allison patted Lydia's hand.

"But oh god, he's such an asshole."

"Yes, he is."

Lydia sat up, shaking her hair over her shoulders. "Stiles said you're making him get me and Kira corsages," she said, changing the subject with finality.

"Of course I am, he's taking you to the dance."

"I thought you'd hate… what do you keep calling it? Outdated demonstrations of heteronormativity?"

"Outdated demonstrations of heteronormativity would be your dad giving Stiles the shotgun talk when he came over to pick you up," Allison said. "You like flowers and I assume that Kira likes flowers. I told Stiles to get you flowers because of that."

"Hmm." Lydia looked at Allison sideways. "Has Peter ever gotten you flowers?"

"No."

Lydia settled with a little flounce, and Allison had to smother the desire to laugh. "If Stiles is getting us flowers, then maybe I should get them something," Lydia said.

"That would be very nice," Allison said. "Like what?"

"I don't know."

"You have three days to figure it out," Allison said. She stood up. "Come on. Time to go home."

"I don't want to go home," Lydia grumbled. "My mother is being terrible."

"Library?"

"Don't want to."

"Don't you have student council stuff at Homecoming? Grab Isaac and prepare for that."

"Isaac is at Jackson's."

"And?"

"I'm not talking to Jackson."

"So take Isaac out for milkshakes and work at the In-N-Out."

Lydia got up. "Stop having all the answers."

"Why?" Allison asked. "It's not like they're always the right answers."

Lydia turned on her heel and walked off. "Boys don't like girls who are know-it-alls!" she called over her shoulder.

"Yes, they do!" Allison retorted. Once Lydia was out of sight, Allison gathered up her things, and went home.

When she got to the Stilinski house, it was to find Stiles playing video games in his bedroom and Noah rattling around in the hallway with the vacuum. "I can do that," Allison offered, dumping her stuff on her bed before returning to the hall.

"Thanks, but I've got it. Just finished."

"I thought vacuuming was on Stiles' chore sheet."

"I needed to distract myself." Noah put the vacuum back in the closet, glanced in Stiles' bedroom with a sigh, and beckoned to Allison. "Come on, there's something I need your help with."

"Okay." Allison followed Noah down the stairs. "Why aren't you working, anyway?"

"The mayor told me to take a break." Noah walked down the hall towards his office. "I have to go back in tomorrow, it's not that much of a break."

"How are the state troopers working out?" Allison asked, slipping into the office behind Noah.

"Fine, I guess. I'm still not thrilled with having them in my town, but I'm taking what I can get." Noah sat in the chair behind his desk. "Come on, take a load off."

Suddenly wary, Allison lowered herself into the chair on the other side of the desk. "Sheriff Stilinski?"

"It's not like that," Noah said.

"And yet, this feels very much like an interrogation."

"It's not an interrogation," Noah said, leaning back.

"Then what is it?"

Noah sighed. "Natasha was driving past the clinic on Elm this afternoon, and she said she saw your motorcycle."

Allison narrowed her eyes. That was one of the many downsides in living in such a small town, especially a small town inhabited by busybodies like Natasha Romanoff. "Is that what Natasha said?"

"It was while you should have been at school."

"I checked myself out of school. I'm not going to get marked absent."

"I'm not worried about your attendance, Allison," Noah said. "Yesterday, you went into the river in a very dangerous spot. You said you were okay, but is that true?"

Allison stared. Wait, Noah thought this was about what happened yesterday? "Noah, I can swim like an orca. It's not that."

"Then why were you at the clinic?"

Allison clenched her hand into a fist. "Do I have to tell you?"

"No, you don't," Noah said. "But if you're sick, or if you need help, you can tell me."

Allison pulled one leg up to her chest. "I'm not sick, and I don't need help."

"Okay, then." Noah sat and looked at Allison.

"Is there anything else?"

"No. But you know, you can tell me anything, even if it doesn't have to do with a problem."

"There's nothing to tell," Allison said. "Everything's great. I talked to my father yesterday, that's great. Keeping in touch with my mother's family, also great. I managed to talk most of my friends out of fisticuffs today, perfection itself."

"Stiles said you're helping him with getting ready for Homecoming."

"I want him to have a good time," Allison said, starting to get uncomfortable. "Him and the two girls."

Noah blew out a breath. "Stiles never does anything by halves, does he?"

"Nope."

"And what about you?"

Allison stared at Noah. "Also not one to do anything by halves?"

"No, I mean Homecoming. Are you going?"

Allison pulled her leg closer to her chest. "Of course not."

"You could, if you want to. To hang out with your friends."

Allison dug her fingers into her shin. "That's not how this works."

"How what works?" Noah asked.

"I'm not…" Allison turned her head, fixed her gaze out of the window. "I'm not the kind of person who goes to dances."

"You were last year. Stiles told me."

Allison shrugged. "A lot's changed since last year."

"Is this about Peter?"

"Not really." Allison wondered if there was a way to get out of this conversation. "I just… I can't. I can't go."

"If it's about the cost of the ticket, I can chip in for that."

"No," Allison said. "No. I've taken enough from you already, and Homecoming is just some stupid dance, it's a waste of time."

"Would you say that to Stiles?"

"It's different for them," Allison said. "They're just kids, they should have fun."

Noah leaned forward, putting his elbows on the desk. "So do I say it now, or not?"

"Say what?"

"That you're also a kid, and you should have fun, too?"

Allison watched as a crow landed on the fence, hopping a bit before taking off again. "That's not how it works."

"And you're okay with that?"

Allison turned back to Noah. "Yes."

There was a moment of silence, where Noah and Allison just looked at each other. Then Noah said, "Okay."

"Thank you."

"And if you change your mind, then you change your mind."

"Can we drop this?"

"If you want."

"I do." Allison stood up. "I'm going to start on my homework."

"I'll put dinner on soon."

"Great." Allison hesitated. "Is there any word on how that little boy is doing?"

"There's not much change," Noah said. "He's still unconscious, but the docs said that they don't think he's paralyzed."

Allison nodded, a lump in her throat. But she had done all she could for that child, and second-guessing her own actions would only end in misery. "Thanks." Then she escaped into the hall and didn't stop moving until she was up the stairs and into her room.

What had been with that weird conversation? Sure, it was nice of Noah to be worried about her. But the stuff about the dance? That was stupid. It was just a dance.

Allison pushed the crap from the school day to one side of her bed, and laid down. Peter's sweater was still under her pillow, and she pulled it out, catching a hint of his scent. It didn't calm her as much as it had the previous day.

She didn't understand how she had been so stupid as to forget about her birth control. Had it been lost in the void that was her summer months? She couldn't imagine that she'd have told Chris about it. Victoria had always been very clear that Allison was to keep any conversation about her birth control away from Chris.

 _Men don't need to be bothered by women's problems,_ Victoria had always said. Which was at least in keeping with the toxic cis-heteronormativity that shaped so much of Hunter cultural and gender roles. But it didn't make sense.

Not for the first time, Allison wondered why Victoria had really put her on birth control so early.

Rolling onto her stomach, Allison buried her face in her pillow. When she had been a kid living through this the first time, it had all made sense. But Allison was practically middle-aged now, and the thought of putting a fourteen-year-old on birth control that wasn't readily reversible, when that child wasn't even interested in romance yet, was disquieting.

But nothing had ever _happened_. No one had creeped on Allison, not teachers or sports coaches, certainly not any of Chris's Hunters. Allison didn't have a lot of friends as a child, and wasn't encouraged to spend time at other people's houses when they moved around so much.

Allison was confused and feeling a little sick, which she desperately hoped was just side-effects from the depo shot and not sudden-onset morning sickness.

Maybe a nap before dinner would help her settle.

But instead of sleeping, Allison just lay awake, holding Peter's sweater to her chest, wondering what it would be like to have a baby of her own, someone who depended on her, who needed her.

It was probably just as well that she'd overreacted and gotten her shot that afternoon, because lying in her bedroom, trying to think what her and Peter's babies would look like, she was starting to have second thoughts.

 _No life-altering decision until Thursday,_ Allison had told Zach, and he had agreed. She had to live by that edict, too.

* * *

Tuesday at school was better, although Erica was still ignoring Jackson and Isaac and Lydia. Scott was barely there, physically or emotionally, and Allison was too tired after a sleepless night to bother with any of them.

Allison's phone buzzed with messages all day. She heard from her aunt, with family anecdotes supplied at no apparent motivation. Allison wasn't going to object, but she did wonder.

Jarvis, too, had broken his radio silence, and was supplying updates on Extremis developments. Helen Cho and Bruce Banner were making inroads in lab tests, and those infected with Extremis were tucked away, receiving their suppressors. Jarvis also dropped the information that Pepper and Stark Industries had a team of lawyers working on making sure that the infected weren't being mistreated.

As always, Allison thought, thank god for Pepper Potts.

Cora sent her a few messages. It was growing increasingly clear to Allison that Cora was itching to head home to her pack in Argentina, but Cora didn't seem to know how to broach the subject with Derek. Complicating everything was that there had been a delay in Cora's paperwork in returning to the land of the living, and she had no passport.

They'd figure it out after Homecoming. Hell, worst case scenario, Allison would ask Tony or Pepper to help expedite Cora's case.

There was still no sign of Steve or Sam in Allison's orbit, which made her a little nervous. Why had Steve stayed in town, if not to torment her for more information on Hydra? And why was Sam along for the ride?

In fifth period, Allison dressed for gym and attempted to take part barefoot in the volleyball game, but Ms. Collins banished her to the side of the room for not having proper attire. She wasted the period away trading quips with Danny and trying to figure out of her physical symptoms were a result of her lack of sleep, insufficient nutritional intake and constant physical trauma, or the third day of a pregnancy.

As her luck would have it, at the end of class, Allison found a text on her phone from Peter.

_Can you come over after school?_

Allison tapped out a quick _Why?_ then headed to her locker.

Peter's response of _I want to see you_ was nice, but cryptic and sorely lacking in information.

Still. In spite of everything, Allison really wanted to see Peter too. She just needed to make sure she kept at least a three-foot space between them at all time, so she didn't make any rash decisions.

 _I have to go get your sweater_ , Allison texted back, smiling a little in spite of herself. It had been three days since she'd seen Peter, had his voice in her ear, and she missed him so much.

"Happy about something?" Lydia asked sharply. Allison looked over to see Lydia at her elbow, Kira at her side. Stiles, of course, was getting ready for lacrosse practice.

"Yes, as a matter of fact." Allison retrieved her helmet. "You?"

Lydia linked her arm with Kira's. "We're going to go watch the lacrosse practice."

"Good." Allison closed her locker. "Be careful."

"You don't think that someone's going to try to kill us again, do you?" Kira asked, her worry obvious.

"Probably not. But you know the drill. Don't eat or drink anything." Allison turned to the girls. "And if Lydia gets a really bad feeling about something, go scream until you can figure out what's going on. If you think anyone's going to die, call me."

"That's not the most reassuring thing you've ever said to me," Lydia pointed out, absently twining her fingers with Kira's. Allison noted Kira's response, a slight pink in the cheeks and something soft in her eyes.

Allison really hoped these three would get their shit together soon.

"We'll be okay," Kira said. "You can tell me more about the banshee thing."

"I don't know any more," Lydia said.

"Then tell her more about you," Allison suggested. "Figure out where you want Stiles to take you both after the dance."

"Is there going to be an afterparty?" Kira asked, perking up.

"I was thinking about a late dinner, but yes, an afterparty." Allison headed off down the hall, thinking of all the complications of nogistune-induced chaos at a drunken teenage party. "See you tomorrow!"

Allison headed home at top speed, ducked into the empty house to dump out her school things and take a quick shower. She pulled on the last remaining nice top from Erica, jeans that didn't smell like the high school cafeteria, and then went to the dresser to pull out the ruby necklace from Peter.

She was firmly aware that these were not the steps one normally took when one expected an afternoon of chastity, but maybe Peter would have condoms. Or at least another idea of how to pass the time.

Maybe they could talk. Lord knew they did far too little of that.

With a shake of the head, Allison put on the necklace, added some makeup to her face, then scooped Peter's sweater into her backpack beside the borrowed banshee books and headed out.

The drive to Peter's took her past the cemetery, a fact that she had never really twigged to before. But after finding Peter at the cemetery, and knowing that Henry Tate had killed himself there two days before, got Allison curious enough to make a quick detour.

The cemetery was quiet, thankfully, and the yellow police tape still circled the Tates' graves. Allison parked her bike and walked over. There was one gravestone stretched over two plots, memorializing Evelyn, Malia and Kylie Tate. There was still blood on one corner of the stone.

Not for the first time, Allison wondered what she was going to do about Malia. She had to find the girl, and soon. In spite of Malia's werecoyote instincts and skills at hunting in her coyote form, life in the wild was dangerous. With winter approaching, and prey animals starting to pack it in, every day was a push for survival.

Given the changes that had already happened to the timeline, Allison was growing increasingly concerned about Malia.

But how to start looking for her?

Allison chewed her lip. Last time, Scott and Stiles had found Malia up in the woods. Allison had a very vague recollection of where the girl's den had been. Maybe she could go up into that part of the preserve on the weekend, and try to find Malia. She'd start by the crash site, and work her way back from there.

With that in mind, Allison turned, looking around, and saw Talia Hale's ghost in the distance. She froze, heart in her throat. What was Talia doing here?

Swallowing, Allison walked across the cemetery. She hadn't realized that the Hales were buried only a hundred yards from the Tates, and with Talia still sitting on Julia's gravestone, the ghost had a direct line of sight to the place Henry Tate had killed himself on Sunday.

Allison stopped a dozen yards from Talia. The ghost was insubstantial, hardly visible at all; more of an afterthought on the afternoon breeze. "Did you see him do it?" Allison asked.

Talia made no indication she heard Allison.

"Did you walk past them on the way to put flowers on your parents' graves?" Allison went on, angry at Talia and knowing it was fruitless. "Did you ever wonder who wanted to kill Malia?"

Talia turned her head very slightly.

"You should have killed Corinne when you knew she wanted to kill Malia," Allison said, turning away. "It's what your mother would have done."

But then, Molly Hale would never have allowed her son anywhere near Corinne de Vega, already an assassin and murderer at the time she'd met Peter. Seventeen years later, the Desert Wolf was still sought after by the FBI, a string of assassinations and murder-for-hire behind her.

If it came down to it, Allison would do whatever she had to, to protect Malia from her birth mother. If that meant killing Corinne in cold blood… Well. Allison was pretty sure she had at least one get-out-of-jail-free card up her sleeve, and if she had to use it on one of the most wanted killers in the world, she wouldn't lose any sleep over it.

Allison left the cemetery without looking back.

Talia didn't follow her.

* * *

"Took you long enough," Peter said, opening the door for Allison.

"I thought you would appreciate that I showered off the patina of high-school hormones and despair," Allison said, brushing past him into the apartment.

"Okay, yes," Peter said. He closed and locked the door, before following Allison. "How are you doing?"

"Are we talking about the memories thing, or something else?" Allison slung her backpack onto the couch.

"Does there have to be anything else?" Peter crossed his arms over his chest. He looked really good, if exhausted, and part of Allison wanted to take him to bed and tuck him in and stay with him until sleep came.

She shook her head. "I'm fine. Just putting it all back together." Slipping out of her jacket, Allison turned to face Peter.

His gaze dipped down, lingering on the ruby at the base of her throat, then further south. "Would you believe me if I said I asked you over here to talk?"

"Talk about what, Peter?" Allison asked.

Peter walked over and put his hands on her waist, pulling her towards him just enough to make her stumble. The sudden warmth of his body against her made Allison gasp. "About this." Then he kissed her.

In spite of all her plans to the contrary, Allison fell into the kiss. All her memories of Peter, the good ones and the bad ones, weren't enough to make her want to pull away. She wanted this. She wanted Peter.

The kiss went on, Peter's hands sliding under her shirt, his lips soft against hers, and she wanted more.

But that was how she'd ended up in this conundrum in the first place. Eventually, as Peter's hands crept lower, cupping her ass, Allison managed to pull back. "Hang on," she whispered. Peter's eyes were the blue of the wolf, and Allison desperately wanted to take him to bed and see what his wolf wanted.

But she also didn't want to press her luck.

"What?" Peter asked, moving to nip at her throat. His mouth closed over the place he had bitten her on that fateful night, and Allison's knees almost buckled as a zing of pure need went through her. "I can tell how much you want it." His teeth scraped over her collarbone. "How much you want me."

"I do." Allison put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him back. "But what did you want to talk about?"

Peter brushed the hair back off her forehead, his fingers sliding down over her cheek, her jaw. "Nothing."

"I don't believe you."

Peter's lips curled up into a smile. "Maybe I wanted to see if there was a way to get you to stop talking."

Allison put her arms around his neck. "If you wanted me to suck your dick, Peter, all you had to do was ask."

"All right." Peter put his lips next to hers, but didn't kiss her. "I want you to put those beautiful lips on my dick, then I want to put you on your back and fuck you until you fall apart."

The words shuddered through Allison, almost more intimate than their bodies moving together. "All right," she said.

Peter pressed a kiss against her cheek, then stepped back, pulling Allison by the hand over to the bed. "How do you want to do this?"

"As naked as possible." Allison pulled her shirt over her head. "Do you have any condoms?"

Peter, already sitting on the bed, went still. "Why?"

Allison dropped her shirt on the floor. "Because if we're going to fuck, you need a condom."

"Why?" The question was pointed.

"Precautions," she said.

Peter was just staring at her. "Why now?" he demanded.

"What?"

"Why are you asking about condoms now? After a month of not using them?" Peter stood up, his eyes gone hard.

His sudden change in attitude put Allison's hackles up. "Hey, you're the one who started this relationship by saying no condoms and not being too concerned that I was okay with that. And now I've changed my mind. It's just for a week."

Peter took a step towards her, and now he was moving like a predator. Allison felt the alpha respond, getting ready for a fight. "I asked that because I was trying to figure out if you were on birth control."

"No," Allison snapped back. "That was not what you were doing. That was a power play—"

Peter's lip curled, this time in disgust. "What, and risk getting you pregnant?" The way he said _you_ was laced with a disgust Allison didn't understand. "An Argent?"

"I'm not an Argent!" Allison exclaimed.

"Did I know that?" Peter took a step towards her, radiating anger. "Did _you_ know that?" He was in her face then, burning hot with emotion. "What was your game going to be, get pregnant with my child and then get rid of it?"

A wave of scalding, incandescent rage swept over Allison. In that moment, if she had been able to change into a wolf, she'd have gone for Peter's throat. How _dare_ he?

She was so angry that she wanted to let the alpha rise, make Peter submit, make him apologize, make him grovel. How dare he say that? How could he think she would do something like that?

Peter took a step back. Allison knew she was on the edge of control, and she pulled it all back in, all her rage, all her anger at Peter and at herself and at the life that had led her to this point. She pulled it all in, visualized packing the anger into a ball, and then tucking that ball away on the shelf, to deal with another time.

Taking a breath, Allison exhaled. Peter didn't know her, not really. He didn't know what she would do if pressed into a situation.

"I have been on depo for years, Peter," Allison said when she could be sure her voice was steady. "With everything that happened in the spring, after Victoria died, I missed my last shot. I remembered that yesterday and went to the clinic, and they suggested that I avoid unprotected sex for a week to allow the shot to kick in."

"How could you miss something like that?" Peter demanded.

"It was complicated. And it can take someone months to get all the effects of depo out of their system, which is probably why I haven't gotten pregnant yet."

"Yet." Peter was starting to look a little ill.

"And in a week, I'll be back up and fully protected, at which point you can go back to fucking me bareback for whatever reason you want, okay?" Allison eyed him. "But here's the thing. You never asked if I was on any kind of birth control. Not once. I can't help wonder why not."

Peter moved his jaw. "What, do you think I wanted to get you pregnant?" he challenged. "Some kid stupid enough to fall into bed with an animal?"

"Don't fall back on insulting me as a distraction," Allison said. "You have always known how old I am, Peter. You made the choices you made."

"And you think I'd have been okay with knocking you up and knowing you'd just get rid of it?"

Every word that came out of his mouth _hurt_ , but Allison just kept looking at him. "You don't know me," she said. "You don't know what I'd do if I was pregnant with your child."

"Then what would you do?" Peter demanded. "Get rid of it? Have it and chuck it into the foster system?"

Yet another sentence that told Allison that Peter had remembered about Corinne and Malia. She'd deal with that later. Allison took a deep breath. "I don't know about any hypotheticals, Peter, but if I do end up pregnant from what we've been doing in the last week?" Peter flinched. "I've got a plan, that starts with dropping out of school and having to find a new place to live, because I can't see Noah wanting an unwed pregnant teenager in his house during an election year."

Peter ran his hand through his hair. "So you've keep it."

"Yes," Allison said. "Well. Keep them. You know that people like me tend to have twins in their first pregnancy." She went over to pick up her shirt and pull it back on. "I'd have to find some kind of job. Probably have the babies in the woods or something, not having any health insurance."

"Is that what you want to happen?"

Allison hugged herself. "No, not really," she said. "I'm eighteen, my physical reserves are terrible, and I'm probably on the way to being dangerously anemic again."

"But you'd have the baby anyway."

"Peter." Allison went over to sit on the bed, suddenly tired of all this. "If I'm pregnant, which I really doubt that I am, I'll have the babies. If I'm not, I'm going to make sure I stay that way."

After a minute, Peter came over to the bed and sat beside her. He put one hand on her back and the other on her stomach. All the anger and emotion in him had faded to sadness, a low, bitter scent. "I'll take care of you," he said awkwardly. Allison just looked at him. "If you're pregnant. I'll take care of you and the baby. Babies."

Allison leaned against him, resting her head against his shoulder. "Why are you so horrible sometimes?"

Peter ran his hand gently over Allison's stomach. "If you keep losing your family, sometimes all you can see is it happening again." He kissed her forehead. "Do you want kids? One day?"

Allison closed her eyes. "One day," she said.

"When?"

"What?"

"When do you want kids?"

"I don't know. I should probably graduate from high school first."

"So next year?"

"No." Allison thought about the life she was supposed to want, not the life of a middle-aged superhero. "Um. Not before I'm twenty-five."

"Why then?"

"I want to finish college?" Allison hazarded. "A master's degree?"

"I'll be forty-six," Peter said.

"It's not that bad." Allison sat back. "So now what do we do?"

Peter shrugged. "It usually takes a few days for your scent to change if you're pregnant."

"Then I guess we wait and see." Allison took Peter's hand in hers. "Can you do me a favour?"

"What?"

"Not assume the worst of me on every possible occasion?"

Peter brought her hand up to his lips. "You have to understand why I think like this."

"And at some point, you're going to have to start trusting me."

Peter pulled Allison onto his lap. "How can someone like me trust anyone?"

Allison hugged Peter close. She was still mad at him, but then, she'd had plenty experience in being mad at Peter Hale. It hardly even stung any more. "You're going to have to figure that out."

"Do you trust me?"

Allison ran her hand over his chest. That was an interesting question. How much did she trust Peter? How much could she trust _this_ Peter? "I want to say yes," she said after a moment.

"But."

"I trust you not to hurt me, or get in my way when I'm trying to protect someone."

"So you don't trust me."

Allison played with one of the buttons on his shirt. "Peter, we barely know each other."

"Whose fault is that?"

Allison moved back to look at him. "We've only been dating for a month. Maybe trust takes time."

"Time." Peter slid his hand down her thigh. "Do you want to trust me?"

"Yes."

Peter rested his hand on her knee. "I want to trust you."

"Then what are we going to do?"

Peter sighed, then pulled her in for another hug. "We wait a few days until we know if you're pregnant, then go from there."

"I'm probably not," Allison said. Still, she held Peter as if he was a lifeline.

"And maybe we talk." Peter kissed her cheek, then stood, depositing Allison on her feet with a gentleness she hadn't expected. "And you can answer me one very simple question."

"There are simple questions between us?" Allison wondered as he headed over to the dresser to pick up his wallet.

"This one is." He slid his phone into his pocket. "When I asked you what you'd do if you were pregnant, there was never any mention of asking your mother's family or your father for help."

"So?" Allison wasn't sure what he was getting at.

"Your father is the richest man in the world," Peter pointed out. "And I don't know where your mother's family clocks in, but anyone in the States who can speak a shred of Spanish has heard of the Vasquez Media empire."

"Again, I present you with a 'so'?"

Peter was watching her closely as he pulled on a jacket. "You'd rather live in the woods as a high-school drop-out, having babies in the dirt, than ask either of them for any money?"

Allison crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm not comfortable taking another alpha's money, and I have no idea where I stand with Victor yet, given that I'm trying to keep Chris alive."

Peter straightened his collar. "And your father?"

Allison thought about Tony, about the man she'd spent so much time with on Sunday. In spite of all that time together, in spite of all the tentative steps they were making towards being able to function like adults around each other, Allison had an answer for Peter's question. "I can't owe Tony anything."

"How is it owing him anything?" Peter asked, confused. "He's your father, he's supposed to provide for you."

And now Allison had to be careful, because technically, she agreed with Peter… when it came to other people. Not her and Tony. Not when she was who she was. "It's not happening, Peter." She went over to unload her backpack, placing the books on the table and the sweater on the couch. "It's all theoretical, anyway."

"We won't know that for a few days."

"And then we'll see." Allison put on her jacket. "Where are we going?"

"Maybe that café?" Peter suggested carefully. "The one by Mcleod's?"

"Coffee and a little light browsing?" Allison returned. "Maybe they'll have some books on kitsune."

Peter held out his hand, and Allison crossed the floor to take it. "And we can talk."

"One condition," Allison said. Peter waited. "No fighting in public."

Peter considered her. "Do you mean no disagreements?"

"If we ban disagreement outright, we'll never be able to talk about anything," Allison said. "No, I mean, if we want to fight about something, we save it until we're at home."

"Presenting a united front in front of the neighbours," Peter said.

"Yes."

"You sound like my mother again."

Allison squeezed Peter's hand. "Stop comparing me to your mother."

"Oh, you're not a lot like her," Peter said. "Outside of a penchant to finding the most violent solution to any problem and giving a middle finger to social mores."

"Good," Allison said. "Violence and general fuckery, I can live with."

"She would have liked you."

"Even though I've seduced her son and possibly gotten knocked-up out of wedlock?"

Peter shrugged. "She'd appreciate your willingness to make your own way. Also." He towed Allison towards the door. "I am thirty-nine years old and am at a stage in my life where I can make my own decisions, no matter what teenage alphas in this town seem to think."

Allison let herself be reeled in for a quick kiss. "Good, I would hate to think you weren't here of your own free will." She bent to pull on her shoes.

"You too," Peter said. "Right?"

Allison stomped on her left boot and straightened up. "Of course I am."

"Good."

"Good."

They looked at each other for a moment. Then Peter said, "I'll drive."

"Okay."

It wasn't the best outcome in the world, Allison decided, or the worst, but they would make it work. In a few days, they'd know for certain that Allison wasn't pregnant, and then they would be able to move on with building their relationship into whatever it was. And Allison would find Malia and bring her home, and they'd find the nogitsune and stop them, and Allison would find a way to stop the destruction of the universe.

One day at a time, one day after another.

Allison didn't have any other choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Allison is still not pregnant, FYI. Also please don’t lie to your health care professionals about birth control, they’re asking those question for a reason.
> 
> Noah, growing increasingly concerned about the feral teenager in his care who is demonstrating zero sense of self-preservation and very little self-care: Why did you go to the clinic today?  
> Allison: What are you, a cop? Back off.  
> Noah:  
> 
> 
> Next chapter: Homecoming! And danger!


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another of Chris's really bad evenings is forestalled by Melissa, who has several burning questions. Kira's bisexual crisis at the Homecoming dance is interrupted by everyone's impending death. Lastly, will Allison be in time to save the lives of everyone she loves?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taking extreme liberties with the California State Fire and Building Code. Don't do this at home, kids.
> 
> Content warnings: contains reference to past domestic violence.

### Chris Argent

Chris didn't know how long he sat in the living room, staring at the wrapped and now extraneous gifts he'd bought for Allison's birthday. All he knew was that it was dark outside when the phone rang, indicating someone was at the building's front door.

He considered letting it ring until whoever was on the other end of the line went away and left him to wallow in his own misery.

But he stood up and crossed the floor. That wasn't who he was. Chris was an Argent, and that meant responsibility. It meant obligation.

Or it had.

Being an Argent used to mean something.

Chris let out a breath before he picked up the phone. _Calm. Professional. Keep all thoughts inside._ "Hello?"

"Hi," came the absolute last voice Chris had expected to hear. "It's... It's Melissa. Can I come up?"

"Yes," Chris said, trying to shake the cobwebs out of his head. He hadn't seen Melissa since he'd dropped her off at the hospital on Saturday morning, still without their memories, still happy and just a little giddy thinking about the woman he'd convinced himself was his wife.

Then their memories came back, and Chris had lost that shred of hope with Melissa.

Worse, he'd lost Allison _again_.

"Chris?"

He started. "Of course," he said, then coughed to get the sand out of his voice. "Yes, please."

"Okay."

Chris pressed the button to unlock the door, and listened on the receiver until he heard the front door open and close. Then he put the phone down, turned on the apartment lights, and went over to the kitchen sink to splash some water on his face in an attempt to pull his mind into something resembling coherency.

It didn't work.

Drying his face, Chris picked the presents up off the coffee table and put them into the hall closet. He hadn't been able to let these go, hadn't been able to set aside that part of his life. He'd been preparing for Allison's eighteen birthday for years, ready to share with her the family heirlooms, to share the stories of what made their family great.

And now, all those hopes were nothing more than dust.

Melissa's knock came far too soon. Chris took a deep breath. He could do this. He could face the woman he'd hoped, for a day, was his wife. Would she be angry at him for what they'd done while they hadn't had their memories? Or had she come over to be furious at him for all the times he'd hurt her son?

Chris briefly considered jumping out a window to avoid this conversation, then chucked the idea back into the pile of other useless thoughts in his head, and opened the door.

Chris had never been a romantic man, by nature, but the sight of Melissa in his hallway actually knocked the breath out of his chest. She looked amazing and alive and so real, and it was at that very moment that Chris realized that he was in way over his head. "Hi."

Melissa opened her mouth, closed it, and frowned at him. "Are you okay?" she asked, reaching out to touch his arm. The soft pressure of her fingers on his skin made him a little weak in the knees. "You look terrible."

Chris let out what might have been a chuckle under better circumstances. "I'm having a rough week," he admitted. He put his hand over Melissa's. She was cold. "Are you okay?"

Making no move to take her hand back, Melissa curled her mouth up into a wry smile. "Nope."

Chris slid his fingers around Melissa's. "Do you want to come in? I can make you some tea."

Melissa nodded, and Chris stepped back, pulling her into the apartment. He was still holding her hand, and his heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest with every step they took. He needed to stop this. He needed to let Melissa go and figure out how they were going to move on, putting this all behind them.

He didn't let go.

"Okay," Melissa said when they entered the living room. "What happened here, and do you need to call the cops?"

"What?" Chris asked, startled.

"It looks like you were robbed."

"Oh. No." Chris stood, looking at the room with fresh eyes. He hadn't realized how bad it had gotten. "No. I." He cleared his throat. Melissa stayed where she was, holding his hand, and that was what he needed to figure out how to go on. "When everything came back on Saturday, it was… I lost Allison all over again."

"I'm sorry," Melissa said quietly.

He took a deep breath. "I think for a while, even after I found out what had happened to Allison, what Victoria did, part of me was thinking that maybe, one day, she'd come home." Melissa stepped in against Chris, squeezing his hand. "But she's never coming back. I know that."

"Then why does your house look like it's been ransacked?" Melissa prompted when he fell silent.

Chris swallowed. "Because last night I made myself pack up all of Allison's things, her clothes, her books, all her stuff. I took it over to Stilinski's this afternoon."

"Okay," Melissa said slowly. "That, I understand. But why is this room a mess?"

Chris looked away. He wasn't exactly proud of himself. "Because after I packed all of Allison's things away, I might have gotten a little drunk and thrown some things around."

"Oh." Melissa looked around the room again. "Do you do that a lot?"

"What, get drunk? Make a mess?" Chris shook his head. "No. Since Victoria died, I've had a few nights where I drank a bit too much, but not… It only happened a couple times when Allison was in the house. I needed to be on top of things in case she needed me."

"And now she's gone, and you're turning into a drunk." Melissa said it more like a fact than a question.

Suddenly, Chris's self-loathing tipped over the edge. "Was drunk, briefly," he corrected. He lifted Melissa's hand to his lips and kissed it. "I'm done with that."

"Good," Melissa said. In the soft overhead lights, her cheeks were pink. "Because I have one rule, and it's that I don't have any time in my life for a drunk."

"A fair rule," Chris said. "Look, I know this might be ill-timed, but if I don't start cleaning up I'm going to lose my mind. Would you mind?"

"Mind what? Helping?"

"No, just bearing with me."

"Oh." Melissa's face cleared. "Is your kitchen as much of a war zone as this place?"

"No."

"Then I'll make tea." With what Chris thought might be reluctance, Melissa stepped away from him. "You sort yourself out."

Chris took a moment to watch Melissa walk across the living room on her way to the kitchen, stepping over some detritus on the floor. Of course she knew where everything was, having spent the night here on Friday when they lost their memories. Had that only been five days before?

Thinking about when Melissa had last been in his apartment made Chris's mind trip right on over to what the two of them had gotten up to that night, and he had to close his eyes against the force of those memories. Being with Melissa, lying with her, sliding inside her, hearing her moan as he kissed her neck, had felt like heaven.

And waking up the next morning with her in his arms had been bliss.

"So, don't take this the wrong way," Melissa's voice floated back into the living room. Chris opened his eyes, shaking the memories away. "But I'm pretty sure you're going to get scurvy, if the contents of your fridge are any indication." She appeared by the wall separating the kitchen and living room. "Please tell me you're eating out."

Chris opened his mouth to respond, then hesitated, not sure if she was being serious or making a ribald joke.

Then Melissa went pink again. "Not like that," she said, blushing harder. They stared at each other across the room, both remembering Friday night, and how Chris had gone down on Melissa. Twice. "I mean eating something that doesn't have microwave instructions on the box."

"Sorry to disappoint," Chris said. "I've mostly been staying in."

Melissa shook her head, cheeks still pink. "You're going to get scurvy," she said again, and vanished back into the kitchen.

Chris had to bite his lip to keep from smiling. Getting his memories back had been terrible, but at least he had the small bright point of Melissa to focus on. She didn't seem upset at him, so, that was something, right?

In spite of the general disarray of the room, Chris was able to get most things back in their place by the time Melissa returned with tea. She set the mugs on the coffee table, and sat on the couch to watch Chris move around the room. When he had reached the wall where the DVDs lay in a pile instead of arranged neatly on the shelf, she asked, "What have you been doing since Saturday?"

"Working." Chris hitched up his jeans and knelt to gather the DVD cases. Half of the collection had been Allison's, and they had gone in one of the boxes he'd delivered to Noah Stilinski that afternoon. And the rest had been either Victoria's or something Kate brought over. Chris should probably donate them; he wasn't one for watching television. "We have some custom orders that we're working on for a November delivery date before Christmas."

"Custom orders?" Melissa repeated. "Like what, guns?"

"Mostly." Chris shoved the DVDs onto the shelf to deal with later. "One of my guys specializes in hand-forged blades. There's always interest from hobbyists in his work." Much to Saul's annoyance, that his metalwork was more appreciated by paying clients.

"Ah." Melissa reached for one of the mugs. "And I get to see the end result of what you make."

Chris, who was about to start in on the shredded magazines, turned around. "What do you mean?"

Melissa blew over the top of her tea. "Nothing. I'm sorry."

Chris joined her on the couch, sitting down with just an inch of space between them. "Melissa."

Melissa stared at the mug. "The last few days at work have been…" She exhaled. "I used to hate working Thanksgiving and Christmas, even with the holiday pay, because you'd get people cooped up together and emotions running high and then fights would break out, or some people would figure that that was the time to end it all." She sipped at her tea. "And since everyone got their memories back, it's like everyone's had five times that sort of stress and grief bottled up inside them."

"Work's been busy?" Chris asked, then winced at how callous that sounded.

"Work's been busy." Melissa finally looked at him, and he wasn't sure he was ready for whatever had put those shadows in her eyes. "I know you're not responsible for what people do with the things you sell them, but there are days I wish there were fewer guns in the world."

"I'm sorry," Chris said, daring to put his hand on her arm. She leaned into the touch, making his heart speed up again. Damn it, he was forty-two, not some sixteen-year-old kid falling in love. "Is there anything I can do?"

Melissa's mouth curled up into that wry smile again. "No." She sipped more tea. "Have you talked to Allison? Since… since everything?"

Chris shook his head. "I talked to Stilinski this afternoon, asked him how she was. He said she's okay." He swallowed. "He said her father was in town on Sunday, and he might come back again on Friday."

"Did he say how Allison's taking all that?"

Chris shifted around, leaning back into the couch. "He said she's doing okay. Just okay. I don't know, I think there was something he wasn't telling me."

"Probably," Melissa said. "I saw him yesterday and he was the same way when I asked about Allison." She leaned over to put her mug down. "You know, it might not be a bad idea if one of us talked to her."

"And say what?" Chris asked.

"Hi, how are you doing, are you eating enough?" Melissa suggested. "I'm worried about her. I've been worried about her for a while."

Chris slouched over to put his elbows on his knees. "I think about her all the time," he said, and it felt like an unwanted confession. "I know she's safe at Stilinski's house, I know she's got family, but losing her hurt so much. Once was bad enough, but twice…"

Melissa's hand settled on Chris's back, and she moved over to lean against him. "She's alive," Melissa said softly. "Okay? Allison is alive and given everything, she's probably fighting mad." Melissa slid her hand over his shoulders until she was holding him, and Chris was so grateful for this woman that he didn't know what to do. "You should talk to her."

"I don't…" Chris looked at his hands. "I don't know what I'll do if she hates me."

"Why would she hate you?"

Chris sat back, looking at Melissa. She didn't move her arm and she was very close and Chris never wanted her to leave. "I don't even know where to begin with that."

Melissa looked at him for a long moment, then said, "Try."

He let out a breath, putting his hand on Melissa's knee. "For everything that happened with Maurice Dupont. For not protecting her. For letting Dupont get to her and Lydia, and not finding them in time to stop him from what he did to her."

"I saw her at the station that night," Melissa said. "I know what he did."

Chris swallowed, the memory rushing back at him so fast he felt queasy. The stench of blood and fear in that underground room had been thick enough to bite, and Allison had been so _hurt_ , and she just kept on taunting Dupont.

Now, Chris knew that she had been biding her time to get Lydia to banshee-scream, a revelation Chris still hadn't had time to unpack, but then Chris had been so scared that he could still feel it in his throat.

"I should have done something," Chris said quietly. "When I knew Dupont was coming to town, I should have taken Allison away, to San Francisco or something."

"Did you know he was going to go after her?"

"No." Chris swallowed bitter regrets. "No. I thought I knew why he was here, but only because he thought that he was Allison's biological father. Not that he was going to hurt her for what Victoria did."

Melissa was quiet for such a long time that Chris had to look at her. "What did Victoria do?" Melissa asked.

"I still don't know," Chris said. "All I know is that she wanted to get pregnant, that means something in a family like ours, but it wasn't working. We'd been married for two years and she was getting a little desperate, and I had to work so I was travelling more. And… well, things between us were strained, so I wasn't sorry to be away so much." He shook off the sour memory of those times, of Victoria yelling how sorry she was she married him, how she'd thought an Argent would have been more of a man. "Word started to get around that Victoria was spending a lot of time with Dupont, he was an old friend of hers. And then I get home from a trip and she tells me she's pregnant. I knew the baby wasn't mine."

"What did you do?"

Chris sat back. "There was nothing to do. Victoria was pretending that I was the father so I figured I might as well go along with it. In a family like ours, the only worse thing than cheating on your spouse was getting cuckolded, and dealing with that was the last thing I needed."

Melissa shifted around, pulling her legs up. "When you say a 'family like ours', are you talking about the Argents?"

"Hunter culture," Chris said. "It's… I mean, I grew up in it, so it made sense when I was a kid. It's built on centuries of tradition. And sometimes, those traditions can get stale. When I got married, I tried to keep a lot of that bullshit out of my house. Victoria agreed, and we kept Allison far away from it."

"Okay." Melissa rubbed her temple. "There's a lot to unpack in what you just said, but I'm keeping my eye on the prize here."

"What?"

"Victoria was pregnant with a kid you knew wasn't yours."

"Right." Chris cast his mind back to those odd months. "It's that… Vicky was happy. At first I thought it had to do with Dupont, but it was like she'd forgotten all about him. She was getting everything ready for the baby, all that nesting stuff."

"And you?"

Chris picked at the knee of his trousers. "I had obligations. Victoria was my wife, and she was having a baby, and I knew I had to provide for them, protect them." He made himself stop worrying at the fabric. "Then when she was seven months pregnant, almost eight, I had to go to France for one last work trip. Gerard wouldn't let me out of it. Two weeks in, I got a phone call from Vicky saying she'd gone into labour early and had the baby."

"What did you do?"

"Panicked. There was an airline strike in France at the time, so I had to get to Milan to fly home, only I got stuck at the border for a day. I thought I was going to lose my mind. But I finally got home, and I found Victoria holding Allison."

He took a deep breath, the visuals from walking into the house on that September day as close as if it had happened yesterday.

"And I saw Allison and I just fell in love," Chris went on. "She was a dark little thing, even so early, dark hair and dark eyes and part of me was so fucking glad that she wasn't Dupont's. I didn't even care who Victoria had been sleeping with, as long as it got me my little girl."

He stood up. He couldn't sit still over this part of the story.

"And maybe I was so glad about that, that I didn't see how messed up Victoria was." He bent over to gather up the scattered magazines. "I know now that she'd lost her own baby, and then murdered Allison's mother and cut Allison out of her body." The words were bare and brutal. Melissa wrapped her arms around herself. "I just thought Vicky was having a hard time adjusting to motherhood."

"Those first few months can be hard," Melissa agreed. "Even when they don't start so horribly."

Chris dumped the magazines into the trash bin by the couch. "I don't _understand_ ," he said, sitting down again. "Victoria hated werewolves, anyone with any werewolf blood in them. She thought they were just animals walking around on two legs. If anyone in the family found out who Allison really was, especially when she was young…"

"They'd have killed her?" Melissa asked, and the words fell like a rock into the room.

Chris closed his eyes. "Yes."

"Would you?"

Chris jerked around so fast he nearly fell off the couch. "What? Never!"

Melissa's eyes on him were dark. "What would you have done?"

Chris scrubbed his hands over his face. "I'd have kept Allison safe," he said, because that was the only important thing, even if it had meant going up against everyone he'd ever known, his Hunters, his sister. His father. "I'd have made sure she was safe, with her family or somewhere no one could get to her."

It would have been the last thing he ever did, too, because Chris was under no illusions that Gerard would not have turned the disgusted rage, that any child born to a werewolf had been cuckolded into the Argent family, fully onto Chris.

And it would have been a price Chris was willing to pay, to keep Allison safe.

"Then why did you hit her?"

Chris wasn't fast enough to keep up with where the conversation was going. "What?"

"On that first night when you were back in town." Melissa was sitting still, but her hand was shaking, just a little. "On the night of the full moon, I saw Allison at the police station and I talked to Noah a bit. He said you hit her."

Chris put his hand over his mouth. The wild panic of that night was back, breathing down his neck, fear's teeth pressing down on his throat. "I'd told Allison on the plane home that she needed to be careful," he said when his heart had climbed down out of his throat. "That Dupont and his team were in town to see what was going on, after everything that happened with Kate and with Gerard. She said she understood."

He walked across the room to the hall, where he could see the dark emptiness of Allison's bedroom. She was gone, and he couldn't take back anything he had done.

"Then we landed and were almost back into town when she started… I don't know. It was like that entire conversation hadn't happened. She was talking back in a way I'd never seen from her. I was going to try to talk her through it, thinking it might have been about Victoria or Scott or her friends, but then Dupont showed up at my place and I had to get him away from her."

"Okay," Melissa said. "Then why does the expression on your face make me think you did something stupid?"

Chris turned around. "It's possible that I hid the phone cords and locked Allison in the apartment."

Melissa's eyes went wide. "What?" she exclaimed. "Chris, that is _way_ over the line!"

"I know!" Chris leaned against the wall, feeling sick to his stomach. "I just needed to know she was home, safe, while I got Dupont away from her. He knew what it meant, the second he saw her, he knew she wasn't his daughter. And it made him real mad."

Melissa was just staring at him, so he made himself go on.

"So of course, Allison being Allison, she climbed out of her bedroom and went for a run in the preserve. And she had to run into Peter Hale, and they ended up on the one isolated spot in the preserve that I thought would be far enough away from any of the werewolves in town that I could talk to Dupont and his crew without being interrupted."

Chris's heart was in his throat as he remembered looking down the scope of the long-distance rifle to see his daughter, his baby girl, being manhandled by a werewolf up on that ridge. More, too, how she'd pushed back, taunted him, moved too fast to be human.

Chris hadn't known what was going on with Allison, but then the werewolf had kissed her and Chris had gone a little crazy, shot far and wide at Dupont's urging to _just play a little for sport_. Dupont hadn't known it was Allison, or he wouldn't have let Chris be the one holding the rifle.

But. But he couldn't tell Melissa that he'd fired a gun at his own daughter. He couldn't admit that to anyone. He still wasn't sure why he had done it in the first place, other than to get that werewolf away from her.

"I got home as soon as I could get away from Dupont and Allison wasn't there, I didn't know what was going on, I didn't know how to find her and I just kept thinking she was hurt or someone else had gotten to her, when I heard something climbing in her window and I thought it might have been someone coming after her."

Chris remembered the panic and fear and outright anger in his chest, that anyone would come after Allison, that anyone would dare, that he had been about to kill the shadow slipping in through Allison's window, before he realised it was Allison herself.

He'd nearly thrown up with what he had done, but there wasn't time to figure things out, with Allison all hot and defiant and blood in her mouth and taunting him about Peter and Derek, and it had pushed him into doing the one thing he had never, ever done in his entire life.

He'd hit Allison. And it had driven her away.

"It wasn't," Chris said, recalled to the living room and the woman staring at him in judgment. "It was Allison. And I..."

"You hit her."

"Yes."

"And threw her out."

Chris ran his hand through his hair. "Yes."

"That doesn't make any _sense."_

"I know." Chris crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the wall. "I know. I have spent every day of the last month thinking about what I did, and how it nearly got Allison killed."

Melissa put her head in her hands for a moment. The apartment was silent. Then she lifted her head and tucked her hair behind her ears. "How many other times did you hit her?"

"Never."

"But Victoria did."

Chris made himself nod. "I tried to stop her, and when I was around she didn't hit Allison, not really, but in a family like ours, hitting your children was expected."

Anger crossed over Melissa's face. "You know what?" she snapped, rising to her feet. "I'm getting really sick of that phrase."

"In a family like ours?" Chris hazarded.

Melissa paced back and forth across the carpet. "You're supposed to do anything to protect your kids," she said. "Anything. Do you know what kind of terrible things I see at work, from parents who use their kids as a punching bag?"

"I'm sorry," Chris said.

"A father isn't supposed to hit his kids," Melissa said, and there was such a fine tremor in her voice that all of Chris's attention zeroed in on her. "He's supposed to protect them, not hit them."

Chris ran his tongue over his lower lip. "Are you talking about you or Scott?"

Melissa turned to him, shaken. "What?"

"Are you talking about you? Or about Scott?"

Just for an instant, Melissa looked like she was going to fall apart. Then she hauled herself up, digging her fingers into her sides to stay steady. "I don't want to talk about my parents, okay?"

"Okay," Chris said, voice as calm as he could make it, because he was pretty sure what a statement like that implied.

"And Rafe…" Melissa dug her fingers into her sides harder, then let herself go. "He hit Scott. Once. He was drunk and he hit Scott down the stairs and knocked him out."

"Jesus," Chris said, unable to stop himself.

"That was the longest minute of my life, waiting for Scott to wake up." Melissa pressed her hands over her mouth. "I told Rafe to get the hell out. That was it."

Chris took a few tentative steps over to where Melissa was standing. "Why don't we sit down?" he suggested, hand out but not touching her arm. Melissa nodded, and walked back over to the couch. Chris waited until she was sitting before handing her the cooling mug of tea. She took it and stared at it as Chris sat beside her. "Can I say something?"

Melissa bit her lip. "You don't have to," she said, voice brittle. "I've said it to myself so many times, and then having it all come back at once on Saturday… I'm Scott's mother, I should have protected him."

"That wasn't it." Chris took up the other mug for something to do. "I was going to say that I haven't really heard of many cases when a woman kicks her husband out of her life for hitting their kid just one time."

"Isn't that enough?" Melissa demanded.

"It is," Chris said. He held her gaze. "But it's not usually what happens."

Melissa picked at the ceramic handle with her fingernail. "I made the choices I made, okay?" she said, almost daring him to say something. "It wasn't all Rafe's fault, I was really terrible to live with when I was younger."

Chris said nothing.

"And I'd just finished nursing school when I got pregnant with Scott and we had a mortgage and daycare costs and I was paying back student loans and it was a hard time for us both, okay?"

"No," Chris said, even thought he hadn't planned on it. He was just so angry he wanted to break something. Preferably, Rafael McCall's face. "It wasn't okay."

Melissa's fingers were trembling again. It took her a very long time to say, "Did you ever hit Victoria?"

"No." Chris tapped his thumbnail against the mug. "We had our differences and we didn't really agree on a lot of things, but I never hit her." He'd wanted to a few times, especially after what Victoria had done to Allison when the girl was twelve, but he had made a promise when he married her.

And whatever the Argent name had descended to, Chris kept his promises.

Melissa nodded, then, to Chris's surprise, she took his mug from him and put them both on the table. "I'm going to do something I might regret later, so please don't hold this against me," she said.

Chris steeled himself. He could take anything she threw his way. He was pretty sure he deserved it. "Okay."

He could not have been more surprised when Melissa practically crawled onto his lap. His arms went around her and he held her close, could feel her shaking. "I'm having a bad week, okay?" she whispered.

"I know." Chris closed his eyes and let himself imagine just for a moment, what a life with Melissa would have been like. He'd do anything for her, provide for her, keep her safe. He'd reconcile with Scott, make things right between them if he could, help Scott where the boy needed help and stay out of his way on werewolf things.

That was never going to happen. Melissa had made it very clear what she thought about people who hit their kids.

But oh god, she was so warm in his arms, and a nice weight on his lap and her hair smelled good, and Chris was fallible enough to want to beg her to stay.

They sat like that for a long time, Melissa's shaking gradually fading, her body relaxing against his. Chris kept his arms around Melissa, feeling her breathe and wishing for something he couldn't have.

Finally, Melissa sat back. "Sorry," she said, wiping her eyes. She did not, however, move off his lap. "It's been a long time since I was able to do that."

"Do what?" Chris asked, his hand steady on her back.

"Fall apart over someone." Slowly, Melissa relaxed back against him. Something in the air was changing, now, and Chris wasn't sure how to read what was going on. "It's nice, not to be alone when things are terrible."

Chris cautiously put his hand on her knee. He couldn't remember a time when he'd been able to fall apart. Certainly not with Victoria; hardly even when he was alone.

Argents didn't fall apart. Argents had responsibilities.

"And you were there," Melissa said. Chris had to focus. "At least, you get it."

"I do," he said quietly. Melissa was watching him with those warm, beautiful dark eyes. "Would you rather not have remembered?"

Melissa considered, idly running her fingers over his arm. He couldn't help but shiver. "No," Melissa said after a minute. "Because if it was one or the other, then I'd take the bad memories ten thousand times to keep the good ones."

"What are those?"

"Scott," Melissa said, smiling a little, and Chris was pretty sure she didn't even know she was doing it. "I spend half my life these days terrified for him, but he's the best thing that ever happened to me."

Chris knew what she meant; Allison had always been the best, brightest point in his life, and that brought back the crystal-clear memory of being in that sheriff's station interrogation room, when he'd had to tell Allison that he wasn't her biological father.

Then she'd ripped the ground out from under him by telling him that she wasn't Victoria's daughter at all, but was the daughter of a werewolf. In an instant, she had become everything he was supposed to hate. That moment had felt like losing her completely.

But she was Allison. She was his daughter. He'd raised her. He knew her. She was sweet and funny and sure, a little overly dramatic, but normal teenagers were, and that was what Chris had always wanted for Allison.

A normal life.

But that wasn't what happened at all. Through some terrible series of events that Chris wasn't clear on, Allison had become a human alpha, with the speed and powers of an alpha werewolf, but not changing under the full moon. All his life, he'd been told that girl children born to werewolf mothers and human fathers were worse monsters than their mothers; at least those women showed their true animal nature.

Up until the previous month, it had all been academic to Chris. He kept to the Code, only going after monsters that threatened innocent lives.

But now he knew what Allison was.

And of all the things he knew to be true, he knew that Allison wasn't a monster.

"Hey," Melissa said softly. She put her hand on his cheek, a gesture so warm and comforting that Chris felt a lump come into his throat. The last time anyone had offered him comfort, true comfort, had been his mother, so long ago. "You look like you're caught up in a spiral."

For a moment, just a moment, Chris let himself take the reassurance Melissa was offering. Then he pulled back slightly, trying to rebuild himself. He had to be strong. He had to be better than this.

"Chris."

"I'm fine," he said.

"Hmm." Melissa shifted around on his lap, making herself comfortable. "I might not be a werewolf, but that does sound like a bit of a lie."

Chris smiled in spite of himself. "You're a very perceptive woman."

"That, I doubt," Melissa said. She put her arm around Chris's shoulders and curled up into his embrace. "If I was, it wouldn't have taken me so long to realize Scott was a werewolf."

"Hey." Taking a chance, Chris slipped his arm under Melissa's knees and pulled her just a little closer, settling her securely against him. Her breath hitched. "Scott has really good control. Most new wolves wouldn't have been able to hide it from someone they lived with. Scott never hurt you or Allison, and in his first year, that's really hard. Okay?"

Melissa nodded.

"He's a good kid," Chris went on. "Probably because he's got such a great mother."

Melissa smiled faintly. "I don't know if I'd go that far," she said. "But he's a good kid."

"How's he doing with everything?"

"All the memory stuff?" Melissa put her head on Chris's shoulder. He could feel her breath on his throat and it was getting hard for him to concentrate. "Okay, I think. He was at work when it happened and he stayed to take care of the animals."

"That's good."

"He's a good kid." Melissa sighed. "I just wish he'd spend more time at home. He's always out with his friends when he's not at work."

"Aren't teenagers like that?" Chris asked.

"Yeah, I guess." Melissa turned her face against Chris's neck. "Not that I'm one to talk. All I do is work."

"That's all I do, too."

"Sad, that's what that is." Melissa sat back a little, looking Chris in the eye. "Don't you have any hobbies?"

Since the entirety of Chris's life had revolved around either Hunting or Allison, he said, "Not really."

"Huh." Melissa let her gaze drift down to his mouth. "Neither do I."

Chris was not, in all things, a stupid man, and he was pretty sure that he had finally gotten a handle on where the situation was going. "Maybe we could figure something out," he said. "A joint hobby."

"Like what?" Melissa asked. She was really close now. "Like birdwatching?"

Chris put his hand on Melissa's thigh. "Bowling?"

Melissa smiled. "I'm sure there's more things that start with 'B' that we could try."

Chris pretended to think. "Barbeque?"

Melissa's laughter was a delight, watching her dissolve into a grin, her body shaking, her arm tightening around his shoulders. He couldn't help himself, sliding his hand up to her waist and holding her as close as he dared.

Her amusement faded into contemplation. She looked at Chris for a long time, and he felt exposed under her scrutiny. "Are we really doing this?" she asked softly.

"Only if you want to," Chris said. His heart was hammering in his chest. He wanted this to happen so much. Melissa was everything he'd never known he wanted in his life.

"I think I do," Melissa said. She traced her finger over his ear. "Do you?"

Chris let out a breath. "Yes," he said, knowing he probably sounded like a lovesick teenager, and not really caring. "I do."

"Good." Melissa ran her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer.

"No regrets?"

"None."

"Okay." Chris lifted his head and kissed her. Her lips were as soft as he remembered; her skin just as warm and her body just as solid under his hands.

There were a million reasons that this thing with Melissa would never work; Chris knew that. But part of him, a selfish part, didn't care. He wanted someone who leaned against him the way Melissa was doing, someone who looked at him like he wasn't a complete disappointment of a man, someone who wanted to be with him.

He'd fucked up so many things in his life. As Melissa turned in his arms, letting out a warm happy hum, Chris just prayed that he could make this work, make this _right_.

### Kira Yukimura

Kira was so excited she thought she was going to vibrate out of her skin. It was the night of the Homecoming dance, and she was going with Lydia and Stiles and everything was going to be great.

Back in New York, she hadn't been the kind of person who went to high school dances. She and her friends had joked about it, but it hadn't seemed all that interesting.

But now it was different. Maybe it was because it was Beacon Hills. Maybe it was because she knew she was a kitsune now. Maybe it was because the last few weeks had been so very _strange_.

Or maybe it was because she was going with Lydia and Stiles, the two people who had become so important to her in such a short time.

Now, Kira was in Lydia's bedroom, sitting on Lydia's bed, watching Lydia get ready for the dance. Stiles was going to pick them up at six-thirty, and they were going to go to the dance and do whatever happened at dances in Beacon Hills, Kira supposed.

Maybe it was because Kira had almost died the day after she met them both, with a poisoned brownie destined for Lydia. Maybe it was because she and Stiles had bonded so instantly when they didn't have their memories. Or maybe it was because the day after everyone remembered everything, she and Stiles and Lydia had all curled up on top of Lydia's bed and talked about the horrible things they'd been through and the secrets they'd been hiding.

Lydia was a banshee. Kira was a kitsune, not that she really knew what that meant, as her mother had been uselessly vague about why Kira was glowing in pictures and how she was different than the other kids. And Stiles… Stiles might be human, but he was quick and smart and had that deadpan sense of humour and his hands were always moving and his mouth was always moving and when Kira was around him, she felt a glow in her stomach that probably had nothing to do with being kitsune.

And Lydia… Kira let out a longing sigh. Lydia was so pretty and smart, and when she smiled Kira felt like her blood was shimmering. Lydia was just, so, _everything_. Kira wanted to hold her hand, wanted to push away all of Lydia's fears, so Lydia would keep smiling at her.

Bit Kira didn't hold Lydia's hand, because she was extremely aware that she had only known Lydia for eleven days. Eleven wonderful days. But that wasn't long enough for Kira to know all of what she was feeling.

All she knew was that Lydia and Stiles were taking her to the Homecoming dance as friends, and that was enough to make Kira want to vibrate out of her skin. She was excited. She was nervous. And she was really, really hungry.

"Who's the DJ?" she asked, trying to draw Lydia back into the conversation. Lydia wasn't seeming as excited as she had been that afternoon, and Kira couldn't figure out why.

"They usually bring in one of the guys from the radio station," Lydia said. She was picking things up from her make-up table and putting them back down. "I don't know. Danny can do it in a pinch. He DJs at a few of the clubs in town."

"I thought Danny was our age."

Lydia uncapped a tube of lipstick and stared at it. "He is."

"So, why can he DJ at a club?"

Lydia put the cap back on the lipstick and put it down. "This town isn't big enough to support seven dance clubs without being all-ages."

"Oh." Kira absently played with the edge of her sleeve. Her mother had only finished sewing the outfit that morning, and Kira loved the dark blue silk tunic so much. It was the perfect complement to Lydia's shimmering green dress. She shook her head, trying to get back on track. "Do you ever go?"

"Where?" Lydia fumbled with a brush.

Kira frowned. "To the clubs?"

"Sometimes. Not really."

Kira shifted forward. "Are you okay?"

Lydia's head snapped up and she met Kira's eyes in the mirror. "Of course," she said brightly.

A sour note slid through Kira's stomach. She'd thought that Lydia wanted to go to the dance as much as Kira did. But what if she didn't?

That line of thought was interrupted as Allison burst into the room, nearly startling Lydia off her chair. "I brought calzones," Allison said, hefting a paper bag onto Lydia's desk. "And energy drinks, but that's in case you want to keep up with Stiles, he's already jitterbugging."

"Is he here already?" Lydia demanded.

"No, he's still at home." Allison collapsed onto the bed beside Kira. She was wearing the same outfit she had that day at school, a cute striped top under her leather jacket and those tight jeans. As she had that morning in history class when Allison bent over to pick up her backpack, Kira averted her eyes. She might be getting over her thing with Allison, but some points of obsession were lingering. "I left Noah on Stiles duty. I came over here to make sure my best girls were ready to go."

"Best?" Lydia said, turning back to her mirror. "What about Erica?"

"Erica's taken it upon herself to get Jackson ready for his first date with a boy," Allison said. She was watching Lydia closely. "Isaac's filming the whole thing for posterity. What's going on?"

"Nothing," Lydia snapped.

"Okay." Allison cast an eye at Kira, then stood. "I need you to do something."

"No, I have to get ready."

"Come on." Allison manhandled Lydia to her feet and over to the bed. "Sit." She shoved Lydia down beside Kira. "Now, tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong," Lydia protested, but Kira could feel her shivering. Without thinking about it, Kira put her arm around Lydia's shoulders and Lydia turned in against Kira. Kira's heart thumped in her chest at how close Lydia was, and how good she smelled, just a little bit like flowers. "Nothing."

"Right." Allison pulled the chair over to the bed and sat, elbows on her knees, her dark eyes sharp and alert. "Then tell me what nothing means."

Lydia's hand slipped into Kira's free one, and Kira squeezed it gently. She had no idea what was going on, but she would do anything to help Lydia.

"It's so stupid," Lydia said after a moment. "I feel like something bad is going to happen."

Kira expected Allison to brush the comment away. She was not reassured when Allison's expression grew troubled. "What is?" Allison asked. "What kind of feelings? Are you hearing anything? Getting any flashes of vision?"

"What? No," Lydia said shakily. Kira rested her forehead against Lydia's hair as Lydia curled into her more.

"Then what's wrong?"

Lydia gripped Kira's hand and didn't speak. "It's okay," Kira said, feeling so protective of Lydia that her chest hurt. "We're not going to let anything hurt you."

"How can you stop it?" Lydia whispered.

"I'm a kitsune, that has to mean something, right?"

Lydia sniffled and sat back to look at Kira. Her eyes were so green. "Right."

Allison cleared her throat. Reluctantly, Kira and Lydia turned to her. "Okay, Lydia," Allison said. "Try and figure out what's wrong."

"I just feel like something bad is going to happen," Lydia said. "I'm not hearing anything, I'm not having _visions_ , god. It's just…" She swallowed hard. "The last time I went to a dance at the school, I didn't have a very pleasant experience, remember?"

"I remember," Allison said.

"What happened?" Kira asked, her mind racing. Had someone been mean to Lydia? Had it been Jackson? Kira still wasn't sure what to think of Lydia's ex-boyfriend. He seemed like a bit of a dick, but someone had tried to kill him the previous week, and Allison was really protective of him.

Lydia looked directly at Allison. "I was attacked on the sports field."

Kira's heart dropped. "What?" she demanded. "Are you okay? What _happened?"_

"We had a rogue alpha werewolf in town last year," Allison said, never breaking eye contact with Lydia. "He thought that Lydia would be an excellent addition to his pack. On the night of the Winter Formal, he bit her."

Kira stared, horrified.

"And absolutely _ruined_ my ability to wear a bikini," Lydia said, sitting up straight.

"Is that what those scars are from?" Kira demanded. "Someone _bit_ you?"

Allison raised her eyebrows. "When did you see Lydia's scars?"

Kira felt herself going red. "We have to change for gym class every day, and I just... saw them."

Lydia bit her lip. "Did you see all of them?" She stood up. "Unzip me."

"Lydia…" Allison began, but Lydia's glare stopped her. Reluctantly, Allison stood up and unzipped the back of Lydia's dress.

"Not only did he bite me," Lydia said, shoving the dress down, "But after I didn't turn into a werewolf, he had the _audacity_ to haunt me after he died."

Lydia turned, exposing her torso. The scars on her pale skin had faded to a soft pink, but that didn't hide them at all. The impressions on Lydia's skin were spaced out in an arc across her stomach and back.

"Were you were bitten by a _shark?"_ Kira blurted out. "Who has a mouth that big?"

"An alpha werewolf can shift to a half-wolf form," Allison said. She gently tugged Lydia's dress up. "With a very large bite diameter."

"I hate him so much," Lydia said, not looking at anyone.

"Of course you do!" Kira said. "But… he's dead? You said he was haunting you?"

"Turn," Allison told Lydia, and waited until Lydia had moved around to zip up her dress again. "He died."

"Then I brought him back to life," Lydia said bitterly.

Kira's head was spinning. "Why?"

"An excellent question." Lydia flopped onto the bed beside Kira again. "I don't know."

"Where is he now?"

Lydia rubbed her eyes. "Allison?"

Allison sat back in the chair. "He's at home," she said. "We've been texting."

Lydia turned her eyes on Kira. "They're dating," she said with a snap in her voice. "That big ugly ring Allison's wearing? It's his mother's."

Kira looked at Lydia, then at Allison, then back to Lydia. "Why are you dating someone who hurt Lydia?"

"It's complicated," Allison said, sounding exhausted. "He was dead for a few months, okay? When he came back, he was different. I know that sounds stupid and impossible, but resurrection does weird things to people."

"He also tried to kill you," Lydia pointed out.

Allison waved that away. "He tried to kill a lot of people. That's all in the past."

Kira's stomach hurt. "How does someone come back from the dead after a few months?"

Allison shrugged. "It's a hell of a lot easier than coming back after five years." And before Kira could ask her what _that_ was supposed to mean, Allison went on. "Lydia, are you worried that Peter's going to do something at the dance tonight?"

Lydia leaned against Kira's side. "No."

"Then what are you worried about?"

"I don't know."

"All right, let's workshop." Allison grabbed the paper bag off the desk and reached inside. "What could possibly go wrong?"

"Rogue werewolves?" Lydia suggested, taking the calzone Allison handed over.

"You'll have Jackson and Isaac and Cora and Boyd and Erica all at the dance," Allison said. She handed a calzone to Kira, before retrieving one for herself. "Don't spill sauce on your dress."

"Then get me a towel."

With a sigh, Allison put her handful down and went to Lydia's closet. "What else?"

"We could all lose our memories again."

"My mom said that won't happen," Kira put in.

"I'm with Noshiko," Allison said, carrying two towels back to the bed. "Hands."

Lydia moved her arms to let Allison drape the towel over her dress. Kira took the other towel before Allison could do the same to her. Really, it was weird sometimes, how much Allison acted like a mom. But on the other hand, at least that meant that Allison would bring them food. Kira took a bite of her calzone. She loved pizza so much.

"Wait," Lydia said through a mouthful of calzone. "Isn't Scott going to be there?"

Allison shrugged, sitting down yet again. "Stiles said he's working."

"I thought… Are those two talking again?" Lydia asked.

"I don't know," Allison said. "I'm not Scott's favourite person right now."

Kira picked at the pastry crust. From her limited interactions with Scott McCall, he seemed really stand-offish. But maybe that was because she was always with Stiles or Allison when she saw Scott.

"So," Allison went on. "Werewolves attacking the gym won't be a problem. Amnesia round two is out. Next?"

"Earthquake?"

"No," Allison said. "There won't be an earthquake in Beacon Hills before 2019."

"You can't know that."

"I know everything," Allison said. "Okay, so if there's an earthquake? Leave the building and gather on the playing field like we do in every earthquake drill." She chomped down on her calzone.

"How about a flood?"

Allison rolled her eyes. "There's no body of water elevated above the school that could flood the place."

"What about a fire?" Kira asked, trying to get into the swing of things. She didn't normally think about disasters, and the matter-of-fact way Allison and Lydia were talking about possible death and destruction was worrisome.

"They just finished installing the new smoke and carbon monoxide detectors and fixing all the fire doors," Lydia said. "That's why we had gym outside yesterday."

"Is that what was going on?" Allison asked.

"You can Nancy Drew your way through the sheriff's cold cases, but you blank on the team of large sweaty men in the high school halls?"

Allison practically unhinged her jaw to shove the rest of her calzone into her mouth. "They were all human and they were supervised by the vice principal," she said indistinctly. "They weren't a threat. I was thinking about other stuff."

"Like what?" Kira asked, munching away. She needed to find out where Allison bought these; her dad would love them.

"Stopping fascist regimes from overthrowing the government, saving the world, stuff like that." Allison swallowed with an effort. "Okay. We've had werewolves, earthquakes, fire, what's next?"

"You're the monster expert," Lydia pointed out. "What's next?"

Allison reached into the bag for some napkins. "I mean, aliens?"

"Are aliens going to attack Beacon Hills?" Kira asked. Since New York, any talk of aliens made her nervous.

"Not likely," Allison said. "It's always possible that Thor would swing by for a visit, but…" She trailed off, her eyes narrowing as she looked into the distance. "That's a thought."

"Why would Thor come here?" Lydia asked.

"Half the Avengers are in town right now," Allison said, and blinked. "Did I forget to mention that?"

"Yes, you _forgot to mention that_ ," Lydia said icily. "Who?"

"Captain America, past and present," Allison said. She handed Lydia a napkin. "You've got tomato sauce on your chin."

Lydia took the napkin with a growl.

"And there's someone who's undercover, so I can't talk about it," Allison went on. "Oh, and my dad's coming back tomorrow so we can all go out to dinner and verbally eviscerate each other over the soup course."

"Stiles told us that he was here on Sunday," Kira said, finishing the crust. It was so weird, knowing that Allison's father, her actual biological father, was Tony Stark.

Allison brushed this aside. "Tony has a habit of popping up where you least expect him," she said. "Trust me, Lydia, Tony needs another month of having me in his life to be less of a dumpster fire. You can have a crack at him then."

Lydia lifted her chin, now tomato-sauce-free. "Who needs Tony Stark?" she asked. "I've got you. You're better than ten Tony Starks."

For some unfathomable reason, Allison physically flinched. "I'm not," she said, standing up. She moved over to Lydia's desk, straightening things on the surface. "The world needs Iron Man. It doesn't need me."

Lydia looked at Kira helplessly. Kira shrugged and waved her hands. Lydia flicked her fingers, so Kira took a deep breath. "We need you," she said. Allison didn't turn around. "You're our friend. And you keep saving our lives."

Allison rested her hands on Lydia's math textbook.

"And you make Stiles happy," Kira went on. "And my mom said it's good that you're in town, because she still doesn't know how she's going to stop the nogitsune and she thinks you can help."

Finally, Allison turned around. "That's very nice of you to say," she said evenly.

Maybe it was that tonelessness, but Kira felt a flash of anger in her stomach. "I'm not just saying it, it's true." She bounced to her feet. "No one's ever tried to kill me before, and you stopped it."

"And you saved me," Lydia said from the bed. "You keep saving our lives and I don't see your father doing that."

Allison bit her lip. "Are you trying to make me feel better?"

"Maybe." Lydia tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Is it working?"

"Maybe."

"Good." Lydia got up. "Group hug."

"Lydia…" Allison sighed, but the girl was already moving in on Allison, her arms outstretched.

"You should know by now that I don't take no for an answer." Lydia walked into Allison and wrapped her arms around Allison's back. It took Allison a moment to respond, but the expression on her face as she hugged Lydia back made Kira's throat hurt.

She'd seen a very similar expression on her own mother's face as Mom had told her about being a kitsune, about being over nine hundred years old, and that she loved Kira very much and just hadn't known how to tell her about being a kitsune herself.

Kira didn't _understand_ Allison.

But Lydia had said group hug, so Kira edged in closer. Allison smiled a watery smile at Kira, and held out one arm. "Come on."

Warmed down to her toes, Kira slipped into the hug, pressing in against Lydia's back and putting her arms around both Lydia and Allison. While Lydia smelled like flowers, Allison smelled a little bit like copper and sunlight and leather, and it made Kira feel safe.

She needed that, in these unsettling times.

"Girls," came a voice from out in the hall. "Stiles is going to be here soon and—" Mrs. Martin pushed open the door without knocking and stopped dead. "What's going on?"

"Mom," Lydia said with murder in her voice, but Allison didn't move.

"Group pep talk," Allison said, and smiled at Mrs. Martin. Kira stepped back, as Mrs. Martin still made her nervous. "I want to make sure Lydia has a good time at the dance."

"Well." Mrs. Martin coughed. "Stiles is going to be here soon. Lydia, why aren't you ready?"

"I will be," Lydia said, slowly letting Allison go. "We'll be down soon, okay?"

Reluctantly, Mrs. Martin left, pointedly leaving the door open behind her.

Lydia groaned. "Why is she like this?"

"Because she thinks I am a terrible influence on you," Allison said, pulling Lydia over to the makeup table. "Sit. Kira, are you going to need any more makeup?"

"No," Kira said, sitting back on the bed. "Why, do you think I need it?"

"Nope." Allison sat Lydia down and reached for the eyeshadow. "Lydia, what look do you want? Smokey seductress? Batman without the cowl?"

"Don't make me look like a clown," Lydia said, but closed her eyes and leaned forward.

"Never." With deft strokes, Allison applied eyeshadow to Lydia's lids, then drew on the eyeliner. Kira was impressed with her speed. "Kira, do you need anything else before we go?"

"No." Kira glanced in the mirror behind Lydia. Her hair was still in place, and she had some lip-gloss in her pocket beside her phone. All set. "Can I get anything for Lydia?"

"My purse is on the desk," Lydia said, not moving as Allison applied mascara. "I can do this myself, you know."

"Hush," Allison said. "I perfected this technique on a brunette from Brooklyn, and I don't want my skills getting rusty."

"You are so weird," Lydia muttered.

"All done." Allison capped the mascara. "Now pick a lipstick and let's go."

Lydia reached for a tube, then slowly withdrew her hand. "Jackson liked that one," she said.

Allison sighed. "Do I have to give the speech about how you shouldn't adorn yourself according to the whims of a man?"

Lydia arched her eyebrow. "Says the girl wearing Peter's mother's ring."

Allison lifted her hand. "I want to wear this ring."

"And I," Lydia snapped, "Want to wear lipstick." She grabbed another tube off the table and applied it. Kira supposed she should contribute to the feminist dialogue, but her mouth was dry at watching Lydia smooth on the deep red lipstick.

Kira had never wanted to be a tube of lipstick until that moment, regardless of how nonsensical that urge was.

Lydia sat back and smacked her lips. "All done."

"Good." Allison gestured at them to stand up. "You're gorgeous and unstoppable. Stiles isn't going to know what hit him."

"And that," Lydia said, "Is why I'm wearing lipstick."

The doorbell rang. "All right, show time," Allison said, and it was a flurry of gathering purses and jackets. As they were leaving the room, Lydia let out a yelp and dashed back inside, returning a moment later clutching something in her hand. Her cheeks were pink.

Downstairs, Stiles was saying, "Hi, Mrs. Martin. I'm here to, uh. Well. The dance. The homecoming dance."

"Yes, Stiles, I know why you're here," Mrs. Martin said in resignation.

"I'll go down first," Allison said, pulling her phone out. "I need to see Stiles' face when he sees the two of you."

"Stop," Lydia hissed, but Allison just danced around the corner and out of sight. "Oh god."

"Are you okay?" Kira asked, putting her hand on Lydia's arm.

Lydia looked at Kira. She was still blushing. "Yeah." She slipped her hand around Kira's. "I am."

"Good."

"Ladies," Allison's voice floated up the stairs. "Your beau awaits."

Stiles hissed something, and Mrs. Martin's sigh was audible.

"We're coming," Lydia said, and then, not letting go of Kira's hand, walked them towards the stairs.

Stiles was standing at the bottom of them, and when Kira spotted him, she felt a warm twist in her stomach. He was in a dark suit with a white shirt and a tie and his hair was spiked up from his head and his brown eyes were glowing as he watched Lydia and Kira coming down the stairs. "Oh. _Wow."_

"See?" Lydia said, her hand warm in Kira's. "Lipstick."

Stiles looked from Lydia to Kira and back again. "You both look really great."

"So do you," Kira said. "That's a nice tie."

Stiles grinned. "Allison made me buy it."

"It's a blend between your dresses," Allison said, face almost hidden behind her phone.

"Are you taking pictures?" Lydia asked.

"Video. It's for Noah. Stiles, flowers."

"Right." Stiles turned around, nearly tripped over his feet and picked up a clear plastic box. "The guy at the store said wrist corsages were in but I know Lydia hates things on her arms so I got these."

Kira had never worn a corsage before. She didn't know what to do, so she just stood there while Stiles picked up one of the little arrangements, no bigger than her hand. The flowers were white with tiny blue and purple flecks, and it was so adorable. Lydia's cheeks were pink as Stiles pinned the corsage to the strap of her dress, but when he was done she tossed her hair and said, "Thank you."

"And Kira." Stiles picked up the other corsage, this one with purple and pink highlights in amongst the white. Up close like this, he smelled really good and he was smiling at her and his fingers were gentle as he pinned the corsage up over her heart.

"Thanks," Kira said, wondering if she was going to collapse into a puddle. "Your corsage looks nice too."

"Boutonniere," came Mrs. Martin's voice behind them.

"Don't you think that the unnecessary genderization of inanimate objects is a little outdated?" Allison asked, something sharp in her eyes as she lowered the camera.

Mrs. Martin had a hard time hiding her irritation. "That's the style of the arrangement, Allison, not a comment on gender."

"Okay!" Lydia said before her mother and Allison could descend into outright warfare. "We're leaving!"

"What about pictures?" Mrs. Martin asked. "I know you don't have a date, Lydia, but it's Homecoming."

Oh no. If they took pictures in the house, Mrs. Martin would want to use the flash, and that would be a complete disaster. "How about outside?" Kira suggested.

"Excellent, perfect lighting," Allison said. "Come on. Noah will love to see them."

Relieved, Kira plucked at Stiles' sleeve. She really didn't like the shadow that had crossed over Stiles' face at Mrs. Martin's comment. Sure, they all knew they were going to the dance as friends, but Mrs. Martin had made it seem like they were losers.

"Where is your father, Stiles? Mrs. Martin asked as they all headed towards the front door.

"He's at work almost all the time now," Stiles said, holding the door for Kira. She had to brush past him on the way outside, and her breath caught at how close he was. "There's a lot of really weird stuff still happening after the weekend."

"Do they have any idea what caused it?" Mrs. Martin asked as Allison arranged the three of them in front of the Martins' flower beds.

"None whatsoever," Allison said before anyone else could speak. "The CDC is still clueless and the FBI can't find any sort of chatter on any intelligence that would indicate it was a man-made threat."

"How on earth do you know that?" Mrs. Martin asked.

Allison turned around, her big brown eyes guileless in the setting sun. "I know the Director of the FBI," she said.

The absolute confusion on Mrs. Martin's face was a marvel to behold.

"Now!" Allison said brightly. "Photos! Pose, everyone."

After more pictures than Kira thought reasonable, Allison slipped her phone away. "Are you done?" Stiles asked. "I'm sure there's a square inch of this garden you didn't get."

"You're going to be late," Allison said. "And I have places to be."

That was fine with Kira. She really wanted to be away from whatever weird dynamic was going on between Mrs. Martin and Allison, and hopefully that would take the daggers out of Lydia's eyes.

"Allison, why aren't you going to the dance?" Mrs. Martin asked once they were back in the house, while Stiles helped the girls get into their jackets.

"I have a previous engagement," Allison said. She took once last look at Kira and Lydia. "Have fun, and if you ever want to talk about anything, anything at all, text me." She gave Lydia a particularly hard stare at that last piece. "Okay?"

"Yes, okay," Lydia said. "Geeze."

"And you." Allison went over to Stiles and put her arm around his shoulder, pulling him in close.

She said something in his ear, and he went bright red. "Allison!" he exclaimed.

"I mean it." She slapped Stiles on the back, nearly knocking him off his feet. "See everyone tomorrow!"

And with that, Allison left the house.

Mrs. Martin rolled her eyes. "All right, Lydia, home by eleven."

"Mom," Lydia exclaimed, "There's no school tomorrow. Midnight?"

"Eleven."

"You're trying to ruin my life," Lydia muttered, storming out the door. Stiles and Kira exchanged a glance, then escaped after her.

"Um, my mom told me I had to be home by eleven too," Kira said nervously as they headed towards Stiles' jeep. "But my dad's going to be a chaperone at the dance. He can give me a ride home if you two want to do stuff after."

"Where's the fun in that?" Stiles asked. He hurried to the passenger side and gallantly opened the door for Lydia. "We have tomorrow off, we can always do something together. Do you want to go to the lake?"

"What happens at the lake?" Kira asked, hesitating. Was she supposed to sit in the back seat? Was Lydia going to?

"Nothing, and that's the point." Lydia climbed into the front. "Come on. We'll both fit."

Still, Kira hesitated. It was one thing to sit beside Lydia on the bed, where there was a lot of space to move around, but in the same seat in the car? Practically on her lap?

Kira was pretty sure she would explode.

"Come on." Lydia reached out and took Kira's arm, reeling her in, and Kira was at a loss. In the end, she climbed into the seat mostly beside Lydia, and let Stiles close the door on them. For just a moment, in the quiet stillness of the car, with Lydia all warm beside her, Kira was so happy she wanted to cry.

Then Stiles opened the door and the sound returned, and it was even better, because Kira had both Stiles and Lydia and sure, they might have been going to the dance as friends, but Kira still had them both with her.

"So I have an idea," Stiles said as he started the jeep. Lydia sighed. "We go, we dance, Lydia gets to make Jackson jealous, Erica can coo over your dresses, people can ask me seventeen times where Allison and Scott are, and then we ditch and go over to Anton's and eat nachos until it's time to go home."

"I'm not trying to make Jackson jealous," Lydia said.

"I like nachos," Kira said.

"Excellent." Stiles slipped the car into gear and they sputtered off down the street. "It's a plan."

Kira settled back into the seat, Lydia a warm presence against her side. In spite of everything, all the craziness and occasional attempted murder, Kira was glad her family had come to Beacon Hills.

She wondered if they could stay.

The ride was entertaining, with Stiles and Lydia bantering the whole time. Kira let the conversation wash over her. She almost couldn't believe that she'd only known Lydia and Stiles for eleven days. It was just… and they were just…

"What is it?" Lydia asked as Stiles neared the school parking lot.

"Nothing," Kira said. "Why?"

"You sighed."

"Oh. Maybe I'm just happy."

Lydia smiled. "Maybe I'm happy too." She slid her hand over Kira's. "Stiles, are you happy?"

"Are you kidding?" Stiles pulled into a parking spot and killed the engine. "I'm going to the dance with half the most beautiful girls in town. I'm pretty sure this is where I peak, socially."

Lydia twisted around to look at him. "Half?" she demanded. "Who are the other two?"

"Um, Erica?" Stiles unbuckled his seatbelt. "And I'm contractually obliged to include Cora in there as well, because otherwise she'll shish-kebab me."

"Not Allison?" Kira asked.

Stiles made a face. "I guess Allison's cute and all that, but she's like my sister. Sisters aren't cute."

Kira, who was experiencing a little whiplash at this conversation, said, "You think I'm beautiful?"

Stiles went still, staring at her. "Are you kidding?" he demanded. "People should be writing poems about how beautiful you are."

Kira could feel herself blushing.

"Oh my god, Stiles, you are so cheesy," Lydia muttered. "Where did you get that line?"

The boy grinned at them. "Is it a line if I mean it?"

"Yes." Lydia squeezed Kira's hand before letting go. "Hang on, I have something I want to do."

"What?" Stiles asked.

Lydia pulled a little paper packet out of her purse. "Allison told me you were getting us flowers, so I wanted to get you both something." She unwrapped the tissue paper, revealling a tangle of cords with little beads.

"Lydia, you didn't have to get us anything," Stiles said, all the joking gone from his voice.

"I know." Lydia took a deep breath. "But I wanted to."

Kira rested her cheek against Lydia's shoulder. She couldn't get over how Lydia and Stiles were just so _nice_ to her.

"So." Lydia carefully untangled the cords. "Yesterday I went to that weird place Allison got her motorcycle, because the lady there knew my grandmother and I wanted to ask her about what happened. And I saw these." She held up three small bracelets.

"What are they?" Kira asked, touching one of the beads. It was small and black with little white spots on the surface.

"Snowflake obsidian," Lydia said. She slipped the bracelet around Kira's wrist. "It's supposed to offer a little bit of light in the darkness." Lydia reached out for Stiles' hand. The boy was uncharacteristically still as Lydia tied on his bracelet. "After the last month, I feel like I need that a bit."

"I get that," Stiles said. His eyes were dark as he reached over to take the last bracelet out of Lydia's hand. "Kira, help me."

Together, they tied the bracelet around Lydia's wrist. Kira's heart was thumping so hard in her chest, she wondered if the others could hear it.

"And that's us," Stiles said. "Lydia, thank you."

Lydia nodded. She was looking at the high school now. "What's wrong?" Kira asked.

"I don't… I don't know if I can do this."

"Go to the dance?"

"Just… last time…" Lydia took a deep breath. "I'm fine. It's fine."

"We don't have to go," Stiles said. "We can go back to my place and order pizza and watch stupid movies."

"As long as we do it together," Kira put in.

Lydia was quiet for a moment, then reached out to take their hands. "No, Allison was right," she said. "Everything will be fine." She took another breath. "Okay. Let's go make everyone jealous."

"On it," Stiles said with a grin, and nearly fell out of the jeep.

The school looked strange after dark. The side hallways were dim, and Kira felt a slight unease as they walked towards the gym. As they neared the ticket table, Kira saw her father talking with the principal off to the side. She wondered if it was too late to hide, but then he turned, and saw her and the others. Girding herself, Kira smiled. "Hi, Dad."

"Hi, Kira," Dad said, beaming. "Stiles. Lydia."

"Hi, Mr. Yukimura," Lydia said as Stiles peeled away to hand over the tickets.

"Kira, you look…" Dad shook his head. "You look great."

"Doesn't she?" Lydia said, putting her arm through Kira's.

"Stop it," Kira said, going red. "You are both totally not allowed to gang up on me."

"Who's ganging up on who?" Stiles asked, returning. "Come on, I got drink tickets."

"Actually, Kira, can I talk to you for a second?" Dad asked.

"We can see you inside," Stiles said, drawing Lydia away. Lydia gave Kira a little wave, the light glinting off her bracelet. Kira fiddled with her own as Dad pulled her over to the side of the hallway.

"Whatever you're going to say," Kira said in an attempt to pre-empt him. "Don't."

"Kira," Dad said patiently. "All I was going to say was that you look lovely, and I hope you have a good time."

"But?"

"No 'buts'," Dad said. Then, "And—"

Kira groaned.

"And," Dad repeated. "I want you to have a good time tonight. Just be careful. No leaving your drink lying around."

"Dad, Mom already went through this," Kira objected.

"And now I am. If anything feels odd to you, come tell me right away."

 "Okay."

"Kira, I mean it."

"So do I," Kira said. "Can I go in now?"

Dad sighed. "Before you do that, can you just hang on?"

Kira waited.

"It's been a really hectic couple of weeks, since we moved here," Dad said. "I know you've been through a lot of stuff, some scary stuff. And I want you to know that I'm really proud of how you're handling everything."

Kira stood up straight. She had been trying, so hard, but know that Dad saw it, that made her feel… taller, somehow.

"And I'm not going to embarrass you anymore," Dad went on. "Well, at least tonight."

"I'm going now," Kira said, edging around. "Have fun chaperoning."

Dad shook his head. "All the things I never had to do at Columbia."

"Bye, Dad," Kira said pointedly, then escaped into the gym.

The gym itself was dark and full of loud music and muted lights. The dancefloor was pretty empty, with kids at the tables around the dancefloor and sitting up on the bleachers. Kira only had to look for a minute to find Stiles and Lydia gathered with their friends. Kira was slightly amused to see Jackson sitting with his date at a table farther away, avoiding Lydia's eyes.

"Hi, Kira," Isaac said, leaning back in his chair. His hair had been combed down and he looked dorky. "Do you know Cora?"

Kira looked at the unfamiliar girl sitting at Isaac's side. She was really pretty, and something about her reminded Kira of Allison. "No?"

"She doesn't go here," Erica said from Isaac's other side. Boyd had his arm around Erica's shoulders and they looked terribly amused. "She's Derek's sister."

Ah, yes. The mysterious Derek, who Stiles had talked a bit about in his amnesiac state on Saturday, and promptly clamed up about ever since. "Does Derek go here?"

Cora's eyebrows arched in amusement as she stood, holding out her hand. It was a little odd, but Kira shook hands, letting herself be pulled in a bit. The hair on the back of Kira's neck stood up and she wondered if there was a problem.

"Uh, Cora?" Stiles said.

Cora grinned, just a little sharp. "I like her," the girl said, and let Kira go. "No, my brother doesn't go here. He graduated, like, years ago."

"Oh."

"You should stop teasing Kira before Stiles melts," Erica said.

"I mean, it would be funny to watch," Isaac said as Cora sat back down.

"Isaac!" Lydia hissed. "What did I tell you?"

Isaac rolled his eyes. "I promise that I will not do or say anything that reflects poorly on you, our junior year class president," he recited.

"So this is all fun," Stiles said. "Who needs a drink?"

"Me," Boyd said before Kira could open her mouth.

"Okay, no." Stiles stood up. "Be right back."

"Don't tell me they're actually having an open punch bowl," Lydia said as Stiles zipped off.

The song overhead changed. "No, canned drinks only," Erica said. She was wearing a pale blue dress and she looked so pretty, if a little nervous.

"So." Kira sat beside Lydia. "What happens next?"

"Good question," Cora said. "I've never been to an American dance before. Is it like it is on TV?"

"Not in Beacon Hills," Boyd said. "Beacon Hills dances are special."

"At least last year we didn't end with a death count," Isaac put in. Lydia glared at him. "What? I looked back at the records. Weird shit happens at Beacon Hills High dances."

"This is a terrible idea," Erica said. She took Boyd's hand. "Maybe we should go."

"We can," Boyd said. "What is it? Are you worried about the lights?"

Erica shook her head. "They never set my seizures off. I don't know."

"Allison said…" Kira trailed off when everyone looked at her. "Allison said that if anything weird happened, we could text her. She'd be right here."

"Why isn't she here now?" Isaac asked. "Is it because of…" he made a wanking motion with his hand, and Erica punched him in the shoulder. "Ow!"

"She said she had something else to do," Kira said. She wasn't sure what Isaac meant, but she didn't like it much.

"Something or someo—" Isaac stopped talking mid-word as Lydia shoved a threatening forefinger into his face.

"Isaac Bartholomew Lahey," Lydia said with murder in her voice. "I will drown you in the river if you do not stop talking _right now._ "

Isaac looked at Lydia's finger, then at Lydia, then to Erica. Erica shook her head. "Okay, I'll stop," Isaac said. "And my middle name's not Bartholomew."

"It is today." Lydia pulled her chair closer to Kira's and took Kira's hand, just as Stiles returned with three cans of Sprite. He pulled a chair over to Kira's other side and sat, stretching out his arm across the back of his chair. In that instant, Kira thought she was going to explode with happiness and unexpressed... something.

She really needed to figure out what it all meant.

"So?" Stiles asked brightly. "When do we get our boogie on?"

Cora shook her head. "You're all weird."

"Yeah, but you knew that before you said yes to Isaac," Boyd said.

As the others chattered around them, Lydia's hand was warm in hers, and Stiles' arm was solid over her shoulders, and Kira settled back with a wary sigh. She hoped that things would be all right.

* * *

The night progressed. People started dancing, and Kira and Lydia and Stiles stayed off to the side talking for a while before Lydia dragged them both onto the floor to dance. Almost half the school was there, it felt like, so many kids moving around the room. Stiles was being really nice to Kira and Lydia, getting them drinks, trading off dancing with them and with the others.

Kira saw Dad on occasion, patrolling the room with the other teachers, but she tried to ignore him. It wasn't like she was doing anything wrong, dancing with her friends.

The night wore on, and Kira was getting increasingly hungry. It was only nine, but Kira wondered if she could convince Stiles and Lydia to leave early, to go eat nachos before they had to go home.

Then a song came over the speakers that made some of the kids cheer, and Erica and Isaac pulled Kira onto the dancefloor. They all bounced around in a group for a while, Erica and Cora nearly knocking each other over a few times, but it was so much fun.

That was, it was fun until Kira realized she couldn't see Stiles and Lydia anywhere.

Kira slipped out of the crowd, hanging back a bit. She didn't see them on the dancefloor, or over by the drinks table or the photobooth. Wondering, Kira edged around to where Danny was sitting at a table, talking to Jackson.

"Um, hi?" Kira said. Both boys looked up. "Did either of you see Stiles or Lydia?"

Jackson shook his head, but Danny pointed over towards the coat racks by the bleachers. "They went that way."

"Thanks." Kira headed off, wondering if Lydia needed something. She fiddled with her bracelet as she neared the racks, but there was no sign of Stiles or Lydia.

They wouldn't have both left the gym to go to the bathroom at the same time, would they?

Something under the bleachers caught Kira's eye. She took a step closer, trying to see in the gloom. It was really dark over here, and the bleachers blocked a lot of the light, but after taking a few more steps she thought she saw a glimmer of pale skin and red hair.

Lydia. And there was Stiles, and she was holding his arms and he had her face in his hands, and Kira couldn't hear what they were saying, only Stiles looked worried and Lydia was shaking a little.

Was something wrong? Kira took a few steps forward, in case Lydia needed any help.

Then Lydia lifted her head and she moved forward and she kissed Stiles and Stiles kissed her back, and Kira's whole happy evening collapsed around her in shreds.

Oh _god_. She hadn't known that Stiles and Lydia—that they were—

She'd thought they were all at the dance as _friends_ , not that they'd brought Kira as some sort of useless third wheel.

She'd thought they were friends.

Kira took a step back, needing to get out of there, to escape, but she bumped into one of the bleacher poles and nearly overbalanced. In spite of the loud music, Stiles pulled away from Lydia and stared at her. "Kira?"

Lydia whipped around, her eyes huge. "Kira."

Kira put up a hand and tried to smile. It was okay. It had to be okay. Kira had only known them for eleven days. She couldn't have expected anything. She shouldn't have….

God, why was she so _dumb?_

"Sorry, I thought you'd gotten lost," Kira said, then wanted to kick herself. "I'll go."

"Kira, wait!" Lydia yelped, darting forward to grab Kira's arm. "Kira, I can explain."

"No, I get it." Kira wanted to pull away and run, leave before anyone else realized what a compete dumbass she was. "Kissing Stiles, it's cool."

"That wasn't it," Stiles said, coming up behind Lydia. He put one hand on her waist and put the other over Lydia's on Kira's arm. "We were talking about banshee stuff and it just sort of happened."

"Hang on," Lydia said before Kira could pull her foot out of her mouth to say anything. "Do you want to kiss Stiles?"

"Lydia, what—" Stiles tried, but Lydia batted at him to shut up.

"Do you?"

In that moment, Kira got mad. What kind of a question was that? "Of course I do," Kira snapped. "But I also want to kiss you, that's why I wanted to come to this stupid dance with you both. I'm sorry I'm so stupid I couldn't see you two were dating."

"We're not dating," Lydia said. She wouldn't let go of Kira's arm. Worse, too, she took a step closer. "Do you want to kiss me?"

Kira wanted to scream. What was this, something to humiliate her more? Fine. Showed what Lydia knew. Kira had had plenty of practice in letting humiliation ruin her life. "Yes," she said.

"Right now?"

"I…" Wait. That wasn't how it was supposed to go. They were supposed to laugh at Kira, not have some kind of hopeful glow in their eyes. "Yes."

"Okay." Lydia let go of Kira's arm, but then put her hand on Kira's cheek and pulled her in and oh gosh oh golly _oh fuck_ , Lydia was kissing her. Lydia's lips were soft and her mouth warm and it was the first time Kira kissed a girl and she never ever _ever_ wanted to stop.

A hand settled on Kira's back and it was Stiles, he was there with them and it wasn't wrong, it was really right, as Lydia kissed her, as Stiles' hand was warm on her back and he held them both close in the dark with the music surrounding them like a heartbeat.

Eventually, Lydia pulled back. She ran her thumb over Kira's cheek. "I've never kissed a girl before," she said.

"Me either," Kira whispered.

Lydia swallowed, and then looked up at Stiles. "What about you?"

"I—" Stiles cleared his throat. "What?"

"Your turn," Lydia said, putting her hands on Kira's waist and practically pushing her against Stiles. "If you still want to."

"Yes," Kira said. Lydia had been soft against her, but Stiles was taller, leaner, more solid. "Um, if you want to."

Stiles smiled at her, big and wide and happy. "I've kinda wanted to all week."

"Oh." Kira went up on her toes. "Then why aren't you?"

She balled her hands up in his suit jacket and kissed him then. It was only the second time she'd kissed a boy, and the first, a peck on the cheek from Sammy in third grade at recess, didn't count. Kissing Stiles was so different from kissing Lydia, but it was still so good, so amazing, Kira never wanted to stop.

But finally they did, separating slowly. Stiles wasn't grinning anymore; he looked like he'd been stunned. "Wow," he said slowly. "That was really amazing."

"It was," Kira said. Her heart was pounding in her chest and her skin felt too tight and her blood was fizzing in her veins. "Now you two."

"What?" Stiles said, but Lydia was already slipping into their embrace.

"She means you have to kiss me again, Stiles," Lydia said.

"Oh. Okay." Stiles turned to Lydia and dipped his head and kissed her, and it was probably the hottest thing Kira had ever seen in her _life_.

Oh, what was she going to _do?_

After a while, Lydia and Stiles separated, both breathing hard. "So that's that," Stiles said, holding the girls in a three-way hug. It felt so amazing. "I guess, um. We should go back to the dance."

"Why, you don't think we should keep hiding under the bleachers?" Lydia asked. She was about to go on, when she suddenly flinched, putting her hand over her eyes.

"Lydia?" Stiles said.

"Something's really wrong," Lydia gasped, almost falling. "Something bad, really bad."

"Let's get you out of here," Stiles said, putting his arm around Lydia to support her.

"Is this a banshee thing?" Kira asked. "Do we need to get Allison?"

"Yes," Lydia said as Stiles helped her out from under the bleachers, Kira at her elbow. "I don't—Something is really—"

Overhead, a weird keening sound cut through the music. As the trio came around the edge of the bleachers, it was to see the principal hurrying over to the DJ table, making an axing motion. The DJ hit a button and the music went dead, leaving only the high-pitched wail overhead.

"Everyone!" the principal yelled. "We're going to have to leave. Please evacuate in a calm manner out to the playing fields, just like a fire drill."

"That's not the fire alarm," Stiles said.

"It's the carbon monoxide detector," Lydia said, her fingers digging into Kira's side. "They were testing them yesterday after school."

"Let's go," Stiles said, practically hauling Lydia towards the exit. Kira was on their heels, scanning the crowd for her dad. Where was he?

A ripple of motion, and a pounding sound, but the exit doors didn't open.

"What's wrong?" Kira asked as Isaac and Cora emerged from the crowd.

"The door won't open," Isaac said as he ran to the other exit. He pushed at the door, but the door didn't move. Then he and Cora both tried to shove it open with their shoulders, but they both bounced off the door like they weighed nothing.

"No," Lydia moaned. "We're going to die."

"There has to be another way out, right?" Kira demanded.

"There's only the two sets of doors," Stiles said as Erica and Boyd came over, Jackson on their heels.

"We have to do something," Jackson said.

"You're right," Boyd said. "You help Isaac and Cora, me and Erica are going to try to get the other doors open."

"Has someone called the fire department?" asked a passing kid. The tension and fear in the room was palpable.

Kira knew a bit about carbon monoxide poisoning, knew you couldn't see or taste it, but it could kill in just a few minutes if the concentration was high enough.

What were they going to _do?_

"Stiles, go help," Lydia said, shoving him away.

"How?" Stiles demanded.

"I don't care! Do it!"

With a yelp, Stiles bolted after Boyd.

"What are we going to do?" Lydia asked, nearly collapsing on Kira. "If we can't get out, we need…"

Help. They needed help. Kira took out her phone, wondering if she should call 911, then stopped.

Allison said that if anything happened, to text her. Maybe Allison could do something.

Maybe—

Quickly, Kira dashed off a text. _School gym co detectors going off and the doors are stuck can you help us?_ She hit send, then nearly fell as Lydia went down. "We're going to be okay," Kira said firmly. "We have to be."

"Someone's going to die!" Lydia exclaimed, and curled up into a ball against Kira's side.

No, _no_ , it couldn't happen like this. They weren't going to all die trapped in the high school gym from carbon monoxide poisoning.

_It was my first dance and my first kiss_ , Kira thought angrily, and that anger gave her the strength to start moving, hauling Lydia with her.

She refused to let this be the place she died.

Something would happen. Someone would save them.

Kira was _not_ going to die today.

All in all, Allison was having a lovely Thursday afternoon. After school, she had gone home to put away the clothes Chris had brought over the previous day while she was over at Jackon's, marvelling a little at the complete difference in taste her teenage self had had towards fashion. Then she watched Stiles get ready for a while before heading over to Lydia's place. After leaving Lydia and Kira in Stiles' capable hands, she drove to Strongs' to meet Zach.

They had coffee and talked, with Allison mostly steering the conversation towards what Zach wanted to do now that he had graduated from high school. It took nearly an hour, but by the end of it, Allison was wired on caffeine and Zach had the admissions page from the community college in Redding open on his phone.

From there, Allison took off, glad that Zach was settling. The sudden memory of watching his father drown had nearly taken him out, but he was a kid with a good head on his shoulders, Allison reflected, and just needed some support. After all, he was only nineteen.

Allison stopped in at the drive-thru, got a hamburger and a salad, then zipped over to the sheriff's station. The place was busy for a Thursday, so Allison just went into Noah's office, handed him the fast-food bag, asked if there were any interesting cases, and was unceremoniously shown the door.

"I can help," Allison protested.

"I know you can," Noah said, trying to chivvy her out of his office. "But you don't have to."

"How am I going to earn a paycheque if you won't let me work?"

Noah let his hands drop. "Can you at least wait until Tuesday?"

"Why, what happens on Tuesday?" Allison asked, craning her neck to see the titles on the folders strewn over the couch.

"Alternative funding models." Noah shook his head. "Allison, please."

"What if I volunteer?" Allison asked. "No paycheque, no violation of child labour laws."

"You're eighteen, that doesn't count." Noah pointed at the station doors. "Allison, go. Go to the dance, go home and order a pizza, just go."

"Fine," Allison said, slightly irked. She was just trying to help. "I'll see you later."

"I'm working until after midnight."

Allison gave him a glare. "I will see you at some point."

"That you will."

With a half-salute, Allison left, saying hello to the desk deputy on her way out. It wasn't fair. She was bored. And any other day, she'd have gone to Peter's and sought out alternative ways to entertain herself, but she still had four days to go before she was willing to have unprotected sex and she didn't want to have the condom conversation with him again.

Choices, choices.

Allison got back on her bike and scooted off, just in time for the crossing arms to drop as a train trundled through town. This left Allison with far too much time to ruminate on her life choices.

Was she doing all she could to help with Extremis? Probably not. She had been in touch with Jarvis every day on developments, but there was always more she could do. Maybe she would use the four-day weekend to take another crack at the genome, now that she had her suspicions on the origins of the tissue sample used to create the most stable version.

What about the Snap? She had no idea how drastically she would have to change the timeline to prevent Thanos from gathering the Infinity Stones to snap half of all life out of existence.

Come to think of it, at some point Allison was going to have to figure out what to do about Thor. The Space Stone was on Asgard, and Thor was the one most likely to be able to lay hands on the Reality Stone.

The Time Stone was in New York under the control of the Ancient One, safe as possible for now, while the Mind Stone was stuck in the sceptre Loki had used to control the Chitauri invasion, and was currently in the hands of Hydra. That… that was a little worrying.

Allison could have to do something with that.

As for the Power Stone, either Thor or Captain Marvel were the most capable of getting their hands on it before Thanos. Allison allowed herself to feel the deep stab of grief for Carol before settling the pain deep in her chest. Carol wasn't dead, not now. Allison had no idea where the woman was, but she was alive and somewhere in the universe.

So, get in touch with Thor, find Carol, save the universe.

No big deal.

But more urgently, Allison had to do something about the nogitsune. In the last timeline, the nogitsune had been targeting its victims like a knife in the dark. But this time, the nogitsune was aiming its chaos scattershot across the town. If they didn't find out who the nogitsune was possessing, and fix things…

Then it was possible that the amnesia, and the resulting devastation, was only the tip of the iceberg.

Finally, the train passed and the crossing arms lifted. Allison drove around for a while, thinking about the nogitsune, about her past, about Peter. Her route took her past the old crossroads, which were fairly subdued on a weeknight, and the car shop owned by the three sisters. As Allison paused at a stop sign, she absently touched her front pocket, where she had the shadow silk folded down into a small square.

She wasn't sure why she was carrying it around, any more than she knew why she'd taken to wearing Molly Hale's ring that week.

Maybe she was just unnerved.

As her drive took her near the school, Allison wondered how things were going at the dance. She hoped Stiles was having fun, and that Lydia and Kira were enjoying themselves. She also hoped that her last comment to Stiles about using the condoms she'd shoved in his glovebox would be heeded, as she had far too much on her plate already without adding teen pregnancy to the mix.

She slowed near the entrance to the parking lot. The customary cop car and ambulance were parked, waiting for any danger, but right now, the only trouble was occurring in the form of a little unsanctioned gambling out of the back of the ambulance.

What the hell, Allison decided, and turned in.

"Hey, Allison," called Deputy Cynthia Wu, hardly looking up from her cards. "Why aren't you inside?"

"Dances aren't really my thing," Allison said, getting off her bike and slinging the helmet over the handlebar. "How's the overtime treating you?"

"Great." Wu tossed down a card. "Allison Argent, Vinnie Price and Charles Dacres, EMTs on call. Allison's that kid I was telling you about."

The man improbably named after Vincent Price gave Allison a brief glance. "Oh, yeah, we saw you at the hospital last weekend."

Allison vaguely remember the paramedics, who had been rolling in with a patient when Allison had been trying to find someone in the administration to threaten. "How's it going?"

"Great. Wu's winning all my dimes."

"That's because you have no poker face," Dacres pointed out. He had already folded his hand.

Allison perched on the hood of the patrol car. "Has it been quiet?"

"Things usually are," Price said.

"Until things aren't," Dacres reminded him.

"Stop borrowing trouble, both of you," Wu said. "Come on. I'm up three bucks."

They went back to their card game. Allison looked around at the night, the muffled bass line from the music at the dance an underpinning of normality. All her friends were inside, dancing it up. But it was better that Allison was out here, she reasoned. It was easier to spot any danger from afar.

The night wore on. Wu cleaned up at poker, then the three first responders swapped horror stories of their time without their memories. Wu gradually pulled Allison into the conversation, and she told as much as she could about her night on the roads, without mentioning the Oni.

Around nine, a car pulled into the parking lot. Allison recognized Derek's Camaro. He parked near the entrance but didn't get out.

"Latecomer or early departure?" Wu asked, craning her neck to get a better look.

"It's just Derek Hale," Allison said. "His sister's inside."

"The sister that everyone thought was dead?" Price asked.

"Probably," Allison said, sliding off the car hood. She hadn't seen Laura Hale's ghost since the explosion at the house, and she hoped that one Hale alpha had been able to find some peace in the afterlife.

With casual slowness, Allison walked over to Derek's car. He was staring straight ahead, and even in the dim light, she could see that he was glowering.

She tapped on the window, and waited until Derek rolled it down. "Care to step out of the car and walk a straight line?"

Slowly, Derek turned to glare. "Why are you here?"

"Keeping watch in case anything happens. You?"

Derek slumped in his seat. "Does anything good ever happen at this school?"

"You're worried about Cora."

"And everyone."

"No, you're worried about Cora," Allison corrected. "Like any big brother would be. Now get out of the car and some say hello to everyone."

"No."

"It's polite."

"You can't tell me what to do."

Allison wanted to sigh. "Derek, stop being a stick in the mud and come over to show the nice officers that you're a pleasant, totally normal big brother, not some creep who hangs around high schools at dark."

"I hate you," Derek muttered without any heat in his voice, but he did get out of the car and follow Allison over to the ambulance.

Introductions were made, and Derek was quickly hauled into the card game. Everything was going well.

Really well.

Too well.

Then the muffled music cut off, leaving a distant thin beeping wail.

"What the hell?" Wu said, shooting to her feet, hand on her holster. "Did some jackass pull the fire alarm?"

"That's not a fire alarm," Dacres said, sweeping the cards away. "It sounds like the carbon monoxide detector they've got at the hospital."

"I'll call it in," Wu said. "Come on, let's go help with the evac."

Of all the disasters to hit the school, Allison had not been expecting this. Maybe it was the result of a badly vented smoke machine.

Derek, in the meantime, had gone very still. "Come on," Allison said, grabbing Derek's arm. "We'll get everyone out of the school and then see what happens."

"What if getting everyone out of the school is the point?" Derek asked, following Allison and Wu at a human-paced jog.

"Better out than in," Wu said, grabbing her shoulder radio. "Dispatch, we've got a potential situation at the high school."

The alarm kept going, but there was no activity. No one was coming out of the school, either.

Why was no one coming out of the school?

Something was wrong. Something was really wrong.

Allison's phone buzzed, and she grabbed it to see a text from Kira. _School gym co detectors going off and the doors are stuck can you help us?_

Shit. Allison slammed into Alpha mode. "Kira says the doors are stuck," she said. "They're trapped. Derek, come on!"

Allison put on a burst of speed, leaving Wu behind. Derek was on her heels as they bolted towards the gymnasium. A few kids were standing around outside the closed door, trying to pull them open, but to no avail. A thudding on the metal could be heard.

"Get outside!" Allison shouted to the kids.

"The doors won't open," one kid said.

"That's why I'm here. Get out!"

The kids ran, nearly knocking Deputy Wu off her feet. "What's going on?" she demanded.

Allison tried yanking on the door handles, but the door was stuck fast, even to alpha strength. "No fucking clue." She punched the door, denting the metal. "Come on, Derek, help!"

Derek went to grab the door, but stopped, his hand frozen a hairbreadth away from the handle. "Mountain ash," he said, voice hollow. "The door is lined with mountain ash."

Allison let out a curse. Here was the play, here was the danger. The doors were stuck fast, and the only people usually strong enough to force them open would be werewolves. Whoever had set this trap had taken everything into account.

Except for one thing. Allison was a human alpha, and mountain ash was not one of her weaknesses.

She punched the door again. Another dent. Did she have the time to punch through the door?

A beeping from Wu. "Shit," the woman said. "My CO detector's going wild. We have to get those kids out, _now_."

Allison stepped back. If she couldn't open the doors, then the doors simply had to be taken out of the equation.

She could really have done with one of Dr. Strange's magical garottes right then. But she wold have to make due with what she had. Allison yanked the shadow silk out of her pocket and rapidly unfolded it until it was four feet wide, then twisted it until it was hardly thicker than a thread. "Derek, if I get the door off, swing it out wide and get everyone out of the school."

"How are you going to do _that?"_ Wu demanded.

"I never skip leg day at the gym." Allison twisted the shadow silk around the door hinge a few times, pulled tight, then yanked hard. The metal creaked. She pulled herself up and put her feet against the concrete wall, heaving with all her strength.

The hinge popped off the frame like a cork.

As fast as she could, Allison untangled the shadow silk from the top hinge and did the same with the bottom. Derek's hands were on the door, and when the hinge splintered, he hauled the doors, still stuck together, open and across the hall.

A crush of teenagers practically fell out of the gym. "Out we go!" Wu shouted over the panic. "Onto the field, out we go, come on!"

People ran. Everyone was on their feet, no one passed out on the gym, and Allison thanked whatever instinct had led her to the school that night.

Except not all the teenagers were running. Cora, Isaac and Jackson were standing by the side of the door, Cora trying to kick through the barrier of mountain ash, to no avail. Allison could see the white terror on Derek's face as he looked at his sister, his pack, stuck on the other side of that invisible, unpassable line.

"Keep going!" shouted the principal, rushing through the door. "Come on, let's go!"

Danny limped out, steadied by one of the sophomores on the lacrosse team. "Why isn't Jackson coming?" the kid asked, hesitating.

Danny looked over his shoulder and stopped moving. "Jackson, come on."

Jackson looked at Danny with frightened eyes. "It's okay, man," Jackson said. "I'm right behind you."

Danny just stared, then gave Jackson a nod. The principal was there then, pushing Danny along the hall.

Allison fought her way through the herd to reach Derek's side. "We're going to get them out," she said, hitting him to get his attention. "Listen to me! No one is dying tonight!"

More people streamed out. Allison could see Stiles with Kira, holding Lydia up between them as they hurried across the gym, Erica and Boyd at their side, Mr. Yukimura behind them. "All right, kids, let's go," Ken said encouragingly.

"What's going on?" Stiles asked, slowing, taking in the huddle of werewolves still standing inside the gym.

"Mountain ash," Isaac said. "We can't get out."

"I—" Stiles looked at then wildly.

Enough was enough. "Stiles," Allison snapped, taking control of the situation, moving up to the door frame, trying to figure out where the mountain ash _was_. "Get Lydia outside, now. Ken, go."

"What's going on?" the principal demanded. "Kids, _come on_."

Stiles and Lydia crossed the threshold, but Kira bounced against the barrier. Ken stopped mid-stride, and Allison could see when the realization slammed into him. Kira was kitsune, and just as trapped as the werewolves.

"Isaiah, I'll stay with them," Ken said, turning to Mr. Andrews.

"But—"

"Go," Ken said. "The kids need you."

With one last look, Mr. Andrews helped the last struggling kids out of the school.

"Dad?" Kira said, her voice cracking. "Why can't I get out?"

Ken tried to smile. "I'm not going anywhere, Kira."

"Yes, you are," Allison said sharply. "You have to get Stiles and Lydia outside." The top and sides of the doorframe had old paint and hadn't been touched, but she remembered seeing the technicians doing some work on the sill on the ground the previous day. "Does anyone have a knife?"

Ken reached inside his jacket and pulled out a blade. "What are you going to do?"

"I will get them out if I have to dismantle this school brick by brick," Allison swore. She was getting a headache. "You're no good to us if you're unconscious!"

"Dad, go," Kira said. Lydia chose this moment to go weak in the knees, and Allison knew that expression on her friend's face – her banshee powers were overwhelming her. Any minute, the visions would start. "Help Lydia."

"I'm coming right back," Ken promised, and put his arm around Lydia.

"But—" Stiles said.

Allison's head snapped up. "Stiles, get out!" she ordered, eyes red, alpha power in her voice. The boy nearly tripped. "Go!"

Then Allison dropped to her knees and jabbed the knife under the metal sill. She couldn't stop berating herself. Why hadn't she armed up before leaving the house? Why wasn't she carrying her birthday hatchet and seven knives at all times?

Speaking of which. "Derek, go get the fire axe."

Derek didn't move.

Allison levered the knife, and the sill moved up. Not enough to rip it from the ground. "Derek, please!"

"Go," Cora said, and Derek sped off down the hall. "Was this what it was like in the fire?" she asked, shaking. Behind her, Isaac and Jackson were holding onto each other, while Erica clung to Boyd. Kira kept pushing at the invisible barrier. "They couldn't get out?

"This isn't like the fire, because no one is going to die," Allison said shortly. Derek was back, axe in his hands. "Hold this."

With Derek holding the sill up a fraction, Allison shoved the axe blade under the space and ripped and hauled, the sharp metal slicing into her hands, but it didn't matter, her hands would heal.

Finally, she and Derek ripped the entire metal strip away, and there, there it was, a glittering line of black powder poured into the foundation. Allison flipped the axe around to dig at the powder, not knowing how far she'd have to go to break the line.

Not far, it turned out. After a few blows, there was an almost audible pop and Kira fell through the open doorway.

"Everyone out!" Allison yelled, dropping the axe and grabbing her fallen shadow silk rope. The wolves surged across the line. Derek grabbed Cora to pull her along, Boyd reached down to help Kira to her feet, and they were all outside in a few moments.

As soon as they cleared the doors, Allison could hear the distant wails of sirens. She shook her head to clear it. She had to stay alert. There was still danger.

"Kira!" Ken ran up to them and hugged Kira, swinging her around. "Are you okay?"

"My head hurts," Kira said.

"Keep going," Allison said. Her hands were covered in blood, but the gashes were healing. She wrapped the shadow silk around her neck to keep it out of the way. "Open air."

"I think something's wrong with Erica," Boyd said.

"I'm fine," Erica said, although she was staggering a little bit.

Allison wiped her bloody hands on her shirt and went over to Erica's side. "Do you feel dizzy?"

"No, it's…" Erica put her arm around Allison's shoulders as they walked. "I used to get this halo before I had a seizure, and I don't know if it's that."

"You're going to be okay," Allison said as they neared the playing field. The teenagers of Beacon Hills huddled together in groups, while the teachers tried to keep things calm. "Listen to me. You were only in the gym for a little while. If you have a seizure, we're going to take care of you."

"Why is this happening?" Kira asked. "Why does bad stuff keep happening?"

That, Allison couldn't answer.

At the playing field, Derek herded the werewolves off to the side, sitting on the grass in the shadows. "Everyone, symptoms," he ordered, not letting go of Cora's hand.

"I'm going to do a lap," Allison said. "No one wolf out." She kissed Erica on the cheek, returned Isaac's snarl, ruffled Jackson's hair, and headed after Ken and Kira, to where Stiles was huddled with Lydia on the team seats.

"Kira!" Stiles said, pale and relieved. The girl broke free of her father's arms and ran over, sitting beside Lydia and reaching around the girl to hug her and Stiles.

"What caused this?" Ken asked in Japanese, absolute murder in his eyes as he turned to face Allison.

"I don't know, but the fact that there was mountain ash under the doorframe makes me think it was the nogitsune," Allison responded in kind.

"This is the second time Kira almost died!"

"What better revenge on Noshiko for summoning him and then locking him away, than to kill her daughter?"

Ken took a deep breath. "We have to stop this thing."

"We will," Allison said. "I will not accept anything else. Now, call Noshiko and make sure she's all right."

Ken looked over at Kira, where the girl was stroking Lydia's back while Lydia trembled, and holding Stiles' hand. "Is she safe with them?"

"Yes."

Ken gave a nod, then reached for his phone.

Allison did some math based on Lydia's symptoms, figured she had a few minutes before the banshee's visions would coalesce into anything concentre, and decided to take a quick circuit around the playing field to scan the woods for any sign of danger. The kids on the field were exposed, painfully so, but outside of a sniper picking them off one-by-one, or a large-scale missile strike, they were probably okay.

Allison's skin crawled as she thought about how everything could have gone terribly wrong. If she and Derek hadn't been there… If the carbon monoxide detectors hadn't worked….

Allison slowed. Her lap of the field was nearly complete. What happened didn't make any sense. If the nogitsune had wanted to kill the entire dance, it could have just disabled the carbon monoxide detectors. Why go through the process of lining the doors with mountain ash? And how had the mountain ash been activated?

Allison knew a lot of about the strange properties of mountain ash, from her time as alpha in the future. The substance that had lain under the doorframe hadn't been activated by any threat or individual's touch.

But.

Allison stopped. It didn't make any sense for the doors to have been somehow locked. In the event of an alarm, all locks on all doors were supposed to be released, that was fire code. So what had caused them to seize up?

Had the nogitsune somehow managed to rig the doors to lock when the detectors went off? If so, an electrical current could also have been sent through the line of mountain ash, activating it.

But _why?_

Fire trucks were starting to arrive now, follows by practically every cop car in town. Allison took a deep breath. She had to report this all to whoever was in charge and suggest lines of inquiry. She might not be getting paid for it, but she could still uphold her civic duty.

"Allison."

Allison turned around. "Deputy Wu. Any headaches?"

"Yeah, but I'm pretty sure that's not from the CO." The woman looked at Allison closely. "Are you okay?"

"Of course."

"Uh huh." Wu looked Allison up and down. "So, you ran inside, knew your friends were in danger, and had one of those weird adrenaline surges, kind of like when a mom lifts up a car that's hit her kid."

"Is that a question, Officer?" Allison asked icily.

"No, it's a suggestion." Wu clapped Allison on the arm. "You saved a lot of lives."

"I'm more interested in stopping whoever endangered them."

"Same." Wu came around to stand beside Allison, watching the firefighters suit up. "The principal tells me that those new doors they put on the gym yesterday have a function to lock-down in the event of an active shooter."

Allison turned incredulous eyes on Wu. "Are you fucking serious?"

"That was my reaction," Wu said. She hooked her thumbs in her utility belt. "Looks like the wiring must have gotten mixed up."

"Two hundred children almost _died_."

"But they didn't."

Allison raked her hand through her hair. "What the _fuck_."

"Speaking of which." Wu lifted her chin. "You should zip up that jacket, unless you want everyone to ask if you got stabbed."

Allison looked at her bloody shirt, then zipped up the leather jacket. "I'm going to wash my hands."

"Why were you bleeding, anyway?"

"Nosebleed." Allison stalked off towards the water fountain by the concession.

The werewolves seemed to be doing okay. Erica was leaning against Boyd, but looked alert and stable. Danny had joined the group and he had his arm around Jackson's shoulders and they were talking. If anything would keep Jackson stable after their scare, it was Danny's presence.

Derek was still sitting beside Cora, who had moved onto Isaac's lap. Derek's eyebrows looked annoyed, while Isaac was a little stunned. Well, Allison supposed that someone had to get a little _"we almost died"_ action out of their near death experience.

Speaking of which. As Allison washed the blood off her hands, she kept an eye on Stiles and Lydia and Kira. Ken had joined them on the bench, forestalling any life-affirming canoodling. Kira was bright-eyed but worried, and Stiles was almost holding Lydia upright. Lydia hadn't begun to sway yet, so the visions were probably still gathering.

Time to get to work. Allison wiped her hands on her jeans and went over to the bench. "All right," she said, kneeing in front of Lydia. "Lydia. Look at me."

Lydia did, shivering. "This sucks."

"It does." Allison flicked a glance at Stiles. "Jacket?"

He started at her for a moment, then shucked out of his jacket. "But Kira?"

"Isn't cold," the girl said, helping Lydia to pull the jacket on. It was comically large on her, but she curled up in it anyway.

"Lydia," Allison said. "Tell me what's going on."

"I feel like… like someone's going to die."

Allison took Lydia's hands. "How long have you had this feeling?"

"Since under the bleachers."

"Uh, right before the alarm went off," Stiles translated.

That was odd. Lydia's premonitions usually faded once the danger had passed, or when the person she'd latched onto had died. "Is anyone missing?" Allison asked Ken.

"No, I don't think so," Ken said. "Isaiah did a headcount. With you and Derek, that's plus two."

So it probably wasn't someone left behind in the gym. "Lydia," Allison said, trying to sound soothing. She needed to remember that Lydia was only seventeen, not a forty-four single mother of twins with decades of superhero training at her feet. "Let's talk it out."

"I hate this," Lydia said. She leaned against Stiles, and Kira wrapped her arms around Lydia from behind.

"I know, but you can help someone," Allison said. The tremors in Lydia's hands were starting to reach her core, and soon she wouldn't be able to stop a scream. Okay. An untrained banshee surrounded by hundreds of kids and first responders. There wasn't time to get her to safety. What Allison needed was something soundproof.

Something like shadow silk.

Allison unwrapped the rope from around her neck and shook it out to fold in on itself again. She would really have to get those three sisters a gift basket or something, for their gift of this cloth. "Lydia, listen to me," Allison said firmly. "Sometimes, to find clarity, we need to let off a little steam."

"What does that mean?" Lydia demanded.

Allison handed Lydia the square of cloth. "It means, scream into that, and tell me what you hear."

Lydia sniffled. "You owe me a really big explanation about how you know all this stuff."

"I read books."

"Bullshit." Lydia looked at the cloth. "This is stupid."

"Does it feel stupid?" Allison asked. "Wanting to scream?"

"What if I hurt someone?"

"You won't." Allison put her hands on Lydia's knee. "Trust me."

Lydia convulsed, curled over, and buried her face in the shadow silk. Allison braced herself for the effects of the scream, even muted, but no sound came out of the cloth, even as Lydia's back curved with the effort.

"What's happening?" Stiles asked, his dark eyes wide.

"Lydia's trying to decipher the future," Allison said.

"What?" Ken asked.

"I'll tell you later."

Lydia lowered the cloth, and sat up. The shakes were gone and she was suddenly still and cold. "Animals," she said, her gaze turned inward. "I heard animals. Cats. And a dog. A few dogs."

"Someone's house?" Allison guessed.

"No, there's… claws on wires." Lydia let the silk fall out of her hands. "Claws on metal. Like when we had to take Prada to get some stitches."

Allison's stomach dropped. "Like at the vet?" she demanded.

"Scott," Stiles exclaimed. "Scott's at work tonight, right now!"

Scott. Scott, who was a werewolf. Scott, who would be all alone.

Scott, who had no idea what was going on.

Allison grabbed the silk and shot to her feet. "Stiles, stay with Lydia and Kira," she ordered. "Text me if Lydia hears anything else."

Then she turned and ran for the parking lot. She had to get to Scott, and the fastest way to do what was on her bike.

She had to get to Scott. She had to keep him safe. No matter what was happening between them, he was _her_ wolf.

More patrol cars screeched into the parking lot as Allison hurtled towards her bike. "Allison!" Natasha's voice called. "Where are you going?"

"People to save," Allison shouted, jammed her helmet on, and peeled the bike in a donut. Cars blocked the parking lot entrance way, so Allison just rode up and over the grassy dive and was spat out onto the road, nearly getting crunched by a truck. Amid the horns, she zipped off.

In the future, Allison would have had backup, Bucky at her side and full comms support in her ears and on her visor. Now, Allison was running dark. But it had to be enough.

She had to get to Scott.

Taking several shortcuts, including an illegal turn through a public park, Allison neared the veterinary clinic. The place was still and quiet, this close to ten, the doors shut, the lights out.

Allison knew Scott would work the night shift, cleaning and restocking. And on those nights, unless there was some veterinary emergency going on, Scott would be alone.

He was a werewolf, but he was alone.

Allison stopped the bike by the edge of the parking lot and dismounted. Removing her helmet, she dropped into hunting mode, senses alert. She was once again without a knife, but it didn't matter. If anyone hurt Scott, she would kill them with her bare hands.

The front door was locked, but the back door was open. Allison took a deep breath. The scents of animals, hints of urine, pet food, medical bandages, iodine; all normal odors from the vet's office. She could hear movement and scuffles, but what of it was animal, and what intruder?

And why was the back door open?

On silent feet, Allison slipped into the building.

The light from the main room illuminated the back hallway. Allison stepped softly, feeling the zing from the wards as she moved. God, she had forgotten how much she hated druid magic. It always set her teeth on edge, like chewing iron nails.

A scrabbling made Allison freeze. Then, on the heels of the sound, came the overwhelming scent of fresh blood as someone screamed.

Allison ran towards the sound, turned the corner, and was hit hard in the chest. She slammed into the wall and crumbled in a heap, as a presence of darkness and shadow whirled down the hall and vanished.

A moan sound deeper in the building.

"Scott?" Allison gasped, crawling down the hall until she could get her feet under her. A few more steps, and she was in the examination room. Blood spattered up the walls and on the floor, and Scott, her Scott, lay in a pool of red. "Scott!"

"Allison!" Scott gasped, trying to pull himself up. "Get out! There's a monster!"

"Yeah, it rushed past me and out the back door." Allison feel to her knees by Scott's side. "Let me help you. Lie still."

"I just looked up and it was there," Scott said, grimacing in pain.

Allison hooked her fingers in his ruined shirt and ripped the fabric open. There were claw marks across his chest and stomach, but the claws hadn't cut through muscle, hadn't gutted him. Already, the marks were starting to heal.

"How's your head?" Allison asked, helping Scott to sit up.

"Still on. I think." Scott touched his head gingerly. "Allison, why are you here?"

Allison tilted his head up to the light. Both eyes were clear, and he appeared alert, if confused. "Someone tried to murder everyone at the Homecoming dance with carbon monoxide, and then Lydia had a vision that you were in danger."

Scott's eyes grew wide. "What?"

"Everyone's fine," Allison said reassuringly. "Everyone got out. Stiles is safe. Everyone is safe."

"Oh," Scott sagged. Allison held onto him, trying to reassure herself that he, too, was safe. "Lydia had a vision?"

"She's a banshee, she has premonitions when someone is about to die," Allison explained. "Let's get you up. She had a premonition that someone was going to die at the vet's office."

"That's really weird," Scott said. "Why—"

The front door opened, and a male voice said, "Scott?"

"I'm back here, Doc," Scott called.

Allison turned around in time to see Alan Deaton walk into the doorway to the examination room, and stopped dead. "Deaton," Allison said in irritated greeting. She didn't like druids, even when they were allied with the pack.

"What happened?" Deaton demanded, setting down the box he was carrying. "What set off the wards? Scott, are you okay?"

"I'll be fine," Scott said. Allison guided him over to a chair. "I don't know. I was cleaning up and turned around and something hit me. With claws."

"Let's see," Deaton said. He pulled examination gloves out of the box by the wall and came over, smoothing the cloth back from Scott's chest. "Nothing too deep, at least for a werewolf, but it was a close call. Any deeper, and we'd be stuffing your intestines back into your guts." The man turned to Allison. "Why are you here?"

"Premonitions," Allison said shortly.

"Did you trip the wards?" Deaton asked, stripping off the gloves.

"Possibly." Allison tilted her head. "Why are you here so late?"

Deaton's gaze was inscrutable. "Because getting animal tranquilizers delivered by the post office is a good way to get one's self arrested, even if one has a licence and a demonstrated business need. I had to pick up a delivery in Sacramento this afternoon to avoid any shortages for a surgery I have next week. Now." He put his hands on the exam table and stared straight at Allison. "Why are you here?"

Allison returned his gaze. It was his shop, and he had some role of responsibility for Scott's safety. And as much as she disliked druids, Deaton had mostly been her pack's ally until he retired to the coast in 2035. "Someone tried to kill everyone at the high school dance," Allison said. "Including setting up two mountain ash barriers to keep the werewolves in the gym as the carbon monoxide levels rose dangerously."

Deaton stood back. "Are they all right?" he demanded.

Allison nodded. "I managed to break the barrier. They're shaken, but alive."

"But they'd be okay, right?" Scott asked, wiping at the healing wounds on his chest. "They can shake it off?"

"Not carbon monoxide," Deaton said. He had a shadow over his face. "A werewolf can shake off a lot of things, but they need to keep breathing. Their blood needs oxygen, like any other mammal. Carbon monoxide is one of the only things that can kill a werewolf."

"They're going to be fine," Allison said, holding out a hand as Scott started to rise. "There's evil in this town, Dr. Deaton, and we all have to work together to stop it."

Deaton tapped the table. "I agree. I—" he broke off as sirens got closer. "Did you call the police?"

"No," Allison said. "Shit. We need a shirt for Scott."

"I've got one in my office," Deaton said. "Scott, you okay?"

Scott nodded. Deaton vanished. Scott looked at Allison. "Why did you come?"

"Because Lydia thought you were in danger."

"But why you?"

Allison crossed her arms over her chest. "I might not be your alpha, Scott, but this town is mine and everyone in it is mine to protect."

A shadow passed over Scott's face. "So you'd have done it for anyone."

"No, you—" Allison made herself stop. Scott might be angry with her still for various Peter-shaped reasons, but he was seventeen. He was a child. And she was a goddamned adult. "I'd do a lot of things to protect anyone in this town, Scott, but you are important to me, okay?"

"Yeah, fine."

"Scott." Deaton paused in the doorway and tossed the shirt by the sink. "Change and wash your face."

"Isn't anyone concerned that Scott was attacked?" Allison demanded.

"I am, but I'm not sure how bringing the police into things right now will help anything," Deaton said. The sirens peaked, then ceased. The red and blue lights were visible through the front glass.

"Whatever it was, wasn't human," Scott said, shuffling over to the sink. "I don't know how the cops can help."

Allison wanted to scream. She didn't have time for this. If the attack on Scott was connected to the nogitsune, she needed to look into it, but how?

Maybe it was time to throw Noshiko and her Oni at Deaton, see if the man knew anything about what was happening in town.

A rap at the front door. "I'll get that," Deaton said. Scott stripped off his shirt and dropped it in the sink, turning on the taps. Allison looked skyward for patience, and went to get him a paper towel.

The front door opened. "Can I help you?" Deaton asked.

"Yes," came Natasha's voice. Some of the tension left Allison's shoulders. "I'm doing a welfare check. Is Allison Argent here?"

"In the back," Allison called. Scott jerked back from the sink. "Relax, you don't have anything she hadn't already seen."

"I'm not sure what the problem is, Deputy," Deaton said.

"Someone just tried to murder every high school student in this city, Doctor…"

"Deaton."

"And I got to watch as Allison sped away from the scene, with concerned parties then telling me that she was coming here to check on Scott McCall." A heavy tread, and Natasha appeared in the doorway. The woman lifted one eyebrow impassively. "Mr. McCall."

"Deputy," Scott said, wiping at his now-healed chest.

"You okay?"

"I'll… yeah."

"You want to explain all this blood?"

Scott shrugged, reaching for the clean shirt. "Not really."

Natasha let her eyes move over to Allison. "Miss Argent?"

Oh, so that was how they were going to do things. "Deputy Rushman," Allison said. "I arrived on scene a few scant minutes before you, found the back door open, and was looking for Scott when something rushed me. I was unable to ascertain what it was, it left, and I discovered Scott in here."

Natasha's eyes traveled over the blood spatter on the walls. "Mr. McCall, I'll ask again. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, okay?" Scott scrubbed at his hair. "I'll just… I'll clean this up."

"No, Scott," Deaton said from his perch by the door. "It's okay. I'll do it. You should go home."

"And yourself?" Natasha asked. "Dr. Deaton, were you here when Scott was attacked?"

"No, I was just returning from a supply run."

Natasha's gaze landed on the small box Deaton had placed on the exam table. "You keep a supply of animal sedatives in stock?"

Deaton's jaw shifted. "For which I am licenced."

"That can be a target for thieves. Especially late at night."

"I don't usually have any trouble."

"I see." Natasha straightened her jacket. "It might be best if you check to make sure you're not missing anything."

"I get a text alert any time the drug safe is opened," Deaton said. "No one took anything."

"Someone might have been trying." Natasha pointedly looked at the bloody wall. "Next time, they might not come alone."

"Your point is taken."

"Someone should give Scott a ride home."

"I will," Deaton said before Allison could speak up. "As soon as I put the delivery away, we'll head out."

"Then I'll be out of your way." Natasha looked across the room. "Allison?"

Allison turned to Scott, considering. He looked like he was firming up, and at least Deaton could get him home in one piece. Now that she was sure he was safe, she could leave him alone. He sure as hell didn't seem to want to talk to her. Still, she had to try. "Scott, you going to be okay?"

"Yeah, of course I am."

"Okay." Allison turned. "Dr. Deaton."

"Allison."

Allison headed towards the exit, Natasha following her. But Natasha paused in the doorway and turned back to Deaton. "Out of curiosity, do you happen to carry any big game sedatives?"

"Such ask?"

"Carfentanil, for example."

"Carfentanil is a schedule-two drug, Deputy," Deaton said. "The largest animals I see in my practice are big dogs."

"I see," Natasha said. "Well, we don't take up any more of your time." Natasha turned, and partially pushed Allison out of the building.

"What was with the questions on carfentanil?" Allison asked as they walked towards the patrol car.

"We still don't know where Dupont and his goons got the carfentanil they used to knock you out with," Natasha said. "It's possible it came from Deaton's supply."

"But he said he didn't have any carfentanil," Allison said, wondering if Natasha had caught the obfuscation in the office.

Natasha fixed her with a gimlet eye. "Is that what he said?" She shook her head. "Get back on your bike, we need you at the school."

"Is everything okay?"

"No one's dead, but the preliminary report from the fire department say it looks like that someone sabotaged the generator to pump out pure carbon monoxide and wired the doors to keep the student body trapped in a death box," Natasha said. "Noah's angry in a way I've never seen in him before. And if this keeps up, the governor is going to start sending in Feds to try to figure things out."

"Fuck," Allison said.

"Yes, fuck." Natasha pointed at Allison's motorcycle. "And I know Noah keeps telling everyone that you're off-duty for a while, but I need your eyes on this."

Allison perked up. "As your sidekick?"

The glare Natasha threw at her was almost worth it. "Don't make me regret this."

"Too late," Allison said, and bounced over to her bike.

No one was dead. No one was even permanently maimed, which was a win in Allison's books. Even Scott was going to be okay, and if the warning Natasha had thrown at Deaton stuck, Scott wouldn't be in danger at the vet's again.

Pulling on her helmet, Allison tried to settle her thoughts. Natasha was right. She had a job to do. She had a city to protect, and a nogitsune to stop.

If it was the nogitsune that had tried to kill everyone, and not some random new villain in town.

Allison shook her head and started her bike. She couldn't jump to any assumptions.

She had people to protect, and a bad guy to stop.

"Just like old times," Allison said under her breath.

Time to get to work.

_To be continued…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Melissa, horny on main: _*crawls into Chris's lap and asks him about his etchings*_  
>  Chris: What could it all mean.
> 
> PS this chapter contains exactly four (4) clues about what's going on. 
> 
> See everyone in a couple of weeks, when it's time for the ultimate shock! Literally, I have been planing for the next chapter since last April :D

**Author's Note:**

> For future updates, feel free to subscribe on AO3 or follow me on [Tumblr](https://mhalachai.tumblr.com/).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Impostor Syndrome](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21316048) by [SwiftyTheWriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwiftyTheWriter/pseuds/SwiftyTheWriter)




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